Ranthia slept in. Then when she woke up, she just felt too sad to get up and cried herself back to sleep. She needed more time.
After two…ish days of that, Ranthia finally left the tavern. They had food, but her vitality was high enough that her nose wanted no part of it. Instead, she found a street stall that sold the most delightfully seasoned sausages and bought her fill there.
Part of her was tempted to throw herself into Adventuring and do her best to not have freedom to think. The rest of her was mature and experienced enough to know she needed some downtime. She needed to relax. She needed to process. Fortunately, wisdom won out and she decided to find a beautician that she liked in her new city before she did anything else.
Otherwise, there was a real danger of her doing something stupid.
She was dressed for the day in a men’s tunic worn over her arcanite vest, her belt with her knives and pouches, and her less worn-out pair of sandals. Both the leather cloak and her travel cloak were stuffed into her bag, and, after a bit of effort, she even managed to close it.
That done, she just needed to find a decent stylist!
“Nope.” Ranthia muttered as she quickly backed out of the little shop. The man had an emotional intensity and eagerness to him that was profoundly off-putting. It almost came off like the bald man just couldn’t wait to lay his hands on her. She had no interest in finding out if she misread him and instead vowed to find someplace run by women.
Apparently, somehow, Ranthia had stumbled upon a private salon—one that exclusively served the workers in the brothel that was nearby. Somehow, by reasoning that Ranthia couldn’t parse and was far more than a little offended by, the bouncers for the nearby brothel took her mistaken entry as an attempt to muscle in on their territory?
Knives were drawn (they made the first aggressive move!) and shortly thereafter Ranthia found herself at the nearest guard station, with several stacks of the traditional guard buff emptying her mana. There she was interviewed and glared at for entirely too long, until yet another runner from the Adventurer’s Guild finally got them to drop the accusation.
Ranthia felt sort of bad for causing so many problems for the Adventurer’s Guild in the capital, but her complex about guards had intensified significantly.
Hopelessly jaded by the salons in the area of the city she would likely live in (if she stayed, and an increasingly large part of her was oh-so-tempted to return to Sardonia), Ranthia decided to move to a higher-end district. Not the highest end district, of course; with her luck she’d probably be arrested just for trying to walk around somewhere where the wealthy strolled about. At best. If it was the private security for the rich and wealthy that took umbrage to her existence, they’d probably just try to kill her, and then she’d be forced to defend herself. And gods, she could just imagine getting into a pointless battle with some overzealous personal bodyguard over his presumptions, then arrested by the guard for fighting him—and, somehow, she doubted the Adventurer’s Guild would involve themselves if some rich bastard wanted her dead. So nope, no checking out the nicest part of town for her; not then, not ever.
The area she found herself in was actually kind of nice, in that oh gods and goddesses she didn’t belong there sort of way. The stalls that lined the streets were orderly and more subdued than the ones from the more common areas of town. The products on display were varied, a mix of practical, tasty, and utter vanity. And there were actual stores present too, permanent buildings that specialized in certain products or services. Clothing, oils and cosmetics, a [Healer] that had some strange sunlight theme painted across their shop, and more. And what sort of city could support an entire dedicated physical building for a store that only sells cheese? Ranthia marveled while she played tourist and explored.
Her dejected misery and anger dissipated ever so slightly. Ever so temporarily.
After a bit of walking around, she found her next salon to try. She entered nervously and an attractive woman smiled at her immediately. This time, Ranthia decided to ask some questions before she tried to ask if she could get a session.
Allegedly, this shop was run by women, which was a huge plus. A rod plus cosmetics fees felt ridiculously steep and nearly chased Ranthia away on the spot, but she hesitated. Maybe their quality would be worth it? Ranthia did have a small fortune on hand—not that she wanted to think about it—so she thought that maybe a little splurging wouldn’t hurt. Just the once.
Ranthia went for it before she could talk herself out of it.
“Okay! Just one last question, do you have one or more appearance skills? If so, which ones? Anything like [Beautiful], [Alluring], or [Resplendent]?” The woman behind the counter asked.
“Oh, uh, I have [Sexy].” Ranthia replied, surprised.
She had never thought appearance skills mattered for a stylist’s treatments. Maybe that was the difference between services that cost over a rod in the capital and services elsewhere that had cost a small handful of coins and had few to no alternatives.
“Excellent! Our [Sexy] expert is available and will be with you in a moment.”
Ranthia waited, indeed, only a moment or two, before a, well, sexy woman in her early to mid-twenties came out. Her long light brown hair was curled and tousled in a way that was just right. Her healthy, creamy skin had the lightest dusting of freckles in a way that just worked on her. And her vivid green eyes shined in the light with a familiar mirror-y effect. Ranthia felt immediately attracted to the woman and struggled to keep her thoughts straight.
“Hi, you’re [Sexy], right?” Gods and goddesses, even the woman’s voice made it harder to concentrate.
“Mhm, and so are you.” Ranthia smoothly replied, without even slightly meaning to.
Ranthia blushed when she finally realized what came out of her mouth.
The woman just laughed musically and led her back.
“I’m flattered that you noticed. My name’s Hexara and I’ll be taking care of you. Do you have a favored line of cosmetics?”
“Um, I’ve always used…” Ranthia had to force her brain to think heavily to remember what was on the stuff that she had left in Sardonia to cut weight.
“Oh, we don’t have that company’s products. This salon exclusively uses cosmetics without lead in them. Lead’s poisonous, you know. We were told by Sentinel Dawn herself.” The woman announced proudly.
Lead being poisonous sounded like something someone would make up to push a more expensive product, but if the salon was willing to namedrop a freaking Sentinel as the source—in the capital no less—maybe it was true? Either way, she didn’t mind too much. It wasn’t like she had any real attachment to the cosmetics that had literally been her only choice in Sardonia.
“Uh, that’s fine. I’ll try whatever you suggest and see what I think?” Ranthia decided.
“Sounds great! So, is this for any sort of special situation? Hot date? Big event?” The woman probed.
“No, no. I’m an Adventurer and just moved to Arminium,” which was decidedly not the name of the capital, “and I wanted to see a beautician so I can feel better about myself after a long journey. And y’know, make [Sexy] happy.”
“Oooh, a [Sexy] Adventurer! I can almost hear the [Bard] songs already!” The woman replied and playfully fanned herself with her hand while she helped Ranthia sit down.
Ranthia’s face reddened over being openly flattered. She was certain the woman was only flirting to be friendly and help coerce her into spending more coin, but… yeah, it was working.
“So, being a badass Adventurer, does that mean I can’t convince you to grow out your hair? Such a dark, rich shade would look oh-so-great long…” The woman’s fingers slid through Ranthia’s short hair while she spoke.
“Uh,” a nervous giggle slipped out, “I would rather keep a short style.”
“For cosmetics I was thinking about…”
The woman successfully and effortlessly upsold Ranthia on cosmetics.
“Well, what do you think? Did I make you look even more [Sexy] or what?” The woman asked, as leaned in over Ranthia and subtly turned the mirror that she had conjured in her hand to give the teenager a better look at herself.
And in the process gently pressed her cleavage into the back of Ranthia’s neck, which made it even harder to think.
She had to admit though, the woman was a genius. She looked amazing! It really put the work of the beautician she had liked so much in Sardonia to shame. Her short hair was immaculately styled, with a parting on the left and a bit more length—a bit more than she had wanted, but she was sold on it—for the right, with a subtle wave to her hair. The makeup truly accentuated what was already there, rather than trying to make her look like someone else.
It was entirely self-indulgent to admit, but she would totally be lusting after herself if she saw herself somewhere.
“I love it.” Ranthia said and meant it.
“Mmm, yes, you might just be my masterpiece. I would love to see what I could do with you on a formal occasion. Okay, let’s check our levels together, okay? On the count of four…”
At the conclusion of the count-down, both women got distant looks in their eyes as they simultaneously checked their silenced notifications.
[*ding!* [Sexy] has leveled from 79 to level 83!]
“Okay, it’s official, I think my [Sexy] is in lust with you. Four levels!” Ranthia gasped.
“Oh wow, that’s a new record for me. Even better, I leveled too!”
The woman hugged her and Ranthia’s mind flicked off for a few moments.
“You will come back to me someday, right? I couldn’t bear it if this was a one-off!” The woman asked.
“Oh, uh, yes… Yes, of course!” Ranthia’s mind was still a bit slow.
“Great! I’ll hold you to that, m’lady… Oh my! I have been so terribly naughty; I never even got your name!”
“It’s fine,” Ranthia had wholly failed to catch the woman’s name too and saw an opportunity to fix that, “I’m Ranthia. Just Ranthia.”
“…Wait, Ranthia? No… …Is that really you?” The woman’s face changed suddenly.
Her shell-shocked expression sparked recognition that had never quite managed to percolate in the back of Ranthia’s mind.
“From Perinthus…” Ranthia breathed, her throat suddenly dry.
One of the many, many things she had wanted to run from was thinking about the fact that the others that left Perinthus with her had been bound towards the capital. Where she was now. Her mother and the rest…
The woman shrieked in delight.
…which included a teenager with a really dumb name that she had saved the life of, in a memory that still haunted her in an almost warm and fuzzy kind of way.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Fortunately, the other staff at the salon chose NOT to summon the guards before they poked their heads in to make sure everything was okay. Of course, instead it seemed like all of them rushed over to poke their heads in, one by one, even after they were told everything was fine.
“It’s okay, I just realized I knew her from my past!” Hexara explained, for the third time.
The latest small group of women closed the door and left, satisfied.
“And that should be the last group, sorry about that.” Hexara added.
“By Xaoc, I still can’t believe I ran into you. I mean, I know you’d said you wanted to be a beautician, but of all the shops in the capital…” Ranthia mumbled.
Hilariously, she distinctly remembered thinking that the then-teenager wasn’t her type. Now that she had grown into a woman she pushed all of Ranthia’s buttons. Smugly, Ranthia took it as proof that her tastes had changed in her second life. She preferred older women now, not younger!
There were numerous other potential explanations, but she chose that one.
Ranthia had stood up hurriedly back when the first group of the other women barged in, armed with scissors and other implements. Now that her coworkers’ concerns were addressed and their privacy was restored, Hexara stepped in front of Ranthia and hugged her again, holding her tightly.
“I’m so glad you’re okay! That horrendous toad of a woman kept gloating about how you would die without her and… Oh, I just never was so tempted to do violence as I was back then! But here you are, all grown up and just… amazing!” Hexara gushed and stared into Ranthia’s eyes. Her own eyes were misty, but they were just as reflective and sparkly as Ranthia’s own.
Over-emotional, over-hormonal, and under-thinking, Ranthia did the only thing that seemed to be an appropriate response.
She kissed the woman.
Hexara returned the kiss.
After an indeterminate number of escalations later, Hexara suddenly pulled back.
“Oh, shit!”
“…What’s wrong?” Ranthia asked while her heart quivered.
“I’ve completely ruined the makeup I had applied! …For both of us!”
Ranthia started to laugh, between the relief that she felt and the absurdity of the situation. Hexara joined her a moment later.
Later, Ranthia paid the front desk a small fortune. Her makeup had been reapplied and she had exchanged a promise to meet Hexara at her home in three days’ time, when the woman had the day off. The cosmetics and brushes—the ones that Hexara had successfully seduced Ranthia into purchasing before they realized one another’s identities—were safely stowed in her pouch.
She looked better, felt better, and had a new skip in her step as she left.
Now she had a perfect excuse to do some shopping in the area!
Ranthia stared at the garment while she stood in front of the huge conjured mirror. The entire shop was massive and dedicated solely to women’s fashion, but the garment… Ranthia just had no words to describe the cut or style of the garment. It was like nothing she had ever seen.
And she loved it. The cut of it showed more cleavage than she had thought a woman legally could without a licensed brothel nearby. It matched her skin tone and hair beautifully. It was impossibly perfect.
It was also impossibly expensive.
Ranthia desperately wished she could try the garment on, but the [Seamstress] and [Tailor] that collectively owned and ran the shop took one look at her and refused in perfect unison. She might have been prettied up and feeling [Sexy]-er than ever (…was there an evolution to the skill called [Sexier]?), but she was obviously still clad in a cheap men’s tunic and equipped like an Adventurer.
Instead, Ranthia glumly studied the garment closely and envisioned how it would look on her, aided by all of her mental image training. It just looked so good! She was certain [Sexy] would level again if she could try the garment on.
Her heart threatened to break when she returned the garment. She reminded herself she could buy a full set of custom-fitted leather armor for that price.
A traitorous part of her mind whispered that she could spare that many rods.
She left before she did something she would almost definitely regret.
Ranthia did stop by a [Cobbler]’s stall near that dangerously tempting store and bought a couple of pairs of incredibly comfortable and seemingly—hopefully—sturdy sandals. She wore one of the sets immediately, much to the relief of her feet. Surprisingly, the cobbler was willing to buy her old pair, even if it was only for two coins. Apparently he could turn the worn leather into straps or laces, aided by a skill.
She also bought a cute hand mirror from a different stall to replace her aging one. The engraved cat motif on the back was just far too charming to resist.
Inspiration struck Ranthia while she was out on the town, so she hurried back to the tavern to buy a third—or maybe fifth?—night in her room. She also impulse bought a bowl full of potato stew (that was woefully under seasoned but at least it didn’t smell ‘off’) from the tavern before she barred her door to her small room.
She had planned to keep Amaus around in her [Image Recall], just to be safe. Plus, she had put so much work into designing him and learning how to animate a male form or move in it herself convincingly. Then there was all that voice training… Okay, yes, she was still super frustrated that all of that had been a complete and total waste of time. But right then she only had two slots in [Image Recall], so she mercilessly purged him from the skill.
So long, Amaus.
That done, Ranthia completely disrobed, except for her arcanite vest, then sat down on the vaguely comfortable bed that she had spent far too much time in while she studied her face in her new mirror. She truly almost felt like a different person with Hexara’s masterful application of makeup and part of her dreaded how badly her own attempt to apply cosmetics would inevitably go. But for now, she focused on memorizing every detail of her mature, [Sexy] face.
Then she tried to imagine herself—with her stunningly cosmetically enhanced face—wearing that gorgeous purple garment she had so dearly desired. As she sculpted the mental image, she studied her own body for the areas that would show. This was a more subtle application of [Distorted Likeness] than Amaus had been, so when the idea had come to her, she had expected it to be easier. But it also wasn’t something that she had ever attempted before.
She had never (at least not intentionally) before tried to make a mirror image that was dressed differently from how she was. Amaus had worn the same leather cloak, the only difference was that his knife sheaths had been positioned behind his back to make it less obvious that he and Ranthia were dressed identically. But it was still the same equipment, just a little moved around. In contrast, she was trying to make a mental image wearing something she never had before.
She had no idea how it would work, but that was the point of the experiment. It definitely wasn’t just to see if she could find a way to get access to the garment without buying it while she was in a mirror image’s body. It was a valid experiment to discover the fine details of her core skillset.
And she wanted to remember how she looked with Hexara’s makeup forever.
Once the mental image was ready, she stored it in [Image Recall] and activated [Scattered Reflections] to see how she did.
[*ding!* [Distorted Likeness] has leveled from 4 to level 6!]
[*ding!* [Image Recall] has reached level 38!]
Skill gains were nice, but Ranthia was completely focused on the mirror image that had appeared. She had… utterly failed to recreate the garment. Her best efforts had generated a pale imitation that lacked many of the tiny details that tied the real thing together so beautifully. But the cut was exquisite and very [Sexy] on her frame. And with her face done up so perfectly…
Ranthia admired her mirror image for a little timeless age, almost in a trance.
…Until she realized that she was fondling her mirror image. When had her hand drifted there?!
Reality crashed in on her as she yanked her hand away and tried desperately to not think about how realistic of a sensation [Persistent Imagery] had somehow given her mirror images now that it was so much higher in level. When a traitorous part of her mind started to wonder what sorts of things she could do with [Reflective Motility] with these more realistic images, Ranthia swiftly dismissed the mirror image and went to bed with half of her bland stew left in its bowl.
Clearly, she was done for the day!
Ranthia struggled to fall asleep while she stubbornly refused to address those traitorous thoughts and, in an effort to avoid doing anything that even hinted the tiniest bit at indulgent vanity, did her best to not think about Hexara either.
She was unsuccessful.
But at least she wasn’t thinking about how miserable she was underneath it all.
The next morning, just before dawn, Ranthia grudgingly hit the baths and felt terribly guilty while she washed away the remnants of the cosmetics that Hexara had applied. They had gotten smudged terribly in her restless slumber, but somehow washing away what was left felt like a betrayal. She was oh-so-tempted to go get them redone, but she gradually talked herself out of it.
She was an Adventurer! She didn’t need beautifully [Sexy] cosmetics painted onto her face fresh every day.
She did, however, try to lightly apply some of the cosmetics herself after her bath.
…When she checked her mirror after, she half expected [Sexy] to lose a level at the result. Hurriedly, Ranthia washed off her heinous crime against the amazing cosmetics before she set about her day.
Her efforts to avoid thinking about the reality of a world without Tatius or Pupius had caused her to plan basically every single thing that she was able to throw the whole of her focus at.
On the list was one item that she really, really didn’t want to deal with. She knew she would regret it. She knew there was effectively no chance of it working out positively. …But her goal for the day was to try to track down her mother.
Hexara would probably be the smart place to start, but Ranthia preferred to keep the woman separated from the, no doubt terrible, task. Instead, she focused on another member of the group that she expected to be easier to find, the one that had been trying to catch her mother’s eye. The baker.
After all, how many bakeries could there be in Ariminum?
Stupid questions were stupid.
It was late in the day when Ranthia finally got a positive lead. At a bakery owned by the government—something about bread allotments for the needy—one of the more veteran employees recognized her description of the baker. ...Except the man was no longer in Ariminum.
Apparently he and his youngest son had left town roughly two years ago. The eldest son had joined the legion. It was obnoxious to have put so much effort into her best lead, only to get nowhere with it, though Ranthia was a touch amused to learn that the baker had always been single as far as his work-friend knew. The asshole had sided with her mother in an effort to impress the woman into his bed and had clearly gotten nothing out of it!
Unfortunately, this meant her only real lead was lost. Not expecting much, she asked the man if he knew anything about a woman that had entered town along with the baker.
The man started laughing immediately. Apparently, the baker had been obsessed with a woman that he’d known. And had continued to court her, despite her rejections, until she married someone else.
Ranthia was laughing along with the guy—it was legitimately hilarious just how badly the jerk baker had failed—and then the guy suddenly clapped his hands and announced that he remembered the name of her husband. The mental whiplash hit Ranthia hard.
One moment, she was without leads but distracted with uproarious laughter at the man’s story.
In the next she was terrified of hearing the next words from the man’s mouth.
She had failed—how unfair was it to suddenly hand her an absolute success?!
It was fairly easy to find the first Iccius’ Food stall. The young man that manned it didn’t know anything about the owner’s wife, though he became visibly nervous when Ranthia asked about the owner. What he was able to do was give her the exact location of every one of his associate stalls, though he warned her that they all sold the exact same food. Poor guy seemed desperate for a sale, so she did buy a piece of bread topped with some sort of too-dry meat.
It was okay, nothing special. But Ranthia was starting to get hungry.
The second location proved fruitless, just another young man desperate to make a sale. Something about being under quota. The words didn’t mean much to Ranthia, but they did paint a bleak picture of the man that seemed to be her mother’s husband. She bought a second meat-and-bread to help the young man out. At least that time the meat seemed to have some trace of moisture, but that only highlighted how bland the bread was.
Businesses were beginning to close. She had wasted so much of her day talking to Ariminum’s endless plethora of bakeries! Tomorrow was another day, but Ranthia’s heart had been set on either finding her mother or concluding it was impossible that day. She was stubborn!
Ranthia hurried across the sprawling, massive capital city, occasionally dipping into the street lane meant for couriers when she needed to dodge around people. She wasn’t quite fast enough to justify that lane, but she was desperate to get a lead before the stalls were abandoned for the day!
The next location was near the government district—but not inside of it, mercifully—likely placed to try to get sales out of people with business with the government or lesser officials and staff on their way home. If she was truly lucky, it meant that the stall would remain open slightly later than many shops.
Naturally, when she arrived, the stall was empty. Ranthia cursed internally while she put off trying to figure out her next move. For a short time, she just stood there, angry, while she listened to the myriads of little conversations that flowed around her.
A man trying to convince disinterested coworkers into sharing some wine. A woman angry that she waited all day for some business permit then got denied. A woman describing to her girlfriends with excessive detail what she was going to do to her husband that night.
“I really don’t get why you kids have trouble hitting your numbers. I sold a ton today!”
…That voice…
Ranthia spun and sprinted over around the corner as she hurried towards the voice. Someone swore at her after she dodged around him, but she couldn’t care less.
It was her.
Her mother walked next to a lanky, young man who struggled to carry three crates topped with a sack. Her mother was lecturing the man about how youths have no work ethic and try to blame the world for their problems.
In a bit of a daze, Ranthia approached them. It was all too easy to catch up. She had still been a child when she surpassed her mother’s level, even before the stark difference between quality combat classes and a [Laborer] of little capability.
“…Mother…” Ranthia whispered.
The woman didn’t somehow hear the soft voice and continued to walk while she lectured the poor guy. Though he seemed to have devoted the bulk of his attention to trying desperately to not drop his heavy burden.
Ranthia took a gamble and darted into an alley. Fortunately, her mother didn’t make any turns into any other alleys, and she was able to get ahead of the two. She waited until they got close enough, then raised her hand in greeting to the woman that had given birth to her.
“Hi?” Ranthia said awkwardly, unable to think of anything better.
Her mother briefly looked confused, then turned pale.
“You run ahead; tell my husband I’ll be home shortly.” The woman hurriedly instructed the young man.
Ranthia somewhat doubted that he even heard her as he continued on his way, grunting occasionally when the crates shifted.
Mother and daughter stared at each other in silence for several long moments until the man disappeared from view. They were far from alone, Ariminum was nowhere near small enough for people to care about giving two people that looked awkward and wound up any privacy. But they focused entirely on each other.
“You continue to haunt me…” Her mother grumbled.
“Mother, I… I’m glad you’re safe. I know we didn’t get—”
“Don’t you dare call me that.”
Okay, so much for her vain hope that this would be heart-warming. Ranthia winced at the cold words. Part of her had expected it, but they still stung more than she expected.
“I just wanted to see you, I just thought…” She tried.
“I had hoped you had the decency to die. Don’t you dare show yourself to me again or get in the way of my real family. You’re nothing but a mistake that I regret never drowning when you suddenly went wrong.” The woman spat, her tone acidic.
Ranthia just stood there, while her mother stormed past her and stomped away.
She needed to hit something, she decided.