Biting back the smirk in her lips, Leonora watched as the other witch walked a few steps toward the exhibits before following behind her. Both of them fell silent for a minute, Leo feeling momentarily mesmerized by all of the unique art around them, until she finally decided to speak up. What is about the human psyche that draws us into the unknown?, she wondered silently when she found herself staring at a beautiful starry landscape. Leo wasn’t the biggest art person herself, if anything, running from reaity annoyed her. Yet, even she couldn’t help being transported away to an entirely different place when she looked at that ethereal painting. As her gaze returned to the lady in red who hed led her here, though, she realized that the paintings weren’t the only thing that seemed to be calling to her that night.

As she spotted a waiter coming in the opposite direction, Leo took one less sip of champagne before handing the man her glass and falling back into step with her newly found companion. Cheers to the unknown.

.

Rosalind would be back in the comfort of her Parisian penthouse long before any worry of the clock ticking twelve, of deep raven hair lightening back into its fiery hue. No one would be the wiser of her presence there, and after tonight this witch too would be lost. The memory of light hands grazing silk covered hips, of lips finding lips, pressed up next to some of the worlds most priceless pieces of magical art. That would stay with her. It was a reminder. She was young, and she would hold onto her freedom as long as she could.

Leo’s eyes followed the stranger’s gaze to the nearby clock before focusing on her again. So she was a woman on a time limit… well, technically speaking, everyone in the room was, but this one seemed particularly aware of every second that slipped away. “The night is still young, Cinderella.” She grinned, an unusual expression matching her unusual appearance tonight. “You still have some time before the magic wears out.”

.

The reference to Cinderella flew over Rosalind’s head, of course, as narrow minded and separated from muggle culture as she were. “Either way,” Rosalind finished the rest of her drink as a tray hovered passed, swapping the empty glass for a new, “It seems to be drawing to a close.” For her, anyway. She started her way towards the hall that lead to the exhibits. If the other witch chose to follow, well so be it.

Leonora smiled, satisfied that she and this mystery woman were seeing eye to eye. Never breaking eye contact, she lifted her newly filled glass toward the other, a wave of platinum blonde hair moving over her bare shoulder. “Well then, here’s to a thrilling night of mystery.”

.

Tomorrow, Rosalind would go back to Paris. To her life. Where every single thing she did was measured and precise. A reputation that ruled her, that she was forging just how she liked it. Tonight though, unusually light eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, she had just under two hours left where nothing had to be measured. No reputation had to be thought of. Not as long as her hair stayed dark, her face disguised. Not as long as she stayed in the walls of the museum. She could be as reckless as she liked, as free as she desired. She too took a sip of her champagne. For a brief moment she missed Gilbert, but only for what he could have offered, what should could have added to the drink to make her night even more interesting.

“I was just about to go look at some of the art. Before I took my leave for the evening.” It was as much of an invitation as she’d ever offer, even when playing someone else.

She looked away to the champagne fountain in front of them to fill her glass, then back up to meet the brunette’s eyes. The way she had avoided answering hadn’t slipped past Leo, and part of her wanted to take offense for the hard work the JWL and WGB had put on the event, but to be fair, she didn’t love the idea when it was presented to her either. But it wasn’t her call to make and she just went along with it. “Nothing like a mystery to spice up the evening, I reckon.”

.

Rosalind didn’t think she would enjoy this so much. The anonymity, and the freedom that came with it. She’d been having conversations all night she may never have had. She tucked a raven lock of hair behind her ear. The charm that had caused the change had done the job. Without it, the cascade of perfectly curled red hair tumbling down her back would have given her away the moment she stepped into the room. “You know, I’d have to agree.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Leo matched the stranger’s smirk with one of her own. “I take it that you’re enjoying our humble offering?”

Rosalind had, of course, embraced the entire event with a critical eye. What she’d liked, but more so what she didn’t. What she would do differently, if she still held her position. She wasn’t in the mood to be scathing, however. So she went with, “The charms are a nice touch.”

There was something about the silky red dress and the way that its wearer carried herself that felt oddly familiar to Leo, but she couldn’t quit place what it was. It might be just an impression, however, as her senses were quite buzzy from the champagne tonight. Before she could stare more, though, yet another staff member caught her eye and she rushed away- it was getting quite tiring to do that.

She eventually found herself back at the champagne fountain, reaching for her third glass of the evening, and was surprised to find the raven-haired lady again, this time standing right beside her. The encounter felt too coincidental to ignore, and Leo took a sip of her newly-filled glass before adressing the mysterious woman. “I watched your grand entrance earlier. Quite commanding, might I say.”

Rosalind had well and truly worked the room in the way only a Nott woman could, and was now standing on the sidelines, freshly filled champagne in hand, held by perfectly manicured talons. An amused, yet smug, smile curled at Rosalind’s lips at the comment. Even disguised, she kept her power, and it was satisfying to hear it. “It’s the kind of room that demands it.”

Paris had taken a surprising turn for Rosalind, in a good way. It had been hard, at first, to find her place -- something she hadn’t expected. But she had found it, now. Her range with La Coeur was in development, and she’d found a home within the French branch of the Witches League. However, when she’d heard from Esmeralda about the event tonight, she couldn’t help but attend, closing the self imposed distance she’d put between herself and this country.

As she looked out on the room, red gown falling around her, signature red hair an unrecognisable shade of black, she felt a pang of sadness. Sadness for what should have been hers. But, she reminded herself, she had bigger things on her horizon. A position on the League’s committee in Paris was only going to be the first throne she conquered.  

Descending the steps, she took a proffered glass of champagne before beginning her walk through the crowd.

“Sisterhood. Opportunity. The chance to make a mark somewhere our mothers aren’t there handing out the invitations. Learning.” Kitty spoke as though she was a teacher, trying to emphasise a lesson a student simply wasn’t getting. “But it certainly isn’t for everyone.” Rosalind’s own condescending tone slipped off Kitty, water off a duck’s back. She didn’t need to take notice of a quitter.

.

Rosalind’s tongue pressed against the back of her teeth, hardly veiling her amusement. “Learning, of course.” Rosalind didn’t need some classes and a piece of paper to solidify herself in the world apart from her mother. To forge a path where she was the one marking the path. The sounds of heels on the marble floor caught her attention, and a quick glance over her shoulder showed her it was Esmeralda. “It was lovely seeing you, Kitty.” And with that, she turned and took her exit.

“A pity. A new term at Hogwarts get old fast, doesn’t it?” Kitty said, before clapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh! I suppose you wouldn’t know any more.” It was all an act; Hogwarts, a playground for Kitty, didn’t get old for her. But it had for Rosalind, and she was interested in why.

.

“I never was one to understand all the excitement around a new term.” Her tone bordered on condescending. For Rosalind, Hogwarts had been a mean to an end. Independence, a delay on the marriage she would be forced into. A stepping stone into the Witches League, which she didn’t even need the junior league for anyway. And it was all for naught.

“Now Rosalind, don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.” He caught a wrist with a still bloody hand, marring the perfect porcelain of her skin. “I don’t care what you believe in, when they come knocking, find a way out.”

His lips were looser than they ought to have been. That was the problem with near death experiences, they forced a person to put aside usual veils of decorum, and speak their mind. Asher knew that Rosalind’s heart was not filled with gentleness. There was hatred there that ran bone deep. The kind he could never bring himself to feel. But at the very least, she could stay away in France. Supremacy be damned.

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“They won’t. I’ve already made it clear I have no desire to be involved.” Other witches were sure not to share her opinion, and Rosalind was happy to let others fight this war. A worthy cause, but one caused by stupid men with egos. Her brother was the perfect example. Gilbert had been too. Asher almost joined those ranks that very night. No, this would be her role in all this. Cleaning up the messes of those who couldn’t themselves, much like many others. And when all was said and done, she would embrace a world that was pure, and she would be proud.

“Now, stop talking,” she twisted her wrist from his grip with surprising strength. “I need to finish this.” She turned back to the vials, curls falling like a curtain around her face. No, Asher wouldn’t be joining those ranks that night, not if she had any say in it.

“There could be a few things in the kitchen I never bothered unpacking. Dunno. I just grabbed what I could when I came here.” Not a lot of thought had been given all around after the house had burned to the ground by his own hand. The only legacy left was the one he was creating right now. And royally fucking up at every turn. “Thank you. For patching me up.”

.

Rosalind was already reaching again for her wand, wordlessly summoning whatever supplies Asher may have. A few vials landed moments later in a neat line on the ground next to her. It was only then that she registered the blood that had seeped into the velvet of her skirt. She banished that too, as if it had never been there. It was not much, what vials had arrived, but skilled as she was, Rosalind could salvage something that would help until she could send him some dittany. She got to work, reaching for the first vial, glad her face was turned away at his words.

“Of course.” All she could picture was what if she hadn’t decided to come here, or when this happened again, which it was bound to do. She took a shaky, steadying breath, and turned her head to him, vibrant red locks tumbling over her shoulder as she did so. “Just don’t make a habit of it. Please.”

Kitty hadn’t expected to see Rosalind Selwyn today, but she was glad she had. It delighted her, to see the witch in the house she had run away to Paris from. It had always struck Kitty as strange, that Rosalind was seemingly at the top— good marriage, poised to take over the JWL as her mother once had, all the money she could wish for, and then— poof. She was gone. Had she sensed the threat from Esmeralda for the presidency? Or was there something more to it, hidden in the depths of the red-headed witch, if indeed she had them?

Kitty tucked her bookmark into the pages of her book, and closed it, placing it delicately on the table beside her. “I haven’t somehow found my way to Paris, have I?” If there was a slyness to her words, they didn’t match the friendly smile she held on her face. Rosalind Selwyn was no longer the queen of this castle; in fact, she wasn’t even a member of the court. 

.

The laugh that tinkled out of Rosalind, like diamonds on a table top, was so well practiced. A societal laugh, if you will. One that kept a woman’s features perfect and poised. It was rare for her to laugh in any other way. “No, I’m afraid you haven’t. I’m here to meet with Esmeralda.”

Esmeralda reached out with her cold fingers, pressing her palm to the back of Rosalind’s hand. “We’d be lucky to have it, in your absence.”