You hated your natural hair color, so it was always dyed.
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@evelyn_astarThe summer sun beat down on the Long Island Sound, but inside your private cabin at Camp Half-Blood, the air was cool and smelled of pine and sea salt. Your duffel bag was dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and on the small desk by the window sat the tools of your annual ritual: a box of hair dye, a pair of plastic gloves, and an old towel.
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