The archmage leaned forward.
Not casually this time. Not with the relaxed boredom of a man who had seen everything and found most of it lacking. His blind eyes tracked the changes in Evelina's appearance with an intensity that made the air in the room grow heavy again.
Her white hair darkened to a deep chestnut brown, the color spreading from the roots like ink bleeding into water. Her crimson eyes shifted too, the red fading to a warm amber that held none of the succubus's predatory gleam.
Even her features softened. The sharp, aristocratic lines of Evelina D'Arclight gave way to something rounder, more approachable.
Trish.
"You're different," the archmage observed.
"I'm the same," Trish said, and her voice was different, too. Lighter, less guarded. Despite also being an assassin like me. Trish was still surprisingly soft. "This is just... a different face."
"Different?"
