Iris returned to the first floor, where evening light beamed through the windows and illuminated various shelves. Her maid dejectedly stuck to her as if she couldn’t bear to leave that wonderful trove of knowledge.

Zici, surrounded by a dreamy air, skipped onwards, thought bubbling in her eyes. Whenever she peeked behind, her lady’s placid disposition blessed her with delight comparable to a cold dessert diffusing a hot summer.

“Our time has been fruitful,” Iris said. “I shan’t force you to stay any longer.”

“Serving you is my pleasure, Lady Iris.” Zici’s voice faltered, though no sadness appeared on her fulfilled countenance. “I’ll be waiting for your letter.”

“Are you pressing me to write one soon?”

“How could I?”

“You’ll receive a letter when it’s time.”

“I won’t disappoint you.”

Iris waved at her guide, who reticently returned to her place. A crowd of people swarmed between them. Only Antina, who always stayed by her mistress’s side, could notice that brilliant grin.

“Mistress, will you take care of her?” Antina said. “You’ve charmed so many yet corrupted so few. Do you not want them to join you, forever?”

“I’m presenting them with an opportunity.”

“An irresistible one.”

Iris winked at her maid. “Their destiny will be the judge of that.”

A group of people, shouting, and arguing, blocked Iris’s path. A crowd formed around their commotion, curious eyes feasting on this infrequent sight. The Prime Archive personnel were nowhere.

Antina frowned. She stepped forth, her air blinking with subtle influence. Iris drew her hand to block her maid.

Feeble but numerous gazes locked onto her. They came from people of various backgrounds, though they lacked that all-encompassing mightiness. These eyes posed no threat, revealed no ill intention, and expressed no arrogance.

Iris turned to a singular path away from the crowd, whose dynamic structure exposed a track towards the other side of the library. The journey led her to a quiet corner, where a neatly suited man awaited her presence.

“Our apology for the sudden invitation,” the man said. “Please don’t misunderstand us, Lady Iris. We mean no harm.”

“If this excursion is of insignificance, you’ll have to pay a grand price.” Antina’s icy voice cracked a nearby bookshelf. “Praise Mistress’s magnanimity for staying my hand.”

“They don’t deserve your action.” Iris smiled. “The aftermath will only delay our matter.”

The man politely bowed. “Thank you for your understanding. We arrange this meeting because our master wants to meet you.”

“Am I someone whom he could call as pleased?”

“The Thousand Face Master extends his invitation.”

The man handed Iris a letter of invitation, but Antina intercepted it. She examined the paper before giving it to her mistress. Iris put it away without checking.

“What does the Faceless Hall want from me?”

“Our mistake allowed Broken Wings of Freedom and Eye of Masolis to target you. We wished to compensate you, and we also have a client who wishes to meet you.”

“Why should Mistress favour your request?” Antina said. “You’ve already failed her once.”

“Thousand Face Master himself will mediate the meeting.”

Iris tilted her head. “Yet he failed to mediate this one.”

“His presence might attract unwanted scrutiny. He instead gifts you the token of his authority.”

The man handed Iris a bracelet ornated with glowing sapphires. Its delicate size conformed to her slim wrist. She held her arm against the lantern light, which refracted as rainbow tinting the gems.

“There mustn’t be a second time,” she said.

“With the token, you can pass an order to our personnel. We’ll spare no expense to meet your requirement.”

“A vial of Water of Seven Virtues?”

“If you wish.”

Iris smiled. “Tell me the client’s identity.”

The man lowered his head, tensing. His eyes darted to his feet, unable to gaze at the enigmatic lady before him. Just her maid’s focus was enough to unnerve his soul.

“Please forgive us.”

Antina pointed at him. Her sharp fingernail gently rested on his head. An oppressive might grazed his mind, unravelling his thoughts. He clutched his chest but refused to collapse. His trembling body persisted apologetically.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Before his pale face lost all lustre, Antina heartlessly drew back and returned to her mistress’s side.

“Let this warning be heard by your master. Insignificant matters will go to the representatives,” she said.

“We’ve yet to locate Court of Indulgence’s new hideout. If not for—”

“Your inadequacy doesn’t concern us.”

Iris chuckled. “Don’t press them too hard, Antina. Their information network is still extensive.”

“We’re at your service, Lady Iris.”

“Find out what happened at Donhalgen Beast Museum.”

The man bade farewell and retreated into the darkness. His figure dissolved out of sight. Iris returned to the archive exit. The archive personnel had already resolved the dispute and dispersed the crowd. She boarded a carriage to a luxurious invite-only bar.

Once Antina sealed the compartment, she looked at her mistress and sighed. Her radiant smile faded, replaced by a dimly lit disappointment in her cool eyes.

“Nothing unexpected,” Iris said. “Not even The Founder can solve it.”

“The sixth floor contains forbidden knowledge of various paths.”

Iris placed her hands on her maid’s lap. “Your worry is enough.”

“If only it could cure you.”

Iris traced her maid’s thighs, her fingertips slipping underneath the laced stocking. “Your other parts could treat the symptoms.”

Antina brightened. She unbuttoned herself and inched closer to her mistress, whose hands adventurously danced around her. She laid bare before her mistress, wearing only an exciting smile, a smile that occupied and multiplied in her chest.

The carriage stopped. A few knocks interrupted their appetiser. Antina opened the door. A dark wooden building imposed itself onto her vision. Its darkly lit blue lanterns swayed below the porch, with its ornated marquee written in cursive front.

“The road was too empty,” Iris said.

“We’ve arrived at Clandestine Feather Bar,” Antina said, her voice rising and falling as if revolting against chances.

“There will always be more opportunities.”

Two pairs of men and women received Iris. They asked for her membership card. She handed them a letter, on which was a signature of a pale decayed hand reaching out from the ocean. Morbi’s written recommendation was sufficient.

Soft jazz music blanketed the mood. Waiters and waitresses, in their butlers and maids and bunny suits and checker uniforms, served drinks mixed with colourful powders and sour frozen fruits. Yellow light illuminated the path while aurora light decorated the walls.

Despite the extravagance of the customers, time froze when Iris entered; her unreadable maid highlighted her ever-pertinent aura. She swept her gaze throughout the establishment, and all eyes retreated out of respect.

“I was told that a friend is waiting on the first basement floor,” Iris said. “Will you please guide me?”

A waitress received Iris’s order. She led her customers, through the crowd and the bar and the dance platform, to a modest double gate leading to the underground floors. Candles ornated with arcane symbols brightened and perfumed the mood.

The people of the first underground floor quietly drank their liquors while listening to inaudible music emanating from an old music box at the centre of the floor. Rooms partitioned by thin curtains expressed silhouettes of various attires, though they magically concealed all identifiable features.

Antina drew apart the curtain of the designated room. A couple in fur cloaks waited inside while holding each other’s hands. A magical orb resting on the table flickered upon reflecting Iris’s profile.

The waitress closed the curtain behind Iris, received her drink and dessert order, and left after giving her a bell to call the staff. Iris sat opposite the lady whose face hid behind a black-and-white mask of an icy ghost.

“You must be Iris,” the lady said. “Morbi’s told us about your predicament.”

“A pleasure to meet Donhalgen’s most famous Soul Soother pair.”

“We amount to little next to you, Lady Iris.”

“Morbi must’ve exaggerated my feats.” Iris smiled. Her maid placed a chest on the table. “Please excuse this modest gift.”

The female Soul Soother opened the chest. A pair of vials containing bubbling purple liquid rested on a green cushion. Their spectral glow permeated the air, erasing the yellow candlelight.

“Send our regards to Morbi,” she said. “These potions will be of great help.”

“We wish you a safe journey.”

“The path towards soul mastery is never safe.”

“But we can hope, for a miracle, for the best.”

The waitress returned with a tray of drinks and dessert. Antina took over the waitress and prepared everything according to her mistress’s preference. She sealed the room in intricate magic formation before moving back to behind her mistress.

“You don’t seem concerned, Lady Iris,” the female Soul Soother said.

“Anxiety won’t change anything.” Iris broke a piece of cookie in half and fed it to her maid, who slowly, playfully nibbled on it. “What about you, Lady Susarin? Is it too terrifying?”

“We could guess the level of danger, but dream-related curses are too precious to give up.”

“Even if its creator is a Solidification Phase Monster Girl?”

The male Soul Soother, Kematos, furrowed his brows. “That’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t have the luxury of choosing,” Susarin said. “Who knows when we’ll find the next curse of dreams?”

“True-Master curse is beyond our capability. I can’t guarantee your safety, even if we were to use our trump card.”

“And we can’t guarantee our success. This might be our only chance.” Susarin looked at her husband, smiling. “Do you believe I’ll fail?”

Kematos sighed. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“I’ll force you. Will you blame me?”

Kematos conceded with an exhausted chuckle. He anxiously peeped at his client, upon whose soul he couldn’t peer. Iris’s figure emitted brilliance that cloaked her essence in a golden throne. He could force his way through, but a terrifying omen loomed above his decision.

“I won’t force you if you deem it too perilous,” Iris said. “I have no need for uncertain participants.”

“Morbi’s helped us when it mattered the most,” Susarin said. “This favour is also an opportunity.”

Iris nodded. She placed her right hand on the table and drew it sideways. A back-facing card appeared beneath her palm. She flipped the card. Its face was a heart constricted in circles of thorns framed in a sea of pink mist.

Susarin examined the card. Its golden rim twinkled in her right black eye. Her left grey eye brightened before dimming unexpectedly.

“I might’ve underestimated the difficulty.”

“You might’ve overestimated me.”

“I failed to decipher your divination art. Where would that put me?”

“My novelty will wear off.”

Susarin didn’t argue with her client, whose steady voice expressed paradoxical determination. She returned the card before standing up. Her husband opened the back door and led Iris and Antina to a secret passage where countless private lounges intersected.

A few other customers, veiled in shadowy membranes, passed by Iris. They glanced at her but failed to discern any of her identity. She too didn’t probe their appearances.

In a soundproof suite, Iris lay on a fluffy bed, her head laying on her maid’s lap. Antina smiled at her loveliest mistress while glancing at the two Soul Soothers preparing their ritual.

Susarin drew circles with glimmering blue powders while Kematos hung a dreamcatcher weaved in colourful threads in front of the bed. Red light of the swaying lanterns dyed the room romantic, but the freezing air stifled the steamy mood.

“Pray for me, Antina,” Iris said. “Sing me a nightly lullaby, whisper me a dreamy poem.”

“Please rest well.”

Iris looked at the two Soul Soothers before she closed her eyes. Her heartbeat steadied as her mind lightened up. Her body gradually sank inside the feather-filled bed, descending under the void upon which all reality stood.

She fell and fell and fell until she emerged in a castle laced with misty shades.