“Wake up,” said Saturn. “And take your clothes off.”

For humans like Arthur, the beauty of doors was that they provided privacy. Doors could be locked. And even if they were opened, they made a sound that alerted the person inside.

But for vampires like Saturn, the beauty of doors was that they could be phased through, or slithered under. And they could be locked from the outside, so that pesky human prisoners could not escape.

“I said undress,” she repeated.

“What?” grumbled Arthur, still half asleep. “What are you doing in my room?”

“First,” said Saturn, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and dragging him to a chair. “This is not your room. This is Octavian’s room.”

There was a mirror in front of the chair, so that Arthur could see behind him. Saturn, being a vampire, naturally did not show up in the reflection. But she must have been holding a knife, as one was hovering just inches from his neck, floating back and forth.

“Oh god,” he said, trying to leap from the chair. “Why in front of a mirror?”

“So I can see what I’m doing,” said Saturn, grabbing his head and pressing the knife to his cheek. “Now, keep still. If you keep squirming, I may end up cutting you.”

“If I stop squirming you most certainly will.”

Saturn sighed. “Wait, do you think I came here to kill you? With a knife? When there’s a dungeon full of torture equipment downstairs? Please, you humans are so silly.” She ran the blade across his cheek with incredible precision, shaving a bit of scruff from his skin. “I’m here to give you a haircut. If you’re going to be impersonating Octavian, you need to look the part, don’t you?”

“But why a knife? Why not scissors?”

“Because I’m good with blades.”

Arthur considered this for a moment. “But not very good at reassuring people, are you?” he said.

Saturn did not respond. She continued to cut his hair in silence, with incredible speed and precision. How many haircuts had she given Octavian? Hundreds of them, thousands even?

Her body seemed to move automatically, running on pure muscle memory.

But Arthur started to notice that, despite Saturn’s incredible efficiency, there were superfluous movements. A tender caress of the cheek, a breath on the ear. These actions were so slight that they were hardly perceptible to the human senses. Arthur himself could not be sure if he had actually felt them or simply imagined it.

But Saturn seemed to notice her own habits all too clearly, as the knife started to swish more violently through the air, making more and more contact with Arthur’s neck, leaving his skin tingly and sore.

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“Man, I slept great,” he said, eager to disrupt the silence. “I’m starting to think I’ve never really slept at all, you know? Just been different versions of less awake. My bed is so comfortable…”

“Octavian’s bed,” corrected Saturn.

“Well yes, but I was just saying…”

“There, I’m done.”

“Oh, wow.”

Arthur had his eyes clenched shut for most of the haircut. But now that they were open, what he saw in the mirror truly startled him. It was as if Octavian himself were staring back at him.

And how Octavian must have felt, thought Arthur, seeing his own face staring back at him only yesterday. When was the last time he had seen his own reflection? How many thousands of years?

“Alright, now strip,” said Saturn.

“What…” stuttered Arthur.

Impatient, Saturn tore Arthur’s clothes off, quite literally, tossing the scraps to the ground.

“There can be no way to tell you apart from Octavian,” she said, laying Arthur on the bed and pulling out a long needle. “This includes any tattoos.”

“Wait, are you going to...?”

Arthur winced, as Saturn plunged a needle into his upper thigh. Her hand was a blur, administering countless pinpricks every second.

“You're sweating like a hog,” she said. “It’ll make the ink run.”

“I got nervous when I saw the needle,” said Arthur.

“Seriously? Are you going to panic every time I pull out a sharp object?”

“Probably.”

Saturn arched an eyebrow.

“Well, there’s no need to be afraid,” she said, using a cloth to wipe down his leg. “I may dislike the idea of you being here, but Octavian ordered me to take care of you. So I won’t kill you.”

“And do you follow all of his orders?”

Arthur had already sensed that Saturn’s feelings extended beyond pure loyalty - the way her hair cutting routine included intimate little gestures, or how she had the tattoos on Octavian’s body memorized. It seemed as if she…

“Shit!” shouted Arthur, as Saturn stabbed the needle into his kneecap.

“I do follow his orders,” she said, slowly extracting the needle. “But it’s as you humans say - ‘follow the letter of the law, if not the spirit.’”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means this,” she said, stabbing him in the shoulder this time, boring straight through bone with very little effort. “He said he doesn't want to see a single scratch on you. And he won’t. And you know why?”

“Because you’re a kind and gentle soul?” said Arthur, fully aware she had no soul to speak of.

“Because I have very powerful healing magic,” she said, twisting the handle. “Anything short of outright killing you can easily be undone.” She extracted the needle, and Arthur watched as the wound closed up around it, as if by magic. Most certainly by magic, he thought. Then his field of vision was obstructed by a sharp point. “Why, I could stab your eye out and have you as good as new in no time,” she hissed. “But you’re not worth the effort, are you?” Arthur shook his head vigorously. “Good, that’s what I thought. Now, never question my loyalty to Octavian again.”

She handed him the needle.

“Wait, what are you giving me this for?” he asked.

“In order to impersonate Octavian, you not only need to look like him, you need to act like him too. He can speak hundreds of languages, he can sculpt, he is a talented musician. And …” she said, handing him a bottle of ink. “He is a talented painter.”

“No. You can’t be serious…”

“Oh, but I am,” she said, pulling out a second needle and several more bottles. “I will paint on your right leg, and you will copy me on your left. If you fail to imitate me, we will start over again.”

“You know, I’ve never painted before,” said Arthur.

“Well, you can start now.”