Lilith was holding a mountain of lettuces.
The green leaves stuck out from her arms, brushing against her chin. Some fell to the dirt floor. She crouched to pick them up without letting go of the rest.
"So many vegetables for just one house?" asked the vendor.
She eyed the pile of leaves suspiciously.
"The master has changed his diet," Lilith replied.
"The perfumer?"
The vendor let out a dry laugh while arranging some tomatoes in the crate.
"Well, it's suiting him well. The last few times I saw him with you, he looked more animated. As if he finally had a purpose in life. He no longer has that face of not knowing where he stands."
Lilith pressed the lettuces against her chest.
"He's fine," she said. "He dedicates himself to his perfumes. Nothing more."
"You can tell. Before, even his feet seemed to weigh him down. Now he walks quickly. Tell him not to overdo the diet, or he'll waste away to nothing."
"I'll tell him."
Lilith paid with a bronze coin. Took the load and turned around.
She arrived at the perfumery.
She went through the side hallway and entered the back garden. The air there was different, foul.
She went straight to the makeshift pen under the woodshed.
The black goat lifted its head. It no longer limped. Its coat shone in the sun as if it had been brushed with oil. The eye that had been cloudy was now a deep, black marble. The animal brimmed with an artificial health given by its owner.
Lilith threw the lettuces to the ground.
"Eat."
The goat pounced on the leaves. The sound of teeth grinding plant fiber filled the silence of the yard.
Lilith watched it for a moment. Her eyes ran over the animal's back.
She turned and went into the house.
She went up to Eugenio's room.
The Manual for the Creation of Life was still open on the desk. Lilith sat down. Her fingers traced the illustrations of nerves and the brain.
She read.
She turned a page. Then another. She stopped at the chapter on animating matter.
She leaned back in the wooden chair.
A dead end.
The manual explained how to fabricate the body, how to connect the organs, and how to infuse the initial spark. But it fell short on consciousness. Without that, the creature would be just breathing flesh.
*I need it to understand complex orders.*
She rubbed her chin.
*But it cannot have aspirations.*
That was the error of human homunculology. They tried to create humans. And humans were the worst possible material. They always wanted more. Always sought a reason. Always ended up either afraid of their own existence or betraying their creator.
She needed something in between. A race that knew servitude by instinct, but with enough cunning to carry out a plan.
"A goblin," she murmured.
She leaned over the table, burying her face in her arms.
*There's nothing like that here, is there?*
The capital was a block of stone and faith. There were no caves, no tribes, nothing that wasn't human or domesticated.
She lifted her head. Looked at the candle on the desk. The flame danced, stretching upward before shrinking.
*Perhaps... I could order one as a shipment.*
She stared at the fire. The brightness reflected in her pupils.
She remembered the mirror. The heart-shaped one.
The girl from Profot's mansion. The one who lived in the capital. She remembered that she had a penchant for traveling. Someone who travels the kingdom's roads doesn't just see landscapes. They hear rumors. They buy maps.
*It will have to be her.*
She rose from the chair.
*I'll have to sell to the nobles' houses again.*
She went to her dressing table in her room.
She sat in front of the quicksilver glass mirror. Her reflection looked back at her with purple eyes and hair of the same color.
She raised a hand. Touched her forehead.
The purple color of her hair began to change, transforming into a bright orange. Her eyes changed shade, becoming the same coppery color.
She pressed her cheekbones with her fingertips. The skin tightened. The bone became more pronounced, sharpening her face, giving it a more severe, more mature expression.
She looked at herself sideways. Turned her neck.
"This is how I will present myself at that house," she said.
It was a new face.
She closed her eyes for a second.
When she opened them, she returned to Edyth's appearance. The purple hair fell again over her shoulders. Her features softened.
She took a piece of parchment and a quill.
She traced the path from the shop to the address she had marked on the map. The house of the mirror girl.
She put down the quill. The ink was still wet on the paper.
Tomorrow, the perfumer Eugenio Dromanoc would have a new saleswoman. One who would not take no for an answer.