[Death by Mirrors]

The first thing Emery noticed when she woke up was her terrible headache. Apparently she had been passed out on a stone floor, and the cold against her cheek helped a bit to ease the pain, but still it felt as if a percussion band had taken to practice inside her skull. A really bad percussion band.
As she lifted her head it seemed unusually light. It took her a moment to process the information, but then she reached back and fingered her hair. Indeed - her thick, long braid was gone! She gasped and started to frisk her clothes, but as far as she could tell, they were alright. No rips, no icky stains, no signs of them being removed. So whoever cut her hair probably hadn't touched her otherwise. Even her hidden jackknife was still there, in an unobtrusive pocket of her boot.
No immediate danger, she thought, and was tempted to just lay down again. Yet slowly she climbed on her feet and started to look around.