Over the next few weeks, Valentina was constantly amazed at how quickly one got used to new circumstances – a deeply human trait, as Vyxara assured her.

Her days had settled into a new routine despite the oppression of normal university life by the Illuminator and his people. In the mornings she attended her lectures, in the afternoons she assisted Professor Whitehall with her healings and tried to learn what she could from her. On Monday and Thursday evenings she slipped through the back entrance of the sewing store to Violet Delights. The other evenings she devoted to her studies – or the sleep she desperately needed.

The substantial regular income gave her a new security that she had never known before. Not only could she send money to her family, she could also buy enough Distilled Essence. The constant lack of money that had accompanied her since her arrival in Bridgewater had disappeared.

The other courtesans had given her a warm welcome. Rose, a red-haired beauty with a cheeky laugh, showed her the best tricks for dealing with demanding customers. Violet, petite and gentle, generously shared her knowledge of how to best use the illusion artifact.

The customers themselves were a source of constant surprise and there were definitely a few oddballs among them. Master Firmin, a grey-haired scholar, insisted that they recreate historical scenes – he as a victorious general, she as a subjugated princess from times long past. And because in his fantasies he conquered many nations, he constantly wanted her to look different. His detailed knowledge of ancient battles was almost as impressive as his stamina, which she would not have expected from a man of his age.

Then there was Master Jenkin, a successful cloth merchant who saw himself in his imagination as a noble prince. He wanted her to address him as "Your Highness" while he described his imaginary lands to her in great detail.

"It's amazing how many elaborate fantasies are demanded, as if they do nothing but think about them all day," Vyxara said amused and was noticeably entertained during those weeks.

The biggest challenge was secrecy. The Illuminator had his informers everywhere, and the Emberwardens regularly patrolled the city. Valentina developed a sense of when it was better to take detours.

At the university, meanwhile, the rumor mill was churning about the Greystone Competition for the first-year students. The Illuminator had issued strict conditions – no "immoral displays of Essence Weaving".

"Have you heard about Eastwalds latest demand?" Crispin, who was almost fully recovered, whispered to her one afternoon in the library. "They have to record their Weaving patterns beforehand and have them approved by the Illumination. Anything else is considered heretical."

Valentina just shook her head. She was grateful that she no longer had to go through this madness. Her own worries were complicated enough.

One evening, just as she was safely stowing away her new shipment of Distilled Essence, there was a knock on her door. Her heart skipped a beat – but it was only Innogen who had come to talk to her, even though visits in other students' quarters were forbidden now.

"You've been so busy in the last few weeks," said her friend worriedly. "I just wanted to check that everything is all right with you."

Valentina felt a twinge of guilt. She had neglected her best friend.

"I have plans for today, but let's go for a walk in the garden tomorrow," she suggested. "We can talk there undisturbed. No one is out and about in this freezing cold and I want to tell you something that not everyone should overhear. Especially not the Illuminator."

Innogen nodded with relief and they agreed to meet on the next day.

"You really want to tell her that you work at Violet Delights?" Vyxara asked curiously.

"She's my best friend," Valentina thought back. "I want to keep as few secrets from her as possible."

~

Valentina found out by accident. She had arrived at Violet Delights earlier than usual and, as always, had sneaked in through the back entrance of the sewing store. Rose, who had a cold, had asked her to take on one of her particularly generous regulars in her place tonight, Sheriff Wutherford from a village near Bridgewater. Valentina wanted to discuss the details with Madame Dolorosa beforehand.

The door to Madame Dolorosa's private dressing room was ajar. Valentina was about to knock when she saw an unexpected reflection in the large mirror flanked by candles – a slender man with a fox-like face and long mottled grey hair stood in front of the mirror in one of Madame Dolorosa's silk dresses, thoughtfully closing the complex clasps of one of the illusion artifacts at his neck. It blurred before her eyes and Madame Dolorosa's familiar figure could be seen.

"Oh, how interesting!" purred Vyxara, amused. "Of course, that explains why her movements seem so perfectly rehearsed – because they are."

The man – Madame Dolorosa – froze when he noticed Valentina in the mirror. For a long moment, there was absolute silence, interrupted only by the distant laughter of the girls from the salon and the soft crackling of the candles.

"Well," she – he? – finally said with that cultivated contralto, which she now realized was actually a tenor, "this is indeed... an extremely unfortunate situation." Her posture remained elegant, even in this moment of exposure. "I suppose we should talk."

Valentina entered and gently closed the door behind her and Madame Dolorosa was suddenly the man again. The familiar scent of violets and dark musk hung in the air – Madame Dolorosa's signature perfume. "I suppose that would be appropriate."

"Maurice Delacroix," he introduced himself, indicating a formal bow that had a natural grace despite the absurdity of the situation. "Although I prefer to live as Madame Dolorosa. It's not a role, you see. It's who I really am."

"I understand," Valentina said slowly. And she really did – she recognized the longing in his light grey eyes, the need for this identity, which was obviously the truer one for him. This wasn't a pretense for the sake of profit or... whatever reason anyone would have to fake that. It seemed to be something much more fundamental.

Maurice – or rather Madame Dolorosa – went to an inlaid cupboard and took out a carafe of wine. Her movements were the same as always, precise and graceful. Nothing about her posture or her manners had changed, only her outward appearance. "You're the first to find out. In all these years. Most people only see what they expect to see."

She handed Valentina one of the glasses. The wine smelled spicy and heavy – an expensive variety from the south. "Sit down, darling. Let us speak openly. I think you have questions."

Valentina took a seat in one of the velvet-covered armchairs. "How did it start?" she asked cautiously.

Madame Dolorosa leaned back in her armchair, twirling her wine glass between slender fingers. "It's a long story. I came to Bridgewater almost thirty years ago, then still a young man from an impoverished noble family from Clairmontine. I had..." – she smiled self-deprecatingly – "certain talents in dealing with Essence and a good education, but no prospects. And above all, I knew I couldn't live as the person I was born to be. When I was young, even without an illusion artifact, I could pass as a woman without being recognized. I was already working as a courtesan back then, you know. Although of course I was always a little more limited in what I could offer than other courtesans."

In the hour that followed, Valentina learned the remarkable story of Violet Delights. How Madame Dolorosa had founded the establishment twenty years ago, initially as a small, inconspicuous house. How she had developed and perfected the illusion artifacts, inspired by her own longing for transformation. How she had built up a complex network of connections, favors and subtle blackmail that protected the house from unwanted attention.

"People see what they want to see," explained Madame Dolorosa and topped up her drink. "A mysterious, ageless courtesan? Of course she uses the illusion artifact to preserve her youth. No one suspects the simpler truth – that the illusion goes much deeper."

"Brilliant," commented Vyxara approvingly. "The most obvious explanation hides the true story. A lesson in the art of deception."

"And the other girls...?" asked Valentina hesitantly.

"Know nothing. They see me as a successful, independent woman – a role model of what they can achieve themselves." Madame Dolorosa smiled wistfully. "Sometimes I think it's precisely this illusion that gives them strength. The truth would only confuse them."

"You're very open with me," Valentina finally said.

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Madame Dolorosa put down her glass and leaned forward. In the warm light of the Essence lamps, her features appeared softer, more vulnerable. "Because I have the impression that you understand what it means to play different roles. To be different versions of yourself." She smiled knowingly. "You wear more than one mask too, don't you? The well-behaved student, the ambitious Essence Weaver, the duke's mistress, the courtesan... maybe even others?"

Valentina thought about the many facets of her life. Madame Dolorosa was quite right. Farmer's daughter, student, Essence Weaver, healer, courtesan, mistress of a duke – demon consort. The boundaries between these identities were sometimes blurred, but each was real in its own way. "I guess I do," she admitted. "Sometimes I wonder which version is the real one."

"Perhaps they are all true," Madame Dolorosa said gently. "We are complex beings, my dear. The world demands of us simple, clearly defined roles – but life is rarely so clear-cut." She rose gracefully and stepped to the window, muffled street noise filtering through its heavy curtains. "Look at me. I have created myself, piece by piece. Every gesture, every movement, every tone of voice – all carefully chosen and rehearsed. And yet it's more real than anything I was before."

"It takes courage," Vyxara remarked thoughtfully. "To recreate yourself so completely."

"You've built something remarkable," Valentina said sincerely. "Not just the store – but a unique place of opportunity."

Madame Dolorosa turned, a warm smile on her narrow features. "This is what I want to offer not only the customers, but also the girls. A place where they can transform themselves, where they can explore different versions of themselves. In a way, the illusion artifacts are just an outward manifestation of something we all do."

A soft knock on the door interrupted her. "Madame?" It was Violet speaking to her through the closed door. "Sheriff Wutherford has arrived."

"Ah, duty calls." Madame Dolorosa reached for her illusion artifact. "Would you...?"

Valentina helped her to close the complicated clasps. Before her eyes, Maurice transformed back into the familiar figure of Madame Dolorosa. "Perfect," she said and then, with her changed form, her voice immediately seemed to be the familiar contralto again. Fascinating. "And now you should prepare for the evening. Sheriff Wutherford gets impatient if you keep him waiting."

"Aren't you going to make me promise not to tell anyone about this?" asked Valentina, puzzled.

"No," said Madame Dolorosa thoughtfully. "I don't think I have to. I pride myself on my good eye for people and when I look at you, I see a woman who knows better than most how to keep a secret."

They both nodded to each other and never spoke about it again. There was nothing more to say.

When Valentina later put on the familiar illusion artifact herself, she looked at her altered reflection in the mirror with new respect. The art of transformation, the power of the chosen identity – she now understood better than ever what a gift it was. And she was certain that she had found a true ally in Madame Dolorosa.

"A remarkable woman," Vyxara mused.

"She is," agreed Valentina.

~

The next day, Valentina and Innogen met in the university's snow-covered garden. The icy cold had driven most of the students into the warmer rooms. Only a lone Emberwarden patrolled in the distance, wrapped in his burgundy cloak.

"This way," whispered Valentina, pulling her friend into their favorite hidden corner between the tall, bare rose bushes. "No one will overhear us here."

Innogen pulled her fur collar tighter around her neck. Her golden hair shone dully in the wintry light. "You're scaring me a little, Val. What's so important that we have to hide out here?"

Valentina took a deep breath. The moment of truth had arrived. "Do you remember the Violet Delights? That exclusive... establishment you told me about last year?"

"The brothel? Yes, I remember." Innogen frowned. "What about it?"

"I... work there. Twice a week."

Innogen stared at her, speechless. "As a courtesan?" she finally whispered in disbelief.

Valentina nodded. "It actually started in Dusktown. The duke... introduced me to Madame Dolorosa, who owns the Violet Delights. She offered me the chance to work at Violet Delights when I returned to Bridgewater. I... declined at first. But she explained how they work at Violet Delights. Madame Dolorosa created these incredible illusion artifacts – they are a true masterpiece of Essence Weaving."

"Illusion artifacts?"

"Yes. You insert a hair of the person you want to look like and the artifact creates a perfect illusion. Customers come with all kinds of different fantasies. Some want to see a specific woman they desire. Others dream of exotic princesses. All kinds of things."

"Like the transformation potions in the old fairy tales?" asked Innogen, fascinated.

"Almost. The illusion is perfect, down to the smallest detail. But it's just an illusion – you can't feel it, you can only see it. That's why the courtesans themselves have to have a certain... figure." Valentina smiled wryly. "The artifacts allow us to fulfill these men's fantasies. But more importantly, they protect our true identities. No one ever knows who we really are."

"But... why are you doing this? For the money?" Innogen asked quietly.

"For one thing, it's necessity, yes," Valentina admitted. "You know how much Distilled Essence it cost us to care for Crispin. I had no sources left to get Distilled Essence from, and I didn't want to sell the duke's gifts, so... I needed a way to get money for Distilled Essence. The payment is very generous. And besides..." She hesitated. "There's something else. The Illuminator is a regular there. Maybe I can find out something."

"Oh my goodness." Innogen sank onto a snow-covered stone bench. "That disgusting hypocrite! But... this is... this is insanely dangerous, Val. If he somehow recognizes you..."

"He won't." Valentina sat down next to her. "The artifacts are perfect. I'm not myself when I'm there. I'm Lily, the merchant's daughter from Clairmontine."

A faint smile flitted across Innogen's face. "Lily? Really?"

"Better than Rosalind, which is what Madame Dolorosa originally suggested," Valentina replied dryly.

This elicited a surprised laugh from Innogen. "Oh my goodness. She really does have a sense of humor."

The initial tension slowly eased. Innogen slid closer to Valentina, partly to share warmth, partly out of curiosity. "What's it like... there?"

Valentina talked about the other courtesans, the acquaintances she had made. What everyday life was like there. The strange mixture of professionalism and intimacy.

"It almost sounds... normal," Innogen finally said in amazement.

"In a way, it is." Valentina shrugged her shoulders. "It's a business like any other. In a way."

"And you really don't mind?" Innogen eyed her anxiously. "I mean... all these different men..."

"It's not as bad as you might think." Valentina smiled faintly.

A bashful blush rose in Innogen's cheeks. "Tell me more," she asked quietly. "I mean... if you like."

So Valentina talked about the bizarre, funny and sometimes touching moments. Of the old baron who just wanted to talk for hours. Of the shy merchant who fantasized about being a brave knight. Of Master Firmin, who wanted to see her as the sometimes unruly, sometimes frightened princess he had just conquered.

Innogen pressed a hand over her mouth, but her eyes betrayed her laughter. "And you just play along with this?"

"Why not? It's harmless enough. And far from the strangest thing I've experienced." Valentina leaned forward conspiratorially. "There's a cloth merchant pretending to be a prince. He insists that I call him 'Your Highness'."

Now Innogen laughed openly. "No! That can't be true!"

"Yes, it is! He describes his imaginary lands to me in great detail. You'd almost think he'd spent his whole life dreaming them up."

Soon they were both giggling together like immature girls. The cold was forgotten.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Innogen finally said, "but it almost sounds... exciting. Like a play where you get to play all the parts."

"It kind of is. Sometimes." Valentina became serious. Innogen reached for her hand.

"Take care of yourself, Val. Please. If the Illuminator somehow finds out...I don't want to lose you." Her face spoke genuine concern.

"You won't." Valentina squeezed her hand. "I'll be careful. And thank you. For not judging me."

"How could I?" Innogen smiled warmly. "You're my best friend. Don't you ever forget our vow."

They hugged each other tightly in the cold.

"We should go in," sighed Innogen. "Before the Emberwardens get suspicious."

On the way back into the university, Innogen stopped her once again. "Val? Thank you for telling me. For trusting me."

"Always," Valentina said softly.

That evening, as Valentina lay in her cold attic room, she felt strangely relieved. It was good to at least be able to be honest about this secret with Innogen.

"She took it better than I expected," Vyxara remarked. "True friendship is rare and precious."

"It is," Valentina thought as she drifted off to sleep. "It really is."

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