Personal Narrative-Star Wars

I lounged in my fluffy chair, day after day, week after week, listening to the silly nobles complain about their silly problems. Today, once again, I was stuck beside my king, my great talent wasting away as I listened to the old geezer rant.
“They are nothing but savages and we are rising to their aid,” His voice rung out, echoing through the extravagance of the crimson and violet hall. “The soldiers will need your help with provisions, bedding and weapons, so that they may accomplish their mission. These mages – ” A hand swept into my line of vision as he suddenly gestured to me, “ – make sure we have everything. We are the epitome of comfort and should be spreading this…” He continued to project passionately, but I tuned out again. Wars weren’t my style. Especially this one.
Being fought far on the west boarder, it

Even though our kingdom was overflowing with spells, enchanted trinkets and mercenary wizards, only one unachievable phenomenon had occurred. Though anyone could purchase spells to dye their hair, only one colour couldn’t be replicated, nor have a spell woven over, if it was natural. And much to my disgust, it was mine.
I’m the most powerful mage in the bloody kingdom, but I can’t change my own hair colour. What a rip off!
“It’s such a pretty colour, First Mage,” If Peijane had had even a single drop of mage ancestry, I would’ve accused her of telepathy. “But such a hindrance to your escapades.” She sighed, flipping her own, green hair over a shoulder.
“Tell me about it,” I sighed and she set to work undoing my ceremonial braids.
My hair made me easily identifiable, and therefore harder to avoid any guards roaming around. Everyone had heard of the golden-haired prodigy, locked in the castle for her whole life. But the joke was on them, when Pejiane covered her hands in a charcoal from a hidden container in my duchess, and set to work turning the gold into an ashen