Marie was standing encircled by a group of Bright Young Things, making them all laugh and blush. Odessa had blended easily with the crowd. Cora scanned the room, picking up the dance. It was nice, a frillier version of one from the docks. The steps were easier; they were designed for the clumsiest of gentry. 

Scanning the crowd, they made eye contact with a young woman in a purple silk dress. They hoped their naturally flat expression would be interpreted as mysterious or intriguing. It must have been, because the woman fell into step beside them. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before, and I’ve been to all the events this season.”

“I’m Collette. This is my first time in the city.”

“Goodness, really? I remember my first time in the city. It is terribly loud and smoky, but it can be quite wonderful once you know the right people. I’m Rosa, by the way.” 

What Cora had taken to be mystery turned out to be an all-encompassing shallowness. Rosa told them a long, rambling story about her disapproving aunt’s house on the seaside, encompassing four spurned lovers, two garden parties and a pomeranian that turned up halfway through. They nodded and gasped in all the right places, to Rosa’s delight. 

Cora quickly learnt how to frame questions. Questions unrelated to Rosa’s life were batted away with ease. “You know so much about Society. You must have met the king.” In the moment of silence, Cora feared that it was actually a queen (they had never paid much attention). No amount of provincial-ness would excuse that. Rosa paused for breath.
“Why yes I have. It was terribly exciting.” She launched into a story that began at the dressmakers, and took several detours before it ended on a terribly presumptuous gentleman. “He’ll be here today. The king, I mean, not Mr Elton.” Cora gasped, provincially.
“Oh my! Perhaps it’s to be expected, this being a royal ball, but…goodness. It’s not every day one glimpses the king.” Cora extricated themself from the conversation under the guise of finding drinks. 

Cora took a curious sip of champagne and regretted it. They had never found a drink they could stomach, and this was no different. They kept one eye out for Marie, and another on the crowd. A man was approaching them. He was less dandyish than his peers, with a little ink under his nails. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before?” There could have been a barb wrapped in that greeting, but Cora couldn’t detect it.
“You haven’t. This is my, er, first Drallum party. It’s ever so glamorous.” The gentleman wasn’t quite as easily taken in as Rosa.
“Really? Where are you from?”

“A little parish quite far North, you won’t have heard of it. My father runs the manor, so I’ve been sent to establish connections in the city.” Cora knew that no one would bother checking such a mundane backstory. There were a million little country manors.

“So, how’s Society? Is it everything you dreamed of?” The edge of sarcasm caught Cora off guard. It would have been prudent to continue playing the innocent, but Cora was interested.
“Oh yes. It’s wonderful.” 

“I do love knowing the Duchess of Devonshire’s every move. I am so glad that we avoid doing anything of merit in favour of endless soirees.” The gentleman looked Cora up and down, found them lacking, and marched off. Cora was debating faking an illness when a bright pink feather swam into their field of vision. 

“Fraternising with revolutionaries, darling?” Marie was flushed, either with drink or happiness.
“What?” answered Cora, articulately.
“That, dearest, is the Earl of G-’s son. Black sheep of the family, hangs around talking about revolution. God help him if one ever comes.” There was a bad taste in Cora’s mouth, apart from the champagne.
“Do you like it here? With these people?”
“I don’t like the people.” The answer was classic Marie; evasive.
“People are dying in the streets. One of those vases could feed them for years. And they’re dancing around like nothing is wrong!” Cora felt their voice rising and bit their lip, embarrassed.
“Sounding pretty revolutionary yourself there. I thought they were all a bunch of troublemaking idiots?” Cora blushed as they recognised their own words. They had always ranked political rage as a little more useless than poetry - and poetry rarely got people killed. In their mind, the system existed and anyone who devoted their entire life to changing it must have been too stupid to change it. The opulence and indifference on display at the ball was making them reevaluate those thoughts.
“And I stand by that. They’re idiots.”
“I’ll make a radical out of you yet, Cora West. Go mingle, but make sure you’ve got a good vantage point for when the king arrives.”

Cora felt a cold hand take theirs. They spun around, about to throw a punch before remembering where they were. Instead, they smiled sweetly. The man was tall. He wasn’t un-handsome. He had brown hair swept over his face and no scars. There was nothing outwardly wrong with him. Yet an instinct deep in Cora’s gut told them to run. His teeth were a little too white and a little too sharp. When Cora turned their head for a moment, they couldn’t recall what colour his eyes were - or even if he had eyes at all. Cora’s blood ran cold. Odessa had told them about fragments. Fragments that were good, but not perfect, at impersonating humans.