An Ocean of Lies (AFOS II)

Chapter 28: Laurentius

It was nice to wake up wrapped in silk bedding and listening to the birds in the window, as opposed to the usual croaking of vendors and rumors of the multitude beneath the College of Magi in the market. His hair was still wet from the shower, but no problem, of course, it could be easily fixed with one of Lady Evangeline's enchanted towels. She took care of every detail, always, not one thing left to chance when it came to pampering her guests: he'd missed it. Trading all that luxury for his former instructor's hovel had been quite the shock, he shuddered just by thinking of it; the man never even bother to pay for decent mattresses and refused to link his home to the aqueduct of Bolton's reach. Bringing water from the well every morning, heating it with magic— all part of his training, according to the dreadful old fart. But he had been the only mage willing to teach him dark magic, the only one he could contact, at least. It had been worth it. Of course it had.

He rubbed his eyes.

He checked himself in the mirror. His long hair, neglected for a while now, wasn't as smooth and wavy as he liked without the oils he had tucked neatly in a drawer in his room at the college. But he could work with it, he loved wearing it up anyway, maybe some jewelry? A few pearl strings waved into his glossy tresses would cause quite an effect, and why stop at pearls? Diamonds. His host had left a small array of jewelry at his disposal, it would be rude to ignore it, wouldn't it? Besides, he was, after all, going to a mass at The Cathedral of Mist. Lady Evangeline had sent one of her servants with a pile of neatly folded clothes, in his favorite colors, of course. A black velvet cape with gold embroideries. A deep purple pair of tight leather pants, with shiny black loafers to match. A tight black leather waistcoat with golden buttons and delicate embroideries. A Black velvet frock adorned with a golden lace collar, lined with a purple interior; he turned around as he put it on, the tail brushed his ankles, tickling the slit of skin between his pants and the loafers. He clicked the heels of his shoes . A cream silk cravat, the finishing touch, enchanted to catch all the light spectrum, depending on where one looked. Like the wings of a beetle, which he'd soon become. Ugh. None would get to see his wonderful getup. But he'd know, and it would be enough.

He did his hair in a low ponytail, tied by a pearl and diamond string that tangled in his hair. He took some golden powder from the makeup drawer, made sure to cover his cheeks, delicately. Some heavily-applied eyeliner. Red powder in the middle of the lips. He'd pass for a noble, any day. He scoffed. Their loss. No perfume, that day. Beetles didn't smell of ambergris, vanilla beans and cassis, sadly.

Lady Evangeline waited downstairs, her blood-red dress, covered in delicate pearls, her hair neatly brushed and tied up in a low bun. No jewelry but a necklace, depicting the Onturian faith's symbol, a circle encased by a downward triangle with a crown on top, to make sure everyone knew she was of noble birth, a gift from the King to every highborn for their baptism. It was also her key to the heart of the Cathedral of Mist, quite literally, enchanted to allow the wearer into the inner Core. A white full-face mask with painted golden lips, tied to her waist by a black velvet ribbon. That beautiful handcrafted mask did more than just make her look fashionable: they were close to an ethereal tide, the fog was thicker than usual, and that overly ornate screen kept her from choking in the fog and ruining her beautiful makeup. He wouldn't need one, sadly. He did love the dramatic effect of them.

Wyn had already made herself acquainted with his host, by the looks of it. Her face, covered in cookie crumbs, didn't look as funny as the dress she was wearing. She almost looked decent with her hair pulled up and everything. A little lady: who would've thought.

Wyn wrinkled her nose at him "You didn't have to wreck the carriage," she said. "I could fix it later, if you get me some alchemical tools. The lady says you'll fix her roses: good luck with that," she sighed.