I still had one more burning question to ask her, but I held it on my tongue as I followed her to the mirror. She stood before the glass and I brought out my board and clipped the paper to it, sitting close enough so that I had a clear view of her reflection.

The sight of her was chilling.

Terrifying and magnificent—the elements of a nightmare. I began to draw her true face. I soaked in the wild silver of her hair and the traces of forest that grew within it, the rocky planes of her face, the sharp crookedness of her bloodstained teeth, the shining slant of her horns, the unquenchable pools of her eyes. She was fierce and terrible and yet wholly tame in that moment as I strove to bring her to life on paper.

My hand was aching when I was finished. I stood and unclipped the parchment and set it into her waiting palms. Mazarine’s delight was nearly overpowering as she studied herself.

She said nothing, but her eyes were like dew, and she eventually looked at me again. She reached out and brushed my cheek with her cold knuckles.

“Wait here,” she said. “I need to fetch a few things for your disguise.”

I nodded, my voice hung in my throat, and I watched her depart the room. Thankful for the time alone, I resumed my seat and procured a new sheet of parchment and a fresh stick of charcoal.

I began to draw my final piece of art.

I designed my disguise, how I wanted to appear after Mazarine took half my heart away. An unexceptional face, an ordinary girl who would not garner a second look on the street. A few freckles, because I liked them, and bold brows because I had always wanted that in my own face. But the rest was plain. I traded my wild copper hair for sleek, long tresses the color of summer soil. A medium-brown shade that was rather dull indoors but boasted a hint of gold in the sunlight. No more gill scars in my neck or dimples in my cheeks. My eyes molted their dark brown for a shade of hazel. I gave up two inches of my height. The square cut of my jaw was narrower, and my skin would retain its pale shade.

I finished my sketch long before Mazarine returned. I was exhausted, so I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, resting until I heard the doors groan.

I rose to meet her.

At once, I was overcome by the stench. She was holding a goblet of something foul smelling, a cloudy liquid that made my stomach roil. I didn’t want to know what she had cooked and blended to make it.

She seemed unperturbed by the smell, interested by the sketches I had made.

“Ah, your disguise,” she said, admiring them. “Although I must say I am surprised.”