Madame looked herself over in the mirror, taking a closer look at the new foundation she had put on.
She was located in a small room atop a tall building. Her surroundings were a plain, subdued gray, with nothing but a cupboard to her side and a mirror before her lovely image.
She held a sponge in her left hand as her right pulled a finger down her right cheek, testing the fortitude of the layer she had just applied. It was still a bit loose, delicate as it was.
Any four-star with a life affinity had perfect skin; that went without saying. Regardless of whether she used makeup or not, her beauty was something that no mortal could rival, no matter what they did.
But natural beauty was so plain. So boring.
So... unexpressive, really; insulting, even. Many shamed the fakeness of makeup, small and limited as their minds were, claiming that being "real" was the superior choice. All this attitude revealed was that they had no idea what they were talking about.
Humans didn't live in objective reality. Everyone crafted a fake world all in their head, a coat of paint over the uncaring coldness of the infinite multiverse. Where these coats of paint met, layering over one another in a nasty storm of clashing perspectives, that was the world humanity lived in.
Claiming that this construct was fake was failing to realize just how easily it could end one's life.
Makeup was but one manifestation of the power to control reality—to wield it to one's advantage.
Her pale skin had a hue that no makeup could replicate, but makeup could create many effects that natural hues couldn't. She could make her face more or less illuminated, add a flashy zest or an intimidating shade, a vibrant joy, or a mask of cruelty.
For her meeting with the empress, she decided on a naive look: puffy, pink cheeks, big eyes, and youth—lovely, fleeting youth that her ageless, mature appearance mercilessly refused to provide her with.
Her fingers went over to a brush, and she collected some blush, carefully applying it. Her movements paused as she sensed something.
Her talent—Life Signature—had a limited number of people she could use it on. As such, she had ensured that she kept most of these uses for important political figures. At that moment, she felt the approach of one of these signatures. She had to ensure that she did not make a move or betray that she knew this person was coming.
She felt them slip right past the security as if they weren't even there, moving past locked doors and into one of the highest-security buildings of Nova York as if they were taking a casual stroll through a park.
Without even a single hint betraying their presence, the target appeared standing behind Madame, just slightly outside the view of the mirror's reflection, arms locked behind their backs as they smiled at her. "Hello, Narcisse," a woman's voice sounded behind her.
Madame bounced in her chair and looked behind her, showing a modicum of surprise, just enough to not seem unnatural. "Leona!" she exclaimed, putting the brush down and getting up to shake the woman's hand. "How lovely to see you here!"
The woman who stood before her was a white woman with the same ageless aura as all those reaching the peak of power. She wore a uniform: a black, militaristic suit with a wide-brimmed peaked cap atop her short, green hair. Her appearance was like that of a general from the old world, but her function was way more hands-on.
Leona was an assassin—the best assassin in the entire world; well, the parts of the world that had active contact with the American Empire, at least. Her abilities were unknown to most, with likely only Madame and the empress understanding the extent of the woman's abilities.
The woman was a five-star, among the exceptionally few who didn't play a critical managerial role in the government or an influential extragovernmental organization. Her talent, in one way or another, allowed her to phase through surfaces, and her affinities were light, dark, and air. With the invisibility of light, the shadow manipulation of the dark, and the ability to eliminate sound through the air affinity, the only way to truly feel her coming was by extraordinary means.
What a wonderful subordinate to have, Madame thought. If she could use this woman for herself, she'd rule the world in no time. Her Matt was a genius, but he simply couldn't compete with Leona.
Leona smiled at Madame, a pleasant yet distinctly formal expression. "It is good to see you as well. I have come here under the orders of my mistress. She wishes to let you know that your meeting is scheduled for thirty minutes from now."
Madame had to use her essence to maintain a stony expression, desperately holding her eye back from twitching. Leave it to the empress to pull stuff like this. She sure loved keeping people on the back foot. "I thank you for letting me know, dear," Madame said, clasping the woman's hand in both arms and smiling up at her, choosing a disarming, cute smile for the job. "Please let Kaiya know that I will be there five minutes early at the latest."
"That will not be possible, Madame," Leona said, keeping her face neutral. "I was tasked with escorting you on your way there."
It was rare for Madame to feel like cursing. Unable to take a deep breath, she imperceptibly expanded her lungs to intake some extra air. "Oh my, that's wonderful! I thank you for your time," she said amicably. "Please wait a minute, dear. I was just about to finish applying my makeup."
An act she now had to alter. She pivoted slightly with the direction she was taking her finish. If she brazenly continued in the same direction, Leona, who was quite perceptive, would undoubtedly notice and internalize what she was trying to do, and while it was no significant infringement, Madame didn't feel like testing Kaiya's mood with frivolous deception.
Her options were quite limited, but her nearly 200 years of practice were enough to improvise an acceptable alternative. She settled on strong-young, the picture of her decorated mug interpretable as either that of a youthful lady forced to mature early or an old yet young-looking mistress holding a tight grasp on the spirit of her younger days. Closer to the truth than she'd like it,
"Your skills are quite impressive," Leona said, holding a tight, polite smirk pulled over her plain lips. "Most ladies I've interacted with tend to have someone else handle their looks."
Madame smiled guilelessly. "I couldn't!" she exclaimed with a girly giggle. "I love doing my own makeup. In fact, I find the thought of letting someone else do it ridiculous. What's the point of self-expression if you don't do it yourself?"
"I personally dislike makeup," Leona said, "but if I ever decided to dip my toes, I'd certainly try doing it myself."
Madame paused, arching her neck to glance at the woman's reflection in the mirror. "Are you trying to convince me that you've never done it? Camouflage should no doubt be a skill of yours, my dear."
Leona smiled a bit wider. "It's not quite the same thing, Madame. You've said it yourself."
Her hand didn't stop as she wrapped up her finish, and all she did in response was briefly nod in acknowledgment. The implication of that statement was quite apparent—one was for deception, and the other was for self-expression. Well, if one actually made a distinction.
A wise-ass as always, I see, Madame thought to herself.
Once done with her preparations, she got up and followed the woman. The two of them made their way to the rooftop, where a floating, old-fashioned carriage awaited them.
The view of the center of Nova York was beautiful. Tall, intricate buildings sprung up, many going even taller than the already impressively tall building they were atop. Countless structures floated around them, some slowly shifting positions as the owners traded places to change the view a bit. Either that or to grant those below a bit of sunshine.
Distantly, she saw the endless ocean spreading so far into the horizon that its edges were but a hazy mist of glimmering blue, the air refracting light in a way that made it seem like the sky and the ocean split each other apart rather than met in a straight line.
Naturally, Madame kept quiet about the exact details of how she figured the whole scenario out. The empress respected her vassals' need for privacy regarding their means and didn't pry further into the finer details.
Everything she had listed off up to that point had barely expanded upon the contents of her letter. There had to be a solid reason why the empress had invited her here, and depending on her response, it would become clear soon enough.
"I see," the empress said, nodding as Madame concluded her recounting. "That is quite the story. I must say, it is an incredible coincidence that the person you were going to interview is the same one involved in the damage caused by the expedition. You haven't mentioned this in your letter, but why did you book that man?"
"He was the first to discover the entrance to Faralethal."
The empress quirked an eyebrow. "I do not believe that's enough to land an interview with you." She smirked. "What's the catch?"
Madame smiled. "You're quite right. That was only the first thing that drew my attention to him. His story made my choice for me." She paused as she recollected her first impression of the man. "He was so perfect," she said, sighing lethargically. "Naive, young, hot-ugly guy with an attitude who is just ordinary enough to be relatable yet exceptional enough to stand out. A true underdog. A hero of the masses."
The empress didn't appear to be impressed at all, but the answer seemed to satisfy her curiosity. "And why were the Kraven after him?"
Madame sighed. "To be perfectly honest, I still do not understand why," she said, scowling a bit. "My best guess is that the man's proximity to the creation of the passage had resulted in the manifestation of a valuable unique, but I doubt that. He was indeed hiding something, but I never found out where, why, or how.
"I do know, however, that Mr. Maskaart was privy to this information and that he had leveraged it against the Kraven Clan to pressure them. I presume he knew they would act and waited to strike while the iron was hot. At any rate, the man was indisputably innocent of any crimes, and their actions were unjust on both ends."
The empress hummed. "I see," she said, tapping her chin with one finger. "I have a proposal for you if you'd like to hear me out," she said, smirking down at Madame.
Narcisse took a moment to settle herself, then nodded. This was most likely the reason why she was called here.
"I have a new project I'm trying to get on its feet in Starhold," the empress said. "We have recently discovered a technology that allows us to create a simulation that perfectly replicates an archhuman's body within a false world."
Madame's eyes widened slightly.
"But," the empress said, interrupting Madame's thoughts, "there is a catch. I can already see what you're thinking, and while you aren't wrong, I don't see this technology becoming commercially viable... ever."
"That expensive?"
"No..." the empress said playfully, a slight smirk quirking on her lips. "It's based on the talent of one person. He is a criminal who has been sentenced to death, but as an alternative, he's being kept alive as a core component of this system."
Madame held back a snort. Not only was that man probably not a criminal at all, but the fact that the empress was openly sharing this information with her was a sign that she had little choice in the matter of the offer that was about to come.
"You see, while Starhold is a generally successful project, we're recently seeing a decrease in the number of people willing to migrate there."
"I've heard the stories myself," Madame said, nodding.
Camp Violet was one of many examples of a project going awry. While few were as bloody as that, many have taken their fair share of lives and sent home a number of people with severe injuries and disfigurement.
"I expect nothing less of you..." The empress smiled. "That being said"—she slowly rose to her feet and started walking forward—"we are looking for ways to attract more permanent residents. And... well... an arena where nobody can suffer permanent injuries sounds like just the kind of place that would appeal to those afraid to die."
"And I presume you want me to promote this arena?" Madame asked, but—
"No, dear. I want you to become its face."
Madame's eyes shot wide open. "Deal," she said immediately.
Kaiya laughed vociferously at the instant agreement. She walked up to Madame and offered her a handshake. "We have a deal, then."
Not only would this offer be the perfect step forward for her career, but she was effectively getting a free invitation to establish herself as a significant player in Starhold. Naturally, it would be quite the burden, too, but that was the price of power.
"I am flattered by your magnanimous offer, Your Majesty," Madame curtsied as she thanked the empress.
"It is only fair," the empress returned, smiling down at her. "You have done me a great favor by exposing the damage Mr. Maskaart's expedition was causing. It's only proper that I reward you for your work."
Well, that was a load of bollocks. If anything, it was the other way around. Dealing with Harold, that snake, was Madame's reward for accepting the undoubtedly brutal challenge that was to come.
Still, for her, this was a win on all ends. With a gleeful joy bubbling in her chest, she prepared to wrap up her meeting with the empress.
"Oh, one more thing," the empress called, looking down at Madame. "I am about to go handle a local incident. Would you like to come with me?"
Madame considered the offer. It was a strange one. There really didn't seem to be an ulterior motive—none that Madame could think of. Perhaps she considered it a good publicity stunt? If that was the case, Kaiya was wrong. Madame's image was carefully crafted to be as far from that of a warrior as humanly possible. Her power was implied, not displayed openly for the world to see.
Her conflicting emotions were clear even to the empress, who helpfully added, "I have no ulterior motives behind the offer, my dear. You never know; if you're bored and have some free time, it might be fun," she offered with a cheeky smile.
Madame smiled politely and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I will have to decline. I am not a fan of dirtying my hands."
"A pity. Well then, I should probably get going." And with that, she swung her cape and walked right past Madame, squaring her shoulders and looking straight up...
As if she was heading to do nothing more than handle a chore.