Sweat beaded on Cobalt's brow as he thundered down the staircase, attracting the gazes of the many Whitneys lingering about downstairs.

"How can you be sure that wasn't her?" Lilith asked as he quickly darted down another hallway before anyone could start talking to him.

He wasn't certain. But the way Lady Whitney behaved... that just wasn't her.

"Let's... Let's just leave. That should have been the first thing we tried."

"Kid, you don't sound too good."

"This whole mess is just messing with my head. I'll be alright once I get some fresh air."

"But what about whatsherface?"

Cobalt bit his lip. Sure enough, he couldn't just abandon Whitney. This tangled web of copies and illusions had him rattled, but that only betrayed just how torn the Nymph was feeling.

But he didn't know what to do. And that was throwing him off more than anything.

"What the flouncehouse up there was talking about..." Lilith asked as he breezed past a quartet of butlers wielding trays of hors d'oeuvres.

He shook his head.

"Whitney would never. That can't be her."

"Right. Lemme just play Devil's advocate-"

She snorted at her own awful joke.

"- so let's say, hypothetically, she has a crush on you. I mean it wouldn't be the first time, right?"

The Incubus stopped dead in his tracks, right in front of the back door. Frowning, he stared at his shoes as he mulled over Lilith's point.

"And outbursts are caused by strong emotions, right? So what if she's using this big illusion as a way to act out her own fantasies?"

"No."

"What?"

"No. Whitney... she's always been reliable. I can count on her for things I'd hesitate to bring to Izzbelle or Jelli, for example. And she's got enough on her plate as it is. She's not in love. She can't be."

"And if she is?"

"She's not."

"Kid-"

"Either Lady Whitney is some kind of red herring, or the real Whitney is playing some bigger game here. Now let's stop entertaining baseless theories, okay?!"

Wiping his brow, Cobalt stumbled towards the door and shoved it open, taking a deep gasp of the cold winter air as he kicked it shut behind him. Holding on hand to his temple, he walked over to a patio overlooking the Brode's garden. Sitting down on a covered bench, he looked up at a sight he wasn't expecting in the slightest.

The gardens were beautiful - whoever gardened them must have been proud - but they weren't what drew his eye. Just beyond the gardens was... nothing. Just a black, empty void interspaced with an occasional flash of lightning. He looked around bewildered, only to find that the Brode's house seemed to be positioned upon an island floating in the middle of an abyss. The surrounding countryside, the sky up above, the lights of Brimstone in the distance... it was all gone.

"Sweet hellfire..." he mumbled, eyes wide.

"It, uh... It's still just an illusion, right? Bigger than usual, but an illusion nonetheless," Lilith reminded him, though he could tell that she was also taken aback.

"Right... of course."

Standing up, he trudged through the snow towards the edge of the island. Past the camelias and pansy pots, the land just fell away into the inky void. Standing at the very edge, Cobalt swallowed hard and peered down.

Nothing.

"Just an illusion," Lilith piped.

"I know."

"I was more reminding myself..."

"What if it's not an illusion?"

"What?"

"I mean... I know it's unlikely, but..."

It looked so real. Cobalt could practically feel the land fall away just a few inches away from where he was standing. The wind blustered past him before dropping down in the chasm. The crackle of lightning thundered all around him, while from deep below the island he could hear nothing at all.

Swallowing hard, the Incubus shuffled forward. Snow tumbled off the edge, falling down into the void until he couldn't see it anymore. The closer he got, the sicker he felt.

"Sir? Is that you?"

Startled by the sudden voice, Cobalt toppled backwards into the snow, almost cracking his head off a plant pot in the process. Wincing, he forced himself back up onto his knees, clutching a nearby planter for support.

Up ahead, he could hear the sound of boots crunching in the snow. As he struggled to reorient himself, a finely-gloved hand appeared before him.

"It's a cold night, sir; you'd be better off indoors."

Accepting it gratefully, Cobalt heaved himself back into his feet. He could barely feel it.

Before him, Madam Brode stood with a wine glass held in one hand. With the other, she lifted the brim of her hat and peered at the Incubus with a single, piercing eye. The Nymph sipped her wine and twitched her ears.

"I feel as though I ought to apologise," she said, gesturing for him to follow her back to the patio.

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"What for?" Cobalt asked, nearly tripping over an errant trowel.

"After the usual pleasantries, I saw Lady Whitney lurch off after you. Hellfire knows what she said to you."

"Ah, well..."

Sitting down on one of the benches, she patted the seat next to her. Taking his seat beside the Nymph, he accepted a glass of wine from her. It wasn't as heavy as it ought to be, and he couldn't smell anything off it. Illusory wine, at a guess.

"I'd also like to apologise for dragging you into this," Madam Brode sighed.

Cobalt narrowed his eyes. It was freezing cold outside, but he couldn't see her breath.

"I came here for Whitney," he replied, clutching the false glass tight.

Madam Brode appeared to be everything her counterpart wasn't. Collected, rational, aloof in demeanour and yet she still wasn't like Whitney at all. Neither of them were.

A confident model. A shrewd dressmaker. Both the ideal roles her parents had picked out for her.

But neither of them were Whitney Brode.

"I know, and I appreciate that. Hellfire knows I could so with a friendly face here," sighed the Nymph, swirling her wine.

He went quiet.

"Lady Whitney... She's a showboat. Brainless and boastful, that's her style," she remarked, inspecting her nails despite the gloves she wore.

Cobalt's brow furrowed.

"Not to mention her appalling attitude. It's all so false; I just can't stand it-"

"That's enough."

Raising an eyebrow, the Nymph looked down at him.

"Are you feeling alright, sir?" she asked.

Cobalt stared deep into the wine in his hands. This web of illusions, there was more to it than a simple outburst. It wasn't just the result of confusion and despair. The way the debutantes spoke of one another... it reeked of self-criticality. Whitney didn't want to end up like either of them, and yet she was still admonishing the parts of herself that were trying to please her parents. She was tearing herself to shreds in an effort to keep all parties happy. Time was she had enough confidence to stay true to herself, but after suffering such a tragedy...

"It's not me I'm worried about. It's Whitney," he said aloud, setting the glass down on the bench next to him.

"Excuse me?" Madam Brode asked.

But he wasn't listening.

These two facsimiles of his student were trying to emulate people they were not. Lady Whitney's flirtatious behaviour reminded him of Karazelle, while her sweetened voice and feigned obliviousness were straining hard to be just like Jelli and Lottie. As for Madam Brode, her refined appearance resembled Elya whenever the Fallen was at work, while her cutting-yet-charming words had hints of Izzbelle and Quinn's own manners of speaking.

The debutantes... They were little more than concepts made manifest. Idealised versions of Whitney Brode brought forth from the depths of her troubled mind when it all became too much.

They weren't real. Neither of them were.

Cobalt stood up straight

"Where is the kitchen?" he asked in as calm a voice as he could muster.

"Relax, sir. This is a catered event. I'll ensure your every need is seen to."

This version of Whitney... She wanted to be reliable. Running the role her mother picked out for her, but acting more independently. But nonetheless a fantasy.

"Please. Where is it?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Madam Brode stared at him for a moment before sighing and setting her drink down. Rising from the bench, she dusted a few snowflakes off her suit and nodded at the back door.

"Back through the main hall and through a pair of side doors to your left. But could you at least tell me why you want to know first?"

Cobalt didn't answer. He took a step towards the back door, but before he could make another she grabbed his wrist. She wasn't strong enough to physically stop him, but he looked back at her anyway.

"You're looking for salt, aren't you?" Madam Brode said in a low tone.

"... And what if I am?"

He could practically hear her grasp tighten, but the light pressure on his wrist remained the same.

"This is somewhere she can keep everyone happy, you know. Why take that away?" Madam Brode asked quietly.

Cobalt shook his head.

"Not everyone. Whitney's not happy."

"It can't always be about her. That would be selfish, would it not?"

He felt cold as Whitney Brode's dark thoughts spilled forth from her illusory clone's mouth. Biting his tongue, he swallowed hard.

"Being selfish is okay sometimes. Especially when you need to take control of your life."

"What earns her that right?"

"The fact that she's never had a chance to control it in the first place."

"Because everything was perfect before she started getting ideas in her head."

"A life's not a life when it's planned according to someone else's whims."

"And how would you know?"

Bearing his teeth, Cobalt roughly tore his hand out of Madam Brode's grasp. Her arm shimmered ever so slightly as he recoiled.

"Believe me, I know," he hissed, narrowing his eyes.

Madam Brode took a step back and sighed once more.

"... Alright then. Tear this little world down around her ears. Make her face a painful reality once more. But don't blame me when she finds that pain too much to cope with."

Pulling away from her, Cobalt marched back through the snow, shoving open the door to the Brode's house and tracking snow all over the carpet. The various servant and guest Whitneys gave him curious looks as he stormed through the corridors, but he paid them no heed.

"Salt?" asked Lilith.

"Illusion dispeller. Every Hubris AD classroom is legally required to have a bag on hand."

"Huh. I didn't know you could dispel them like that. Alright then; let's go save this girl."

Cobalt pulled a face. It wasn't like her to actually want to help one of his students.

"Why do you care?"

"Eh, I just get it, is all. Sucks not having a choice when it comes to what you wanna be."

"Yeah... that it does."

Cobalt barged into the dining hall, startling everyone bar the orchestra, who kept playing a relaxing waltz piece. He could see that Lady Whitney had already returned downstairs, as she was mingling with the other guests.

"Oh! Sir! I was just talking about you!" the Nymph cried, her ears twitching excitedly as she rushed over to him.

"Shit. Blow her off, kid."

"I'll try..." he murmured.

Snatching a knife from a nearby table, Lady Whitney held her glass high and struck it, drawing everyone's attention with her incessant ringing.

"Can I have your attention please? Mr. Trayer has something he'd, like, like to ask me!"

Damn it.

Trotting up to the Incubus, she giggled and presented her hand to him. Unsure of what else to do, he held it and awkwardly stared at the Nymph as everyone in the dining hall gazed on expectantly. Even the musicians put their instruments down to look on in interest.

"Well~?" Lady Whitney asked, staring at him with bright green eyes.

He took a deep breath.

"I'm not doing this with you. I'm not indulging this little game."

Her ears twitched as her smile grew more strained.

"Why not?" she asked in a much more insidious tone.

There it was.

"I need to get past you," the Incubus sighed, letting go of the Nymph's hand.

But she just flipped it around and grabbed it, her grip just as airy and light as the other debutante's.

"It's par for the course, isn't it? Everyone else falls head over heels for you, why shouldn't she?" the Nymph asked.

Cobalt's stomach began to knot. He was never good with this sort of subject.

"I... Even if Whitney was to..."

"You can't even say it, sir. It's okay. Thing will, like, work out."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Even if she was to have feelings for me, they should be her own. She shouldn't feel the need to follow a crowd," Cobalt told her, straightening up.

Lady Whitney stuck out her lower lip.

"Bit conceited, don't you think?"

"Believe me I take no pleasure in it."

"But why not follow a crowd? You're always safe in a crowd, right?"

"She wouldn't be herself, then. She'd just be a part of something she doesn't believe in."

The Nymph laughed uproariously, spurring the others to join in. Cobalt gritted his teeth in an effort to steel his nerve.

Were these the kinds of thoughts Whitney had been struggling with? He knew she was having a tough time, but he really had no idea it got this bad...

"Of course. You got Karazelle, Izzbelle, Jelli and Elya. Why would you need her as well? She's not exactly bringing, like, much to the table, right?"

Cobalt's free hand clenched into a fist.

"Enough of this. I want to talk to the real Whitney."

"Who even is the real Whitney anyway?"

The Incubus shut his eyes. He remembered a bathroom with a broken mirror, long after the rest of the students went home. He remember the crying girl who asked him that very same question. And he remembered the answer he helped her find.

"... whoever she damn well chooses to be. Nobody else. Now move!"

Grabbing Lady Whitney's shoulder, the Incubus shoved her aside and stormed towards the kitchen. The entire hall was silent; the eyes of the many Whitneys burning into him as he went. Tempered flared and fists balled, he shunted the doors open and marched inside.