Date: The 10th Day of the Month of Wind, Year 1107 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: Aanya's Bedroom, The Kael Merchant House.
The Alchemist was gone. The smell of sulfur and burnt vinegar lingered in the air like the ghost of a bad memory, but the pain had receded into a dull, throbbing ache deep beneath the surface.
Aanya sat on the edge of her bed. Her hands were folded in her lap, motionless.
She was afraid to breathe too deeply. She was afraid to yawn. She was afraid that if she moved her face, the expensive, chemical lie plastered onto her right cheek would crack and fall onto the floor like a broken plate.
"Stand up, Aanya," her father's voice was soft, reverent. It was the voice he used when holding a rare gemstone. "The Alchemist's hand mirror was too small. You must see the whole picture."
Kael walked to the corner of the room, to the tall, grand vanity mirror that had been draped in heavy black velvet for the last seven years.
Since the accident, mirrors had been the enemy. They were the bearers of bad news, the reminders of the monster she had become. But now, Kael approached the black cloth with the excitement of a child on a festival day.
He gripped the fabric.
"Behold," he whispered.
He pulled the velvet down. The dust motes danced in the lamplight as the glass was revealed.
Elara pushed Aanya gently from behind. "Go on. Look at yourself. Look at what we bought you."
Aanya stepped forward. Her legs felt heavy, as if she were walking through water. The floorboards creaked under her feet—the only sound in the suffocatingly expectant room.
She stood before the glass. She lifted her eyes.
The breath trapped in her lungs simply vanished.
The girl in the mirror was not Aanya.
The girl in the mirror was a deity. She was the "Future Empress" promised by the astrologers so long ago. Her skin was a canvas of creamy white, glowing softly in the lantern light. The symmetry was terrifyingly perfect. The high cheekbones, the delicate jawline, the curve of the lips—there was no trace of the red, twisted flesh that had defined her existence since she was seven.
The right side of her face matched the left side so perfectly it was uncanny. The Alchemist, Silas Thorne, was indeed a master of deception. He hadn't just covered the scar; he had resurrected the ghost of who she used to be.
Aanya raised a trembling hand to her cheek.
In the mirror, the hand touched the face. But Aanya felt nothing.
Her fingertips brushed against the resin. It was smooth, cool, and slightly rubbery. It didn't feel like skin. It felt like dead meat. Like touching a mannequin.
"Well?" Elara asked, breathless. "What do you see?"
Aanya stared into her own violet eyes. They were the only things that hadn't changed. They looked trapped, peering out from behind a mask of flesh-colored stone.
"I see..." Aanya's voice trembled. "I see a stranger."
"Nonsense," Kael laughed, clapping his hands together. "You see yourself, Aanya! The real you! The accident... it's like it never happened. We have erased it."
Erased.
The word echoed in her mind.
They hadn't erased the pain. They hadn't erased the years of insults, the isolation, the nights she cried herself to sleep wishing she was dead. They hadn't erased the way her mother had looked at her with disgust for a decade.
They had simply painted over the cracks.
"It is beautiful," Aanya lied. She knew it was the only answer they wanted.
"Beautiful?" Elara scoffed, stepping next to her reflection. She smoothed Aanya's hair. "It is miraculous. With this face, the Emperor will not just choose you; he will worship you. We will be the most powerful family in Aethelgard."
Elara grabbed Aanya's shoulders and turned her profile to the mirror.
"Smile," Elara commanded.
Aanya forced the muscles of her mouth to curve upward. The resin felt stiff. It resisted slightly, dragging against the scarred skin underneath. But in the mirror, the smile looked flawless. It was the smile of a happy, innocent girl.
It was a lie so perfect it made Aanya want to vomit.
"Tomorrow," Kael announced, pacing the room with renewed energy. "We will go to the dressmaker. No more veils. No more hoods. You will walk in the sun, Aanya. You will let the whole city see you."
"Can I..." Aanya hesitated. "Can I go out alone?"
Kael stopped. He looked at her, his smile fading slightly. "Alone? Why?"
"To... to test it," Aanya improvised. "To see if people stare. To practice walking without the veil."
Kael exchanged a look with Elara. They were high on victory; their guard was down.
"Very well," Kael nodded benevolent. "But take the carriage. And do not go near the Lower District. We don't want the dust to settle on your... investment."
"Yes, Father."
"Now, sleep," Elara said, patting her cheek—the fake one. She didn't flinch touching it anymore. "You need your rest. Beauty requires sleep."
They left the room. They didn't kiss her goodnight. They kissed the air near her face, afraid to disturb the Alchemist's work.
The door clicked shut.
Aanya was alone with the mirror.
She walked closer to the glass until her breath fogged the surface. She stared at the right side of her face.
It was numb. The nerves beneath were deadened by the chemical burn and the thick layer of resin. She could slap herself, and she wouldn't feel it.
"Who are you?" she whispered to the reflection.
The reflection smiled back, hollow and perfect.
She thought of Veer.
Veer, who had seen her with the bandages. Veer, who had looked at the scar in the carriage and hadn't run away. Veer, who had loved the girl with the broken face.
If he sees me now, Aanya thought, tears pricking her eyes, he will think I am just like them. He will think I am a plastic doll made for the Emperor.
She hated the face. She hated its perfection. It felt like a cage.
She reached for a small silver letter opener on her desk. For a second, a dark, intrusive thought seized her. Cut it off. Scrape it off. Let the monster breathe.
But she dropped the knife.
She was too tired to fight. She was sixteen, and she was tired in a way that old men were tired.
She blew out the lamp.
In the darkness, the mirror became a black pool again. Aanya climbed into bed, lying on her back, stiff as a corpse, terrified that if she turned over, her face would smear onto the pillowcase.
She closed her eyes.
I am not beautiful, she thought as sleep dragged her under. I am just well-hidden.
And in the silence of the room, the mask settled, hardening into the prison she would wear for the rest of her life in the palace. The girl named Aanya was gone. The "Empress" had taken her place.