Keeping her attention fixed in the physical plane so she could experience the tree as art before she experienced it as craft, Jane followed Vincent around it, first noting that she was mistaken about motion, for the tree swayed gently in an unseen breeze. A few steps ahead of her, Vincent’s breath huffed in a way she recognised as approbation, and a moment later, Jane understood why. What she had originally taken as movement was a transformation. As she continued around, the trunk shifted to become a dryad, and then the tree vanished entirely, leaving only a beautiful woman dressed in a short toga. None of the elements of the original tree were visible. Jane could no longer restrain her curiosity. She let her vision expand into the ether so she could see the threads of glamour that had been so deftly woven. The structure of the tree was visible in this light, but she could not yet tell how it had been arranged so that it was not revealed to the natural eye. Tracing one of the folds which created the pink glow of the woman’s skin, Jane resumed her walk around the tree, wishing for Vincent’s arm to steady her, as her sense of the physical world had been dampened. Moving with care, Jane followed the thread around until she found the twist which caused it to double back on itself. That twist was the marvel, for it had begun in green and now reflected only the pinks of the woman’s skin. A twist, though, seemed insufficient to explain what she was seeing, since the structure of the threads appeared altered by the process. Jane stopped walking and let her cognizance drop as deeply into the glamour as she could, standing riveted for some moments before she located the element she was missing. The thread did not simply twist; it was twisted around another thread coming from the opposite direction. One conveyed the information about the woman, the other the information about the tree, and, bound together, they both supported and masked each other. Only at the sides could one see both sets of folds at once, which accounted for the sense of movement as different proportions of the folds became apparent. ‘Remarkable.’

She let her cognizance return to the physical world, her breath coming a trifle quicker than the exertion merited, but entirely understandable given her excitement at the technique. Had the dryad merely been behind the tree with the spreading branches still visible, Jane would have thought nothing of the illusion, but to have it completely transform in this manner offered endless possibilities. ‘Truly, M. Chastain, this is wonderful. Yes, that is the right word, for I am full of wonder, not simply at the technique, but at the mind which created it. Am I correct that you are using complementary threads for – forgive me, I am not certain of terms – for the twisting in a double-weave?’