What appeared at first to be a simple act of undressing revealed itself to be far more intricate when subjected to the scrutiny of art. Princess’s form was not yet ready to be captured upon the canvas the moment her garments were shed and she lay upon the bed. Neither of us was content with such a stark, uninspired portrayal.

  Through me, Princess made her suggestions known, though she explicitly forbade me from offering any of my own. The absolute authority lay in the hands of Tirrha, whose decree was that Princess’s chestnut hair should cascade freely, nearly brushing her bosom, adorned solely with two lilies—delicate golden brooches that, through my imagination, would blossom into ethereal flowers, crafting twin-tails from what was otherwise an untamed mane.

  As for the pose, Tirrha insisted that Princess be depicted smiling, with a few playful stains of paint scattered here and there to impart a sense of mischief and innocence. The goal was to make clear that Princess was both creator and model. [This line was removed for compliance purposes.]

  “Since when are you left-handed?” Tirrha asked, standing in the frame but not yet obstructing my view of the canvas. “Eating, cleaning, serving… even painting. You have always used your right hand.”

  Tirrha, despite knowing Princess for a shorter span of time, was far more observant than Rascal, who had never noticed a thing amiss. In my own body, I had always favored my left hand, and somehow, this inclination carried over when inhabiting Princess, manifesting in my left-handed brushstrokes. Unlike Rascal, Tirrha would not be so easily placated by a jest.

  Feigning distraction, I busied myself with mixing paint, struggling to capture the precise hue for Princess’s right elbow, which, slightly shrouded in shadow, required a deeper, cooler tone—a soft pink that echoed the surrounding skin but darker. Yet, I was not quite prepared; I needed more white to soften the shade.

  “I always tried to use my right to blend in; left-handedness is rare,” I offered, downplaying its importance.

  “No wonder you improved so quickly, then! You could barely paint birds the last time I watched you,” Tirrha mocked. Princess, naturally vexed by the comparison, groaned in discontent.

  “I suppose,” I responded, abandoning the elbow for now and turning my attention to shading Princess’s hair. I had to be cautious while painting near her head, as it required movement between facing the canvas and the mirror, posing a never-before-faced obstacle.

  “That is so odd, my dear pet. Do you know why? Because I distinctly remember you holding your glass and eating with your right hand just yesterday.” Tirrha’s keen perception was proving more formidable than I had anticipated.

  “Force of habit. It shall take time to fully adjust. The shift to my left side is recent,” I explained, choosing my words carefully. “Primarily, it was done for the sake of etiquette,” I reflected longer, deciding this was the response I should have led with.

  “You also mostly used your right hand on me last night,” Tirrha reminded us with a sultry smirk. “That left hand you are moving so freakishly fast, like a frantic man attempting to clean a window with a painting brush, that one stayed on my butt most of the time, didn’t it?”

  “I… was not exactly [this line has been trimmed in order to remain compliant] I added, remembering just in time.

  “You were so adorable, the sounds you made!” Tirrha teased, and I played the part of shy discomfort, encouraging her to continue, further exploiting my reactions. In doing so, I successfully redirected her focus away from my left-handedness.

  Unlike Raiya, whom Princess had once attempted to paint, Princess herself bore no hair upon her body—a customary practice among nobles to avoid the accumulation of sweat and odors. Most would employ servants to meticulously shave them with sharpened blades, yet Princess had taken matters into her own hands through alchemy.

  It was roughly two years prior that a disgruntled Rascal, sulking in my room with a storm cloud of irritation, confided in me. Fermina had insisted she begin shaving, as her peach fuzz was maturing into adult hair, and her body had started to produce unfamiliar scents. Rascal had already nicked herself twice and was fuming over Fermina’s demand that the sisters shave their legs every other day and their underarms nearly as often. “I am going to bleed out!” she had lamented.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Ever eager to assist those who sought my help, since opportunities were rare, I promised Rascal that I would handle it. Though permanent hair removal methods existed, they were often hazardous, leaving the skin damaged and, at times, even marred beyond repair. Such barbaric practices usually involved harsh substances like lye and lime, which irritated and burned the flesh. I devised a more refined solution, though the specifics of my creation eluded me now, lost in the fog of memory. I was certain, however, that I had documented it somewhere. My remedy had been a herbal balm, to be applied to the skin overnight, covered with linen, and securely fastened. Rascal had remarked on its pungent smell, yet after a few days of experimentation, she had been overjoyed with the results. Of course, she had only shown me her ankles—no one wanted me fainting again.

  Days later, Rascal, suspiciously enough, asked if I could make more of the balm, claiming she had ‘missed a spot’. When I produced only a small amount for her, she ascertained it would not be nearly enough, and I realized her true intentions. It took time, but eventually, I handed over enough balm to cover two additional adult bodies, to which Rascal expressed her gratitude profusely. Neither Fermina nor Princess ever expressed what they had requested Rascal to ask of me, and I refrained from mentioning it, hungry as I was for recognition of my skills.

  While never having seen Fermina—nor would I ever dare presume to witness such a privilege—I had observed both Riatna and Aufelia often enough to attest to the efficacy of my concoction. [The following two lines have been removed in order to remain compliant.] With a touch of pride, I could claim that I had played a role in crafting the flawless skin I now rendered in paint.

  “You are enjoying this, aren’t you, kitten?” Tirrha’s teasing continued as she circled behind me, her reflection flickering. Occasionally, she would brush her fingers against me. “You blush more whenever you [this line has been trimmed due to its explicit nature.]

  [The following paragraph has been removed due to its objectifying nature.]

  “I told you to control yourself, Dubart! Tirrha is going to think that I get a kick out of this stuff,” Princess censured, embarrassment tinging both her voice and my muttered apology.

  “What is it you like exactly, Aufelia? What is getting you so excited, my dear?” Tirrha continued; I had learned that the best answer was letting her prattle on. [The following line has been removed to remain compliant.] Maybe I should not let you keep it. Maybe I should display it somewhere more… public. Would you like that? Unveil it at a noble court? It certainly has the quality for it. You are outstanding, both as the paintress and as the subject.”

  “If you let her do that, you may as well expel me from my own body, and you can continue living in my stead because I would have no interest in staying around a place where everyone has seen me,” Princess’s threat bordered on hyperbole, yet her desperation was real.

  “Yes. I think I may just do that… you may say otherwise, but I know the real you behind the mask, Aufelia.”

  “Dubart, you stop her this instant!” Princess demanded.

  “My Mistress, you know my honor would never permit such a thing. Were it to be revealed that I posed willingly in such a manner, my reputation could not bear the strain,” I improvised swiftly. “I would be seen as vain, perhaps even… indecent.”

  “That is how far I am willing to go to please you,” she whispered seductively. “I would claim that I coerced you, that I commissioned this piece under false pretenses. I would admit that I promised not to show it and then went ahead and did so anyway. I would take the blow to my own standing, and you could simply sit back, relax, and bask in the attention. Would that not please you, kitten?” Her breath grazed my ear, both soft and sly, dancing around me like a serpent. She knew how to unravel my focus, to twist my thoughts away from the canvas before me. “You don’t have to say ‘yes’; just don’t say ‘no’.”

  “Don’t you dare say ‘no’! It’s a trick!” Princess warned. “She would punish me… Damn it; she has me trapped. Dubart! Think of something!”

  “There is but one condition under which I might acquiesce,” I retorted, a sudden inspiration flickering through my distracted mind.

  “Oh? And what would that be?” Tirrha softly asked, eager to comply. Princess forced me to hold my breath; she could not help it.

  “I cannot do this alone,” I declared. “My Mistress may unveil this portrait of me, with my blessings, provided she is willing to unveil one of herself simultaneously.”

  “Brilliant! Yes. Good thinking,” Princess praised. Tirrha would not be able to deny my request without resorting to hypocrisy. And, of course, this meant I would have to paint her nude—a situation as improbable as it was bold. Despite her brazen flirtations, Lady Lunatora would never dare bare her flesh to the public merely to tease Princess.

  “Hmph!” Tirrha’s haughty exhale revealed she had realized all of this. “It is only fair, of course,” she conceded, though her tone betrayed her irritation at being bested. “Very well, I shall hold you to those words, my pet,” she countered, bluffing with all the grace of a cornered fox.

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