Iris placed the dirty coin on its side and spun it. Its trajectory curved around her hand, dancing according to an imaginary waltz. Its muted glimmer blinked in and out of existence. Her eyes reflected its transient brilliance while her expression reflected its lasting impression.

  Since Iris kept quiet, Antina and Black Light maintained their silence. Antina adjusted the blanket over her mistress and poured her another cup of refreshing evening tea; she focused on the coin, its features, and the implication etched beneath its appearance, but she could not glean her mistress’s thoughts.

  “Lady Iris, I have an urgent message.” A few knocks and a soft voice interrupted the moment.

  Antina frowned, but Iris caught the coin and voiced her approval. Utasia entered the room and, looking around, found Antina examining her. She neatly bowed to The Founder’s daughter, raised gracefully, and ambled to her mistress’s desk.

  Her methodical movements left little flaws, enough to lend authenticity but not enough to blemish her image. Her long blue hair swirled with her steps. Her bright confident eyes glittered when facing her mistress.

  Antina shifted her posture. Her silhouette slipped through reality. She appeared in front of her mistress, standing before Utasia.

  “Your manner—”

  “I told her, Antina,” Iris said. “She’s been working hard.”

  Antina paused. She eyed Utasia, peeked at her mistress, and relented, stepping out of Utasia’s path.

  “Mistress,” Utasia said. “My imitation is still imperfect. It might fool strangers, but it cannot escape watchful eyes.”

  “You’ve done exceptionally well; isn’t that right, Antina?”

  Although reluctantly, Anitna nodded. “What are you planning, Mistress?”

  “A surprise, mayhap?”

  “Please don’t give vague answers.”

  “Merely a failsafe.” Iris smiled before returning to Utasia. “Your urgent message shouldn’t be your progress, should it?”

  “A lady requested your presence, Mistress.” Utasia straightened her back. “Melan Vistarian, a professor at Royal Magic Academy. She . . . suspects your identity.”

  Iris raised her right hand to stop her subordinates from doing anything unnecessary. She collected the coin, organised the documents, and tapped the desk bell. Its lingering sharpness cut through the heavy silence.

  “Tell the ladies not to bother her. Our secrets are safe.”

  “We’re concerned about yours,” Utasia said. “She’s a Pure One, with ties to the imperial family. Although no high nobility, the Vistarian family remains close to the inner circle.”

  “To be like me, Utasia, you must possess great confidence.”

  Despite her best efforts, Antina chuckled. “She’ll end up learning bad habits.”

  Utasia nodded. “We’re worried; you’re sometimes too focused, too stubborn. You should rely on us more.”

  “Am I not doing it now?”

  Utasia was speechless. “Please be careful.”

  “When have I been reckless?”

  A pair of Monster Girls arrived to take care of Iris’s attire. They adjusted her dress and lightened her makeup and perfumes. She rewarded them with a soft cheek kiss and ordered them to lead her downstairs.

  Utasia glanced at Antina. Their gazes met. Utasia took a deep breath and stilled her heart. She closed her eyes and, recalling her mistress’s advice, reopened them with a newfound disposition. She flashed a faint smile, her sharp eyes brightening.

  Nothing in the room could taint her radiance; she walked to Antina. A persistent glare pressed down on her body, but the pressure fell like dust upon her. No one could shake her heart, no one except her beloved.

  She seated herself on Iris’s desk and took over some unfinished documents. The sound of her quill grazing the scrolls permeated the office.

  “Marvellous…” Black Light said. “To think that she could’ve imitated our Iris.”

  As Black Light walked to the oblivious Utasia, a wisp of pure violet light glimmered around Utasia. Black Light stopped. The wisp transformed into a translucent halo, from which tiny wings sprouted. The devilish feathery wings waved, danced, and seduced the atmosphere into a strange one.

  Black Light laughed. Her mystical tone echoed throughout Shivering Heart Salon. Antina instinctively tensed. Utasia raised her head. They detected nothing.

  Only Iris, who descended to the ground floor, turned around. An invisible string connected her with her believer, her new and eager follower. Emotions elsewhere flowed into her.

  Another wisp of Faith manifested in her chest. She couldn’t stop herself from chuckling.

  “Is there something wrong?” her attendant said.

  “It was a welcomed surprise.”

  “Must we do anything?”

  “Accompany me until the end.”

  The two Monster Girls blushed. Their scaled bodies warmed with the expectation of their mistress’s gentle touches, hot breaths, and charming voices wiggling in their ears. Although they had disguised well their bewitching appearances, they couldn’t hide their emotions.

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  Iris stepped onto the first floor. Faint perfumed air lingered around her. Relaxing music perpetuated the misty atmosphere, in which singers gracefully swayed and voiced their emotions, in which waitresses served and satisfied their customers, in which ladies hinted and whispered desires forbidden on the outside.

  For a singular second the song faded. Curious gazes converged on the lady who descended from the upper floors. Only the exalted guests and enigmatic members of the salon could enter and leave the upper floors.

  Iris looked at a violinist, who shyly resumed her performance. The world received her signal and continued their liveliness. Iris smiled at the violinist before she headed for a quiet corner bar.

  The bartender served multiple ladies. She paid most of them minimal attention; her smile often steered toward the fidgeting girl in formal attire. Melan carefully sipped her cocktail, which was stronger than she anticipated.

  A few ladies had approached her, but she declined their advance. Her expressions must’ve amused them, for they kept teasing her as if she were their little sister.

  She never thought she would return to this strange world. These people, shrouded in veils of hazy radiance, expressed their naked thoughts. They mingled with strangers, friends, lovers, and beings of different natures. Which of these ladies hid beneath her charm a corrupted soul?

  She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t expose herself to such a dangerous game, not when she was vulnerable, not when she should be against them.

  Melan took a big gulp of her fruity cocktail. It burned her throat and warmed her stomach. Through the reflection on her round glass, she could see her cheeks redden.

  She reached for a sweet cookie before she realised she didn’t order it. The bartender had already retreated to a different corner, and the nearby ladies had left her alone.

  “Have you made up your mind?”

  Tensing, Melan turned to Iris, who had sat beside her, giving her a plate of cookies. Two other attendants sat too beside Iris. They chatted with themselves while sneaking a glance at their beautiful lady.

  “I shouldn’t be here.” Melan stood up. “Please excuse me.”

  Melan took a step, but the warmth in her stomach rushed to her chest. Her heart palpitated. The world gradually rotated around her. She attempted to hold to the bar counter but fell into a caring embrace.

  Rosy fragrance submerged her in a tranquillity that dispelled the heaviness in her lungs. She breathed in, breathed out, and recollected her fleeting thoughts. Iris looked at her, and she looked at Iris.

  “You shouldn’t have forced yourself to drink if you were weak against alcohol,” Iris said.

  “I asked for her recommendation.”

  “Our bartender isn’t used to firstcomer.” Iris caressed Melan’s hair. “You might end up agreeing to inappropriate requests.”

  “I wouldn’t regret it.” Melan widened her eyes. “I only feel lightheaded because I stood up too quickly.”

  Iris leaned in. Her face touched Melan’s. She closed her eyes grazed Melan’s cheek with her lips, and breathed in a subtle aroma.

  Melan shivered. A high-pitched moan left her. It was a tone she had never uttered, yet it bothered her little compared to letting Iris know of her sensitive heart.

  “You may have worse tolerance than you thought,” Iris whispered. “You’ve become quite red, Melan.”

  “I… please let me breathe for a bit.”

  “As long as you need.”

  Iris helped Melan to her seat and tapped the counter. Her attendants skillfully assumed the role of the bartender and prepared a fresh, bubbling mixer for their mistress. The rainbow drink shimmered before Iris, who held her glass, swirled the thick liquid within, and had a taste.

  The environmental murmurs crept away from the corner bar. Inaudible music replaced the anxious air and gave rise to a gentle breeze. Melan occasionally regulated her thoughts by inhaling and exhaling. With the corner of her eyes she spied Iris drinking liquor. She licked her lips, feeling dehydrated.

  The two faithful attendants pushed a glass of deep-blue spirit. Its midnight shade swallowed her gaze and reflected her desires. Her glittering eyes were hypnotising.

  She shouldn’t drink it. She shouldn’t let her drunken thoughts wander. She shouldn’t become so defenceless that Iris would have to protect her.

  She wasn’t thinking straight, was she?

  Melan drank the midnight brew. It tickled the back of her throat and dispersed coolness throughout her chest. She took a piece of cookie, broke it in half, and gave one piece to Iris. Her shaky hand demanded an answer.

  Chuckling, Iris held that hand, bit on the cookie, and licked the crumbs on those slim fingers. Melan jerked back her hand. Tiny bits of cookie scattered on the counter.

  Her cheeks pink, she swiped her hands at the crumbs, but Iris caught her palm and pressed it on the cold surface of the counter.

  “Why are you doing this?” Melan said. “I’m … not going to follow your lead.”

  “You’ll lose your chance if you become too tense.”

  “What chance?”

  “Why haven’t you reported my identity?”

  Melan looked at Iris and around her. An invisible barrier isolated them from the outside world. She eyed Iris’s two attendants, who didn’t react to the admission. They only focused on their mistress’s hints, awaiting her lovely orders.

  “I have no concrete evidence,” Melan said.

  “Would you like to confirm it?” Iris touched her sleeves and slid her fingers down her upper arms. “I can fulfil your desires, teach you secrets you could never know, and drown you in newfound emotions.”

  “I’m still a professor!”

  “Your pupils will never know. No one but us.”

  The unique experience, one she would never once again come across, was before her. How better would her understanding of the world be, once she had immersed herself in the other half of the world?

  “I’ll never fall for your temptation, Lady Iris.” Melan turned away. “I’m just here to see whether you kept your promise.”

  “You do not have to believe me; they are willing to meet you.”

  “After what I’ve done?”

  “Right or wrong, shouldn’t they be the judge?”

  “I was supposed to protect them.”

  “Haven’t you been doing that?”

  Did she fail them? Had their lives become irreversibly worse?

  Melan observed Iris. She couldn’t force an answer. Maybe their falls were blessings instead of curses.

  She mustn’t jump to conclusions. Whether her pupils lived well, she would confirm it herself.

  “Why do you trust me so much?” Melan said. “I could’ve reported your identity and hideout.”

  “You’re kind, Melan.”

  Those words echoed as if another soul also spoke them. A vague silhouette formed behind Iris, of a petite lady, whose Corrupted appearance resembled still her humane features. She waved at her teacher, thanking her for her sacrifice. That visage lasted a mere moment, but it consumed Melan’s totality.

  Iris finished her drink and, gesturing to her attendants, whispered a few playful words. Once they left, she returned to Melan. She produced a crystal ring and a neatly decorated letter, signed by multiple ladies, some messily, some elegantly.

  She slid them to Melan, who pulled herself back from the trance. Melan suppressed her desire to question Iris; she accepted the crystal ring and reached for the letter.

  “Let me help you, Dear.” Iris grabbed Melan’s left hand, then carefully slipped the crystal ring around the ring finger. “Now you’ll forever have a part of her close to your heart.”

  “This… Olivia?”

  “A piece of her heart.”

  “Why is she so reckless? What if her core won’t heal?”

  Melan held the letter and examined the familiar names. Her students collectively wrote their comments and feelings. They gave her assurances, that they would be fine, that they had lived well.

  It was a letter of graduation, a small last wish.

  “I want to hold one last class for them,” Melan said. “No matter what, they’re still my students.”

  Iris only left behind a smile. She took with her the persisting fragrance of a thorny rose, which constricted all who dared to approach her. Her presence gleamed against the surroundings, but she still faded into a dot among the ocean of ladies.

  Alone, Melan was reading the letter. Over and over again. Their grammar has improved, but their clarity requires additional editing.

  They need her, don’t they?

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