(Her view)


    Plink, plink… plink. Through the rain, the girl gazed down through the frigid glass upon the ant-like students running to and fro to escape a waterlogged fate.


    It was raining the day Grandpa Ed had found her (or so he claimed). In a neatly arranged muslin blanket, she had fled out of the house directed by her mother before the foundation collapsed and she became an orphan.


    Grandpa Ed claimed he would never have known about her or the fire if it were for society. He had apparently jumped out of his seat and rushed out to see a wide amber-eyed toddler with honey-brown skin and “curls just like his daughter” staring back at him.


    It turned out that going to the academy was a lot like her tutelage under Grandpa Ed. Taking classes wasn’t something new, and the frequent feigning illness required to be Constance simply reminded her of the out-of-place feeling she would get when Grandpa Ed would send her back to the orphanage after her lesson. The stares and the resentment caused by these seemingly unfair situations didn’t phase her.


    Her greatest challenge so far had honestly been the disguise itself. Wearing tight shoes made her extremely uncomfortable and the stuffy long sleeves were no better.


    While picking out gloves and stockings she had even remarked that she felt like a porcelain doll only existing for show. There were some things she needed more than an outfit to convince others to fall for her facade. Her hair, skin tone, and eye color bore no resemblance to Constance so only carefully crafted instruments could help.


    She had to use the sorcery orb and meticulously design who and what she would appear as to others. Often these orbs were used for simple things like lighting up passageways and communicating basic messages.


    The advanced orbs used solely by SELLERS in certain situations were something of an extreme feat for those who managed to create them. Of course, they still had quirks, loss of communication use, slightly less bright, and fully controlled by the SELLERS. What more could you ask for when essentially casting a spell on all people within 1000 feet of you?


    She wondered if the boy had found his way out of the rain. As far as she could tell, while he wasn’t necessarily enjoying the school he had no qualms about not having to alter his appearance and just creating Oswald Flannerdam’s attendance record.


    She started rummaging around in her storage chest before pulling out a locked diary. She had stowed away her notes about Constance in the middle of the book with the writing of no substance preceding or following the content. The compact leather-bound book was wine red and had purposeful signs of use besides the iron-clad lock she had mapped out.


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    Maybe her partner was fine with staying here a whole semester but she was not. Even the prospect made her want to rip off the confining gloves and she clenched the orb currently disguised as her brooch.


    She had never belonged in this school and had been raised to profit off secrets, illusions, and betrayal. Why would she blindly follow orders that made her want to tear off her skin? She could instead find a way to be privy to the confidential matters being used to force her hands.


    Finding out the root of the matter, namely, the killer, did not necessarily negate her role as Constance. However, she felt it was more likely than not that the hidden villain behind this had ties to whoever had requested their services.


    Of course, SELLERS were not completely opposed to the complexities surrounding homicide but there was one integral qualification to be met before accepting a job of that nature. The truth.


    Well, complete candor was not always necessary but the validity of the service being requested was. For example, you could not request a guide to take you out of Fleur without stating an explanation as to why you need to get out. A simple motive like "I want to run away from my family", would suffice unless information surfaced that said otherwise. If this happened SELLERS could back out of the job entirely or request a higher sum.


    In other words, she was banking on the fact that she would be able to discover information that pointed the client to the murder so she could clean her hands of this insufferable position and move on.


    If what she found indicated an unrelated murder, she was hoping Grandpa Ed and the client would find the information more valuable than her role as a porcelain doll.


    She took a careful seat at the mahogany writing desk she previously was using as a way to observe the rainstorm in the ensuing chaos. Scanning her notes, she recapped the information gained from her disguise. Based on SELL intel they were hired directly by Sir Winthrop.


    The reasoning was simply that he wished to fulfill the wish of a dead family member who passed before getting to experience academy life. Anyone could see that this was absolute hogwash, that is except grandpa Ed, who seemed to think this was an honorable way to respect the deceased.


    Through her research to become the late young miss of Winthrop she had been able to view all recent events in the family history. The previous head of the family had been a lowly merchant until he made his big break with custom dress shoes “sealed against the forces”.


    From there, he took off, accumulating quite a fortune. He handed all of this down to his second son who he deemed as younger but more responsible.


    As if to prove him right, the current master of Winthrop had continued his father''s success with little conflict save for a small scandal six years ago where some money had ended up escaping in a servant''s hands.


    The intelligence had also included direction on interactions with Belladonna Winthrop who hadn’t physically seen her cousin in years but kept close contact through letters and gifts exchanged. Since they were so close the client had requested she interact with the girl just enough to keep her cover but not too much to blow it all.


    So far, she had yet to meet Belladonna, which she was hoping to do as naturally as possible.


    Considering how she might do so, she noticed a dark-haired figure with his square face and intent gaze fixed on her window. His face being pelted with drops of rain, it was clear he had not brought an umbrella and was succumbing to the sky’s lashings.


    Right, I forgot about his dilemma. She figured solving the matter of Oswald would undoubtedly come to light along the way. Her foolish partner had no reason to be loyal to SELLERS but he tended to follow each order despite this.


    He can keep playing pretend until I put a stop to my charade. Thinking her solution was quite reasonable, she glanced down at the boy for a few more seconds.


    Sighing, she shut the book and locked it, stuffing it back into the depths of her chest, and bounded across the room to grab a coat. Taking a second to readjust she took hold of two umbrellas and began weakly trekking down the stairs out into the darkened, drenched, and oppressive outside where she was no more than a spineless puppet.