Phony Potions

Chapter 32

As we neared the town gate, I assessed Winsor. "You know, you can't go out like that," I said.

Winsor regarded me skeptically for a moment before leaning to his side and peering toward the town gate. The guards stood there, chatting as it appeared no one was within sight to see them. Their torches flickered in the moonlit night, highlighting the enchanted perfection of the neatly arranged stones. Lights bounced around in the puddles left from the earlier rain.

"You think they'll stop me?" he asked. There was a confident edge to his voice, and unlike his usual wavering bravado, this wasn't put on. I shook my head, and glanced over my shoulder. I saw the main problem with Winsor remaining with his current appearance. Said problem had been with us ever since exiting the cabaret. He was lurking a block, nonchalantly chatting up a vendor of small leather strap necklaces with pretty stones suspended from them. His dark black uniform made him appear more as a recess between the other citizens rather than a person himself in the shadows of the night. I'm sure that's how he preferred it as a member of the BROS organization.

"It's not the town guard I'm worried about," I said. Without pointing, I gestured back at the BROS. Winsor leaned forward, following my gaze. He brushed a lock of hair out of his face.

"Yungtora? From the BROS?" Winsor asked. "Oh, you are mistaken. They are not my bodyguards; they just run trivial errands for my father. See, BROS stands for Blythe-Reglar Officers of Service."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Maybe he's babysitting you from afar? It's not much of a rebellious excursion if your parents are still watching you."

Winsor's face was a mask of confusion. Him being a good soft-spoken younger child, he didn't understand the idea of being difficult to be difficult. I was beginning to understand why this kid was unpopular with his peers.

"We need to either find a way out that's not the front door or make a disguise."

"Oh. Why didn't you say that?" Winsor asked. He took a few steps to the right, until he stood halfway in an alley between two houses. Out of the line of sight of the BROS, he spoke to himself.

"Although my core shall be the same, to evade, I need a new frame." Winsor chanted. For a moment nothing happened, and then I noticed his hair was gradually lightening. It kinked up, going from the slack raven locks it originally had been to wavy tresses. The color on his skin bloomed, the emergence of a healthy sun kissed tint to his skin appearing even in the dim light of the flickering lamps. Freckles, like ants fleeing a mound under attack, flew across his face from the bridge.

The clothes around him shifted around his body. The dark hue drained

away, leaving a fashionable azure blue trimmed with gold in its place. The sleeves shrank, puffing up below the shoulder and then cinching at the elbow. The long robe shrank until it was a tunic, falling modestly halfway between the knee and the thigh, revealing white tights and a pair of shoes just shy of being fine enough to be made by his brother Bernard. I blinked.

"Is this... an illusion?" I asked.

"Illusions are tricky, you have to keep in mind everyone affected. For when you don't know who you will be deceiving, it is truly easier to transform yourself than the mind of another."

Winsor strode out of the alley. He was the same age, height, and weight, but more handsome.

"Can you... transform into anyone?" I asked.

"Hmm, within reason," Winsor said. "The closer they are to me the easier it is. This isn't too straining, since I used to disguise my appearance frequently to escape the callous frivolities of my brother, Goldwynn, Ricardo, and the others...." He trailed off, noticing my hopeful expression.