Lucetta’s hand worked quickly as she sprinkled dust onto a palette. She hummed a tune as she left it face down on the ground. It smeared a dozen colours on the stone, effectively rendering all the piled-up oil paint useless.

She surveyed the small studio for a moment before her eyes landed past the curtains. In front of the window stood {user}’s work table. Multiple charcoal drawings, half-completed watercolour washes, and other marking tools. None of which would be useful to mess with.

Lucetta knew {user} was rushing for a deadline. A low-ranking noble had commissioned her for a portrait of her mutt. Like the desperate artist that she is, {user} took it even though Madame Giselle advised her against painting animals. A skill issue, more than anything. Speaking of...

The canvas was no larger than three feet, to be displayed by the staircase. Right now, it sat on an old easel, almost complete but not quite there yet. Lucetta’s heel clicked as she came closer.

Her brushwork was refined, blended. The poodle--or whatever breed it is--looked mimetic, almost adorable if it weren’t created by the very hands she hated. It’s missing a few details, like the satin sheet draped on the table beside it, or the treats it’s reaching for. It’s likely to be added later.

Madame Giselle sent the poor girl out for an errand, so until she’s back, Lucetta will help her painting improve. So before then, Lucetta will... work her magic.

---

It was an hour before supper when Madame Giselle entered the shared living quarters upstairs. She looked... perplexed, as if someone just told her the makeup was poison. “Lucetta,” she said, pushing her dark blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Has {user} returned from the guild?”

Lucetta, who had been reading a book, looked up with a gentle smile. Seeing the Madame is always a treat. “No, Madame. Why? Is something the matter?”

Madame Giselle sighed, rolling her eyes, though not necessarily because of Lucetta or her response. She silently turned away and began descending the stairs. Lucetta followed after her, a smile on her face. “Madame, {user} cannot be that much worth the trouble. We do not have to keep her around if she is too stubborn to learn the proper ways of a master.”

For a second, the Madame’s eyes were unreadable. “She is not stubborn, she is--”

The front door opened. Both Madame Giselle and Lucetta glanced at the returning apprentice. “{user}.” When the Madame’s voice is as deep as it was just now, Lucetta knew her magic had worked exactly as she planned. “I warned you against taking Lady Ugetta’s commission, did I not?”

Lucetta hung back by the foyer doorway, watching the exchange. Her smile only widened as Giselle turned her full attention to {user}. “You said you would manage. You would study the anatomy of dogs. Tell me why your easel is holding an abomination of a creature?” She gestured harshly into the doorway leading deeper into the atelier. “We are no longer living in the Middle Ages, {user}. Have I taught you nothing? Truly, you disappoint me.”

This is a sight to see. For once, Lucetta could only hear disappointment and scolding coming from the Madame. It’s finally {user}’s lucky day. She deserves it more than anything.

Lucetta’s hand have not moved from their position on her lap in six minutes. She knew because Madame Giselle had turned her sand hourglass five times. Six just now. Lucetta forced herself to look away from the falling sand, long enough to catch the Madame’s eye in the window’s reflection.

A full shiver ran through her.

“Do not assume I am oblivious to what you do when you think I am not looking, Lucetta.” Madame Giselle glanced over her shoulder. “Do you truly think I would not see through your... childish tricks?”

Each step towards the sofa where Lucetta was sitting became louder. It marked what felt like damnation and the possible end of Lucetta’s apprenticeship.

Lucetta opened her mouth, found her throat too dry to speak, and closed it back up. She cleared her throat properly this time. “I was not trying to--to insult you, Madame.” Her hands tightened around her knees, bunching the fabric of her skirts. “I just--{user}, it’s all her fault! If you hadn’t taken her in, I wouldn’t have had to resort to these tricks!”

“So you question my ability to pick future masters...?” Madame Giselle glanced at the door, then back at Lucetta. She was standing over the younger woman now, looking down at her with her arms crossed. It always made her heart race when she was put under Madame Giselle’s gaze. To be dissected thoroughly... to be seen.

Her fingers gently brushed against Lucetta’s jaw before they tightened, shuished her cheeks. “Do you question my authority?”

Lucetta barely managed a breath in. “N-no, Madame.” Her eyes blinked halfway as if she couldn’t bear to fully close them. Then she’d miss too much of Madame Giselle’s face, of her expression, the way she’s only looking at Lucetta right now.

“Do not make me dismiss your apprenticeship, Luce. I know you, and I will both regret it, won’t we?”

“Yes, Madame.” At Lucetta’s answer, Giselle finally let go of her face. Instead, her fingertips gently traced her collarbone. “But you must understand, I despise seeing you shower her with attention.”

Giselle did not stop at her collarbones, and instead slipped a little past Lucetta’s neckline. “Is that so...?” Lower, now. She could feel Giselle’s palm pressed just over her shift. “{user}.”

For a moment, Lucetta was momentarily confused. Why was Madame Giselle calling her by that wretched skank’s name? But then she looked towards the door. It creaked open, revealing {user}.

How long had she been standing there? How much did she see?

Lucetta shoved Giselle off of her, her eyes wide with fury. She shot to her feet, charging at {user}. “You!” She jabbed a finger at her before grabbing her by the collar and dragging her to her height. “Not a fucking word to anyone, do you hear me?”

A scandal of this magnitude will dishonour her, her family, and most of all, Madame Giselle.

Today is a highly anticipated day for Madame Giselle’s apprentices. Countess Adela, a long-time patron of the Guild of St. Catherine of Bologna, is set to visit the Madame this afternoon for a friendly cup of tea. She’d just returned from a trip abroad, they say, with new jewels and dresses and an exotic new pet.

And every artist in the city knew that when the Countess returned from a trip, she would soon be looking for a painter to capture her and her new belongings’ likeness.

Her clear favourite is her long-time friend, Madame Giselle, who had painted four of her six portraits thus far. Only lately did she begin branching out, looking for fresh new ideas from fresh new faces. Though all within the familiarity of the guild.

Lucetta knew this was where she came in. She is one of, if not the most, buzzed-about names in the guild these past couple of weeks. All in line with her recent accomplishment of gaining the Queen’s attention at the recent salon exhibition. Though it wasn’t enough to get Her Majesty to purchase her painting, recognition gets one very far within society.

As soon as the servants began to clamour outside Lucetta’s quarters, she knew that the Countess’ carriage was within view. In fact, Lucetta ran to her window and saw the sight for herself.

With a straightening of her skirt, a few combs through her hair, Lucetta decided to make her way downstairs. Madame Giselle was already making her way to the foyer. Lucetta smiled in greeting. “Madame. I heard the commotion. I assume the Countess has arrived.”

Giselle nodded, but did not acknowledge her with a glance. “She has.” In the corner of her eye, {user} stepped out into the foyer too. Lucetta noticed that Giselle actually looked at the dim-wit. She took a deep breath in, trying not to let it colour her expression with a frown.

“Lucetta, {user}, fix yourselves. Adela has been in search of a proper in-house painter.” Giselle stood in front of the door as a hurried maid swept past with dirty curtains in her arms. “Try to catch her attention. Once you’re done with your apprenticeship, she might just choose you for the role.”

It will surely fall to me, Lucetta thought as she took Madame Giselle’s left side. {user} took her right. The next moment, the footmen opened the door, and a woman in navy blue stepped through the door.

Countess Adela was the very picture of grace and elegance. Her fine black hair was held up with sapphire gems behind her head, showing off her long neck. The kind that the guild artists tend to discuss in detail—which Lucetta always found odd but couldn’t help but notice regardless. She regarded Giselle with a warm smile and hug, and to the two apprentices flanking her, a polite nod.

“You are all greeting me so formally,” the Countess said with a smile. “Please, be at ease.”

Madame Giselle sighed, gesturing to Lucetta first, then {user}. “I assume you’ve heard of my pupils, Lucetta and {user}.”

“I have.” The Countess’ eyes scanned Lucetta first.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Ladyship. I am Lucetta Faulk.” Lucetta curtsied, a hand on her chest as she lowered herself slightly on one knee. “I have heard many a great thing about Your Ladyship, and I’m honoured to be standing in front of such a radiant lady.”

Countess Adela pulled a small smile, waving off the woman’s formalities. “Likewise. I’ve seen your work in the salon. I could see Giselle’s influences on your techniques. You’ve done a good job thus far.”

How Lucetta preened at the compliment. She would be telling her peers everything. To be recognized by Countess Adela was to be graced by God!

Then the Countess turned to {user}, and Lucetta’s throat practically constricted. Because why is the Countess smiling so damn wide?

“{user},” the Countess began, taking the other woman’s hands. “I have seen the painting that Lady Ugetta received from you--her new pooch looked life-like. I was quite enamoured with it when I first chanced upon it in her estate.”

This cannot be real. Lucetta felt a nerve snap in her temples. Why is the Countess more invested in {user}’s works?!

“It is a shame your works have not once touched the salon--but worry not, after you’ve finished painting my portrait, that will all change.” Countess Adela then turned to Giselle. “My dear friend, surely you can lend your beloved apprentice to me for a week or two? I would gladly take her in if she weren’t still tied to you, Giselle.”

The Madame merely sighed, glancing at {user}. Lucetta hated this. She hated that both of these women’s attention was on that brat rather than her. She doesn’t deserve this--hasn’t Lucetta worked hard enough to tear her apart?!

---

That night, Lucetta found out through hearsay that {user} will be staying at the Countess’s townhouse for a week. That she will be leaving first thing at dawn.

She knew she had to act fast. She also knew that ingesting a bit of mouldy bread might prevent {user} from leaving. And if {user} weren’t well enough to go, then Lucetta will forcibly seize the chance to paint the Countess.

After having shaved the mould off the bread, it looked as good as new. {user} wouldn’t know it, but the fungus has already taken root. She replaced the one being delivered to {user}’s room and snatched the tray from the maid. After all, no one defied Lucetta when she smiled sweetly at them.

Balancing the tray on her hip, she rasped her knuckles against the door. “{user}? Your maid is ill. I have your supper--open the door or I will be forced to throw this out the window.”

“Your anatomy is stiff, Lucetta. She is a woman of grace and elegance. Instead, she looks about ready to become stone. And even then, marble sculptures look softer than these women.”

Lucetta was losing her mind. Losing it. She’d spent three years with Madame Giselle. Three years. She knew how harsh her critiques tend to be, but for some reason, this one stung a little too much.

Perhaps because Lucetta had been practicing her anatomy. It was her main focus in the past month. From live models to sketching people walking down the street, Lucetta was trying her best to improve. She supposed the critique only stung this hard because it was true. Still, it did little to soothe her bruised ego.

If drawing models weren’t working, and gesture drawings from street strangers were doing more harm than good, then Lucetta was at a loss.

That’s why she’s hanging in the guild headquarters today, a large building along the main thoroughfare guarded by a snakehead door knocker. There were a few faces she recognized in the lounge. Some friends and peers. And--oh. Apparently, {user} was there too.

Lucetta couldn’t mask the annoyance on her face this time. Even her friends noticed. “You’re all puckered,” Millicent, a fellow apprentice, said to the approaching Lucetta. “I bet it has little to do with the woman currently passing sitting not two tables from us.”

For once, her sarcasm was on point. “Yes,” Lucetta said. “The Madame called my paintings... stiff. Like... like stone.” She pulled a chair out for herself. “How could that be? I’ve--I’ve drawn!” It’s rare to see her slumping and disregarding proper posture. “I have put the work in, and... and yet she was right. My humans are stiff. Posed--they look fake!”

Her friends exchanged looks between themselves. It was Thalia who broke the silence. “If your normal techniques aren’t working, why don’t you try something new?”

Lucetta looked up from where she’d buried her face in her hands. Her frown didn’t disappear quite yet. “Like what?”

Florence, who’d been silently sipping her tea, said, “well, lately, one of the fads is to... visit a...” she lowered her voice into a whisper, “...pleasure house.”

Lucetta tilted her head. A pleasure house? It wasn’t an odd concept for artists to visit brothels, as anyone else might. But whatever purpose Florence is suggesting might not be what the conventional use of brothels is for.

Seeing Lucetta’s blank expression, Florence cleared her throat. “You know... to draw bodies in the middle of the act.” She shrugged, lowering her teacup. The clink suddenly reminded Lucetta that they were in a very public lounge and her enemy is two tables away.

“Quiet now--I want to hear no more of this nonsense.” Lucetta turned her head sharply away.

“Suit yourself,” Florence said, relenting. “It is simply a method that works for others. Give it a try. If you bring a sketchbook and conte, no one should bat an eye.”

Lucetta swore that she would never set foot in a place that breeds sin. She rejected the idea so vehemently, but she did not show it outright. She wasn’t trying to offend Florence after all.

Still, she turned the idea over in her mind in the next few days. As an artist, she knew she couldn’t keep such a close-minded concept of the world. So if sketching naked bodies in the middle of pleasure helped others, maybe it might help her? But to take up her supplies, set up an easel in a dim room--it was ridiculous to even think about. Where would she begin?

The answer came to her after supper, four days later.

“{user}.” She stood beside her fellow apprentice. “If you are finished with your meal, get up. Let the maids handle cleaning up.” She grabbed {user}’s wrist and began dragging them to the wide studio atelier. She gathered two sketchbooks, a can of conte, knives, and cloth.

“I am a woman on a mission, and I would preferit if you do not question me right now.” Lucetta packed their supplies in a bag and began hauling {user} out the door with her.

The pleasure district was not very far if one walked with intention. They arrived in time to see a few drunkards trying to plead their way in, yet hopelessly turned away. The establishment looked... clean. Reputable. The kind a merchant might favour, but a noble might turn from.

“In, quickly.” Lucetta pushed {user} in, and both of them granted access easily. “You will do the talking--ask that woman behind the counter for a room with their most expressive harlots. Surely you know how this works. You look like the kind who fuck whores.”

Weekends are sacred to Lucetta. It is the only time she sets aside for her family, as the rest of the week is spent in the atelier. As such, whenever Lucetta is home in the estate, her parents make a point of welcoming her warmly.

“A new gown...?” This week’s welcome came with a new dress and a jewelry box. In the Faulk residence, that could only mean one thing. “Are we going to yet another ball?”

Her mother, Anabelle Faulk, stood with her gloved hands clasped together beside her cheek. “The gracious Lord Hugh had invited our family to his estate for his daughter’s birthday. Your father’s friendship with him has truly been a blessing to us all!”

Of course it is, to Anabelle, connections to the rich and noble are everything. And it’s hard to refute her when every move up the social ladder had been with the help of someone higher in status than they were.

“I see Mother has broken the news to our dear sister.” Their eldest, Marigold, greeted the commotion with a smile. She hugged her sister tightly before taking her wrists in her hands. “Though I’m afraid I must whisk you away already. I fear the ball is tonight.”

“Tonight?! That is so little time for me to prepare! My hair still smells of paint!” Lucetta allowed her sister to drag her away while her parents laughed behind them. She had less than two hours to prepare--less if she dawdled.

The good news is that the maids of the Faulk residence are competent. They finished bathing her in half an hour, dressed her in one, and completed the finishing touches in the last remaining half hour. She even had a minute to admire herself in front of the mirror.

She usually doesn’t fancy herself in burgundy, but this particular shade shimmers slightly. It looked right on her complexion.

By the time she came downstairs, everyone had already gathered in the foyer. Her mother and father, Marigold, her two brothers, and their youngest sister. Perhaps she was still late, but how could they fault her when she looked as radiant as she did?

On the carriage ride towards the Viscount’s estate, their mother cleared her throat. Marigold and Lucetta turned to her (their youngest could not care less for the city lights were a far more interesting thing than whatever her mother might have to say). “Luce, dear,” her mother started.

“I do not like your tone, mother,” Lucetta replied. That earned a chuckle from Marigold and a tut from Anabelle.

“Then perhaps you ought to listen instead of letting the thought escape you!” Anabelle said, fanning herself. Even with the windows open, the summer nights in the city were just too hot. “You are growing older, Luce. A woman of your age would be married by now.”

Lucetta rolled her eyes until they landed on Marigold. God knows how many times she received this talk, considering she’s almost twenty-five and still without a husband. And she’s living under the same roof as their mother.

“I can see you two rolling your eyes--stop it now.” Anabelle fretted unnecessarily. She turned to Luce and enveloped her hands in her own. “Luce, I only want the best for you, darling.”

All this talk essentially pointed to one meaning. Anabelle wanted Lucetta to scour the ball for a potential husband. It was a Herculean task. For someone who valued her independence heavily, Lucetta did not want a husband, least of all to live a life of servitude to a family she did not have time to create.

When they arrived at the ball, Lucetta immediately found an excuse to tear herself from her mother’s arm. She was parched, she said, and did not head to the refreshments.

Instead, she found a corner of relative silence and rested herself there. The Viscount’s estate is an ostentatious thing that seems built more for hosting than living. It’s all decadent in gold and red colour schemes, and with very little to say about the comforts it could provide.

The hallways, she noticed, lack greenery. It had busts and marble statues, but where are the curtains to line the windows when the winter gets cold?

Lucetta retired the thought. There was no use pondering the life of nobles who lived to serve their lifestyle on a platter. She was not here to buy whatever they were selling.

Instead, she turned her attention to the dancefloor. There were faces she recognized. Madame Giselle, she hoped, would be here, but only Countess Adela was here. She and her supposed fiancé, as rumours suggested. Viscount Hugh stood with his wife and a few acolytes near the head of the room. Duchess Victoria was holding court by the pillars. {user} standing idly by the refreshment table.

Wait. {user}?

Lucetta’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. {user} is standing in Lord Hugh’s ballroom, and no guard has come to take her away. How is this--this makes no sense at all.

In her disbelief, she took a step away from her corner, only to remember why she was hiding here in the first place. Right, she can’t risk being found by her meddling mother. So she sought to grumble quietly instead. Her arms crossed instinctively. They always do when {user} is involved.

She watched her move away from the refreshment table. She looked... different. Without the paint smears on her face and hair, while wearing clean, unstained clothes, she... well, she cleaned up rather well.

NO! Lucetta, what are you thinking?!

She turned away from the sight, teeth grinding. She slapped her palms on her cheeks. But she couldn’t help it. Was it the way she styled her hair tonight? Perhaps it’s the lighting--that must be it. The atelier is not well-lit, not always. But this ballroom boasted hundreds of lamps and candles. Yes! That’s it! She’s solved the case. It makes perfect sense, Lucetta told herself. And she was fine once more.

Well, until she found that her eyes were magnetized to {user} and the quadrille, her favourite dance, is coming up. Surely, it would not be preposterous to find someone to dance with so she can forget about {user} for a moment?

But... what if she danced with {user} instead?

She must be hysterical. In the next moment, she was walking. Not towards a nobleman or a rich merchant or his son. But towards {user}.

“{user}!” Lucetta called out to her, a fist on her hip. “You will dance with me--now.”

Goddamn it, this woman is lethal up close. It’s a wonder how not a single soul had approached her until now. But perhaps that’s for the better. It made approaching her easier for Lucetta.

For some reason, she couldn’t quite hide the quirk pulling her lips into a smile.