Cora did not like the plan. They had wanted to dress as servants. Overlooked, with access to the back stairwells. Unnoticed. And most importantly, wearing practical clothing. Marie insisted they go to a dressmaker, and Odessa agreed. Some nonsense about hiding in plain sight. Marie had dragged Cora to a dressmaker who owed her a favour. Odessa stayed home. 

The dressmaker had dark hair and a clever smile and was clearly one of Marie’s old flames. Cora pushed down their jealousy with a sharp reminder not to be ridiculous. They made an effort to smile and join in conversation. Marie explained the situation; they were going to steal a rare sapphire necklace at a palace ball. Laura, the dressmaker, did not look remotely surprised. 

Cora sat up very straight, breathing in stale perfume. They let Laura tug their hair around, curling it around her finger and pinning it to their head. They allowed blush on their cheeks and something brown on their eyelids, but drew the line at the whalebone corset. They wanted to breathe at some point during the ball. Marie skipped around in her element, retouching Cora’s makeup and generally getting under Laura’s feet. The conversation was about a dirty, glamorous bohemian world that Cora didn’t understand, so they sat in silence. 

Cora was glad when the primping was over, but had to be impressed when they were handed a mirror. They had always wanted to look ordinary and forgettable. They had brown hair, brown skin and brown eyes. All their outfits were variations on ‘brown smock’. The person in the mirror was almost handsome, with a regal bearing and hair in rows of shiny curls. They were dressed in dark green velvet with a subtle vine pattern. It took a lot of blinking for Cora to be assured it was them in the mirror. 

Marie flung the fitting room curtain open and posed, positioning herself in the exact light she wanted. Her face was made up in a soft, rosy glow. Her gown was a magenta ruffled thing that on a mannequin Cora would have called ridiculous. On Marie it became a thing of purest light and elegance. Cora thanked the gods that their complexion hid blushes well. 

“Why fancy meeting you at the tailors Mr…or is it Ms West? My, you look well.” Marie’s upper-class accent was so ridiculous Cora couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ms Brooke, what an unexpected pleasure.” Cora’s ridiculous voice was even more ridiculous, but Marie’s laugh betrayed only delight. “If I cause the scandal of the century by using the wrong spoon, make it known I wanted to dress as a servant.” Marie giggled and took Cora’s arm. Laura wished them luck with their theft, with a knowing smile that Cora didn’t like. 

Odessa emerged from Cora’s back room transformed, and not by dress. She looked like a normal woman. Ethereally beautiful, yes. But her skin was a normal shade of brown, her ears didn’t end in points, her eyes had pupils. Cora tried not to gape. “Shall we go?”
“You can just do that?” asked Marie.

“No, I can’t. It requires a lot of power.” No more answers were forthcoming. 

Walking through the city as a respectable gentleperson was a fascinating experience. Cora wished they could take notes. No street vendors approached them. The Right Sort looked at Cora and Marie, transvestite and prostitute, with unadulterated horror. The Right Sort had nods and smiles for Colette and Mary. Plus their friend Olivia. All of vague noble origins. 

Marie paid for the carriage in vague promises and notes that would bounce around the banking system for a few months. The interior was the most luxurious room Cora had ever stepped foot in. They ran their fingers along the velvet. “How are we getting into this ball?”
“It’s invitation only,” said Marie with total calm.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we don’t have invitations.”
“Have I ever bought an opera ticket? No. How often do I go to the opera? All the time.” Marie folded her arms as though the discussion was over.

“I am also concerned by your lack of planning,” Odessa contributed.
“Oh my sweet children. Have a little faith.” Cora knew they should push further, but they didn’t. They wanted to follow Marie in whatever mad plan she had concocted. They were swept up long past the point of no return. They tipped the driver out of their own purse, feeling guilty about the fake cheques. 

A footman, who looked like a soldier stuffed into ridiculous livery as a joke, checked their invitations. Cora fingered the little canister of sleeping gas in their pocket. They were curious to see Marie’s plan, but they weren’t stupid. “Invitations?” asked Marie, with the suggestion she found the question outrageous. She produced three small cards. Small red cards, from a brothel in a quiet street that catered to social climbers who wanted to feel like the idle rich. Cora had the canister halfway out of their pocket before they noticed the way Odessa’s brow furrowed as she focused intently on the footman. They had forgotten about the magic.
“Yes. Yes. That- yes. All of that- certainly- yes, it all looks…in order…” blinking as if to clear a headache, he waved them in. Marie’s smile, though smug, was infectious. Cora found themself smiling back. 

The interior of the palace forced a gasp out of Cora. The ceilings were so high they half-expected to see wisps of clouds at the top. There was enough gold and jewels to force a banker to stop counting. The stone was ancient enough to make a historian sob. The glass radiated colours onto the walls, carved into bright, twisted patterns. They had never been eloquent, and words failed them once again. 

Marie took Cora’s arm. “Stop gawping,” she whispered sweetly. “Stop. Odessa, you can handle yourself?” Odessa nodded and glided into the ballroom with the posture of a queen. Cora bristled at the implication that they couldn’t handle themself. “No offence, but you hate people. RIch people in particular.” They couldn’t deny that. Also, they wanted to stay with Marie’s silk-gloved hand on their arm and her new perfume which was more powdery than the previous one. “Press for information gently. Don’t let things escalate to the point you have to use one of the numerous poisons I’m sure you have in your waistcoat pockets.” Cora brushed the row of bottles in their pocket guiltily. “Take the servants’ exit if there’s any sign of danger. And if you want a break from espionage, come and find me for a dance.”

She left before Cora could decide whether the offer was genuine. They took a breath, trying to become Collette. Trying to become anyone who belonged in this strange, grand place. 

If the hallway was breathtaking, the ballroom could cause heart failure. It was huge, pushing Cora’s understanding of spatial geometry. The chandeliers were covered in diamonds. Cora knew academically that this was the kind of decadence that should make them very angry, but they could appreciate beauty. Beautiful gowns, beautiful dances to beautiful music. For a while, Cora stood dumbfounded. They thought that if the angels painted on the ceiling were to come to earth, nobody would notice. 

Eventually, their eye for detail returned. It might have been slow, but it never failed them. They saw the worn, angry faces under their coats of point. They saw the poisonous glances flicking around the crowd. Most of all, they noticed the servants. So unobtrusive as to disappear, but all around. Clearing away glasses, averting fires. Regular people, doing their job and then going home to their regular lives. This wasn’t paradise, it was glamour. They could cope with glamour.