Shulk’s hair was growing out.
He never noticed enough to cut it, usually. Glances in the mirror barely registering as being him. Hair was just about as important to him as clothes. It really didn’t matter as much as who the person was. Let his hair grow, he didn’t care.
That was what he thought until he swore he saw Zanza in the mirror.
He’d taken his hair out of its ponytail on his way out of work, had let the hair rest against his cheeks. He hadn’t even thought of just how long it had gotten, how it would make him look. And now, he was staring at a dead god.
He hated it. Hated looking at the nightmare that had haunted him long after he died. He wanted it gone .
Scissors, he needed scissors. He dashed past the mirror, refusing to look at himself any longer. Where were scissors? He needed them, he needed to get rid of this reminder, as soon as possible.
He couldn’t find them, no matter how hard he looked. A knife. He could cut it off with a knife, too.
The kitchen. He ran into the kitchen, pulling out a sharp knife with a shaking hand. Steady does it, he told himself, holding his hair in one hand and forcing the knife through it with jagged strikes.
Cut, cut, cut. Cut away anything that looked like Zanza, no matter how bad it looked. Cut, cut, cut. Cut off the feelings and thoughts trying to bubble up thinking about gods long dead, peace never brokered. Cut, cut, cut. Cut it all off.
Finally, he let the knife drop to his side, blond hair around his feet. But things didn’t feel any better now...
He then decided to turn the mirrors in his house around.