Rose Ellington Presents: “Tara’s Story – A Razor’s Discipline

🎙️ Rose Ellington Presents: “Tara’s Story – A Razor’s Discipline”

Chapter 1: The Silence Before the Storm

Style: Whispered • Dominant • Cinematic • Sensual

Language: English

Narrated by Rose

> “Hello, darling…

Tonight, I want to tell you a story.

Not one from my past.

Not one from fantasy.

But one… very real. One I heard whispered behind the walls of discipline and surrender.

It begins in silence.

But it doesn’t stay there for long.

This is Tara’s story.

And this… is how she broke.”

---

She was 32.

Tara Romano.

Lived alone on the dusty edge of Naples, in a one-bedroom apartment where the fridge hummed louder than the walls could echo.

She had once been… someone. Or at least, she thought so.

Six years at a bank, managing papers, balancing numbers, sipping stale coffee during meetings she didn’t care to attend.

She was meticulous… precise. But not alive.

That’s how the quiet creeps in, sweetheart.

Not like a thief—but like routine.

Boring, empty, grey routine.

And Tara? She drowned in it.

At first, it was insomnia.

Then the games—those strategy games online where she got to be someone else.

Not Tara, the invisible bank clerk.

But a queen. A warlord. A woman with power.

Reality blurred.

Breakfasts were forgotten.

Days slid into nights like ink into water.

She stopped combing her hair.

Stopped looking in mirrors.

Stopped feeling... anything.

Her hair… oh god, her hair.

Waist-length.

Wild.

Black.

Dry from neglect, tangled from apathy.

Once brushed with oils and care… now just another weight she couldn’t carry.

When she walked into the bank that final morning—do you know what her manager said?

> “This is the third month, Tara. You’ve fallen below minimum expectations.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Fingers on the desk. Like a gavel sentencing her.

She didn’t fight it.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t even argue.

Just signed the letter. Walked out. Vanished.

That was five months ago.

And the woman who left the bank never came back.

---

Her savings bled away slowly.

She sold her jewelry. Then her television.

Even her beloved gaming mouse—her last tether to that digital kingdom.

She ate whatever she could afford.

She wore the same grey sweatshirt for days.

Didn’t answer messages.

Didn’t open the blinds.

Didn’t comb her hair.

Didn’t feel.

She was still breathing, yes.

But you could’ve mistaken her for a ghost.

---

Until one night…

When the sun painted the sky in blood-orange hues, and the salty breeze from the sea whispered her name like a dare—Tara did something she hadn’t done in weeks.

She walked.

No destination.

No makeup.

Just the same worn-out leggings, the same tired eyes, the same knot of matted hair tied in a limp ponytail.

She wandered… until she saw it.

A little shop.

Tucked into a forgotten corner of the street.

A hand-painted wooden board swinging gently overhead:

“Barbiere di Salim Chacha.”

Barber of Salim.

Beneath the sign… a crumpled sheet taped to the foggy glass window.

> “Assistant wanted.

No experience needed.

Only trust.”

Tara stared.

Not at the shop—but at her own reflection.

And something inside her… stirred.

---

[🎧 Sound: Bell chime as door opens • Wooden floor creaks • Scissors snipping faintly in distance]

The door jingled as she stepped in.

Inside—flickering yellow light, leather chairs smelling of talcum and linseed oil, one antique mirror cracked slightly at the top.

A man emerged from the back.

Old.

Sharp eyes.

White hair combed back into obedient submission.

“Cut or work?” he asked.

Tara swallowed. Her voice rasped.

> “I saw the sign… about the job.”

He looked her over.

Eyes dragging down her unkempt hair… her loose sweater… her defeated stance.

“What’s your name?”

> “Tara Romano.”

“Ever worked in a barber shop before?”

> “No. I used to work in a bank…”

His expression didn’t change.

“I’m not looking for paperwork.”

> “I’m organized. I show up on time. I… I just need a chance.”

He raised an eyebrow. The silence lasted too long.

And then he said:

> “Come tomorrow. 9:00 a.m.”

Tara blinked. Relief bloomed. She nodded.

But he stopped her.

> “Actually, no. Make that 8:00 a.m.”

She frowned. “You said—”

> “I changed my mind,” he snapped. “If you want this job, prove to me you’re early, not just on time.”

His voice was sharp. Like a razor laid flat across your skin. Not cutting—yet.

He stepped closer.

> “And one more thing, Tara Romano. If you come even a minute late… don’t bother knocking.”

Her heart was thudding.

She nodded. Quietly.

> “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he muttered, pointing to her clothes.

> “Wear something decent. This isn’t a beggar’s shelter.”

That night… something shifted.

Tara didn’t play her games.

She didn’t scroll through social feeds or bury herself in strategy simulations.

She washed her face.

Pressed her clothes.

Untangled her hair for the first time in weeks.

She set two alarms.

She put everything on the chair next to her bed.

And for the first time in months… she fell asleep before midnight.

[🎧 Soft ticking returns • Clock strikes 7:55 a.m.]

And when the next morning came—

There she was.

Standing outside Barbiere di Salim, wearing a soft yellow blouse, a navy skirt, and her hair tied in a tight, oiled ponytail.

Hands trembling.

Apron clutched tightly.

Eyes alert.

Exactly. At. Eight.

The door creaked open.

And Salim… said nothing.

He merely stepped aside.

And Tara walked in.

She didn’t know it then, but the second she crossed that threshold…

Her life was never going to be the same again.

[🎧 Sound fades out • Rose’s breath pauses for a second]

“That was just the beginning, darling. In Chapter 2…

Tara signs the contract. And the clipp

ers… come alive.”

To be continued....