Constance Ashworth's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Constance Ashworth stood before the gilt-framed mirror in her dressing room, studying the face that had fooled society for years. She touched her pale cheek with gloved fingers. The city knew her as a widow of impeccable reputation, but they didn't know what stirred beneath her skin when the moon rose full. She needed a portrait painter who could capture both versions of herself without exposing either one. The nameless city held many artists, but finding one skilled enough to paint the truth while hiding it would take time. She spent the morning composing the advertisement at her writing desk. The words had to be perfect—inviting enough to attract talent, vague enough to hide her true purpose. By afternoon, she had commissioned an elegant sign with intricate lettering. The craftsman delivered it wrapped in brown paper. Constance examined every detail before approving it. The sign announced that the Ashworth estate sought an artist for a private commission. She sent her footman to place it in the town square where artists and merchants gathered daily. Now she would wait. The right painter would see it and understand that this was no ordinary portrait request. Someone with vision would answer her call.