The afternoon sun cast long shadows through The Rising Phoenix's first-floor dining room, where Celestia reviewed the day's reports. Their first week of operation had exceeded even Elizabeth Crawford's experienced expectations. Nobles and merchants alike flocked to experience the unique atmosphere and innovative dishes she'd recreated from her memories, while crystal lamps cast their carefully calibrated light to ensure both comfort and discretion.
But success, as always, brought unwanted attention.
"Young miss," Clara rushed into the third-floor laboratory one morning, her water magic swirling anxiously around crystal vials and instruments. "House Blackwood's representatives are in the city. They're investigating new businesses, especially those with... unusual innovations."
Celestia looked up from the ancient magic text she'd acquired through their merchant network. Morning light caught her currently brown hair—the simple disguise she'd chosen for her role as restaurant owner. "They're searching for me."
"The duke believes you couldn't have left the duchy without help," James added from his post near the door, his stance alert but controlled. "They're questioning everyone about a young girl with silver-blonde hair."
Celestia touched her disguised hair thoughtfully—the same distinctive shade as Theodore's, a mark of House Blackwood's bloodline that now served as a beacon for those hunting her. In her previous life, Elizabeth Crawford had known the importance of adapting to survive. The crystal lamps pulsed gently with her contemplation, casting subtle shadows across the ancient text before her.
"Then perhaps," she said thoughtfully, "it's time to be someone else."
The magic text, written in ancient script that seemed to shimmer with stored power, spoke of high-level transformation magic—spells that required massive power and perfect control. Most mages couldn't attempt them without risking their lives, the pages warned in elegant, glowing script. The crystal formations around her laboratory responded to the book's latent energy, creating patterns of light that danced across its weathered pages.
"Young miss?" Clara watched as Celestia began drawing complex magical circles in the laboratory. Her water magic reached out instinctively to test the strange energies beginning to gather.
"Every power has its opposite," Celestia explained, remembering theories from both lives. The crystal lamps brightened with interest as she worked, their light catching the intricate patterns she created on the floor. "Holy power creates and sustains. Magic power transforms and changes. Together..."
She stepped into the circle, letting both powers flow through her. Golden holy light merged with the earthen tones of magic, creating patterns that shouldn't have been possible. The crystal formations in the room began to sing with harmonic resonance, their light pulsing in time with her dual powers.
"Young miss!" Clara moved forward as the light intensified, making the crystal lamps flare like captured stars, but James held her back. His experienced eyes recognized something crucial unfolding.
For a moment, pain seared through Celestia's body as the powers fought, merged, transformed. The crystal formations sang louder, their light creating a cocoon of power around her. Holy energy tried to maintain her form while magic sought to change it—until suddenly, like two dancers finding perfect rhythm, the powers synchronized.
When the light cleared, she stood changed. The mirror showed a young woman with deep brown hair and green eyes—nothing like House Blackwood's distinctive coloring. The crystal lamps settled into a gentle glow, as if satisfied with their part in this transformation.
"How..." Clara breathed, her water magic reaching out to test this new reality.
"The spell requires too much power for normal mages," Celestia explained, examining her new appearance with Elizabeth Crawford's analytical eye. The mirror reflected each angle perfectly in the crystal-enhanced light. "But with holy power supporting the transformation, maintaining the body's essence while magic reshapes its appearance..."
Over the next few days, she refined the technique. Each identity needed its own look, its own story. The crystal lamps learned to recognize each form, adjusting their light to complement every new appearance she crafted:
For The Rising Phoenix's owner, she chose warm brown hair and gentle features—approachable but forgettable, a merchant who could move comfortably among both common folk and nobles.
For business negotiations, black hair and sharp grey eyes—commanding respect without drawing too much attention, reminiscent of Elizabeth Crawford's corporate presence.
For gathering information in lower districts, simple features that blended into any crowd, unremarkable enough to be instantly forgotten.
Her true appearance she kept only for her private chambers, with Clara and James as witnesses. In these moments, usually during evening strategy sessions, silver-blonde hair caught the crystal lights like captured moonlight—a reminder of who she truly was, of the power that ran through Blackwood veins.
"It's perfect," Clara observed one such evening, watching Celestia shift between forms with practiced ease. The crystal lamps adjusted smoothly to each change, their light somehow knowing which identity they served. "But young miss, the power requirement..."
"Is sustainable," Celestia assured her, demonstrating how holy power maintained what magic power changed. The crystal formations in her laboratory hummed with the perfect balance she'd achieved. "Like two hands working together, each supporting what the other needs to accomplish."
The timing proved fortunate. That very week, as House Blackwood's investigators questioned merchants about silver-blonde girls, they found only dead ends. Their frustration manifested in increased patrols and stricter questioning, all while their quarry served them tea in various guises.
A brown-haired restaurant owner impressed nobles with her innovative dishes, her gentle manner making them feel both comfortable and exclusive. A black-haired merchant negotiated brilliant trades in the market district, her sharp business sense drawing admiring whispers. And occasionally, a nondescript girl visited temples and bookshops, learning more about ancient magic while drawing no attention at all.
"We'll need to document each identity," Celestia told her companions one evening, back in her true form as crystal lamps cast warm light over her planning table. "Their backgrounds, connections, mannerisms. One slip could unravel everything."
"Like running multiple companies," James noted, remembering her stories of Elizabeth Crawford's business empire. The evening light caught his proud smile—he'd seen both her lives' strength now.
"Exactly." Celestia smiled, watching holy and magical power dance around her fingers in perfect harmony. The crystal lamps mirrored this dance, creating patterns that spoke of infinite possibilities. "Each face serves its purpose, protects our true work."
High Priest Thomas's letter remained unopened in her desk. The future saintess would need her own face too, eventually. But not yet. The crystal lights seemed to understand, dimming slightly over the drawer that held this particular secret.
That night, as she stood in her rooftop garden, Celestia felt the familiar pull of the golden thread connecting her to Theodore. In the duchy, her twin would be learning to control his strengthened vessel, unaware that his sister watched over him in a dozen different guises.
"We all wear masks," she murmured to her blooming roses, their impossible flowers nodding in the evening breeze. "Mine are just more literal than most."
Below, The Rising Phoenix hummed with activity, its brown-haired owner greeting guests with practiced charm. In her laboratory, experiments waited to become new medicines. And somewhere in the city, House Blackwood's investigators searched for a girl who no longer existed—at least, not in any form they'd recognize.
Elizabeth Crawford had taught her that survival sometimes meant becoming someone new.
Celestia Blackwood had learned to become anyone she needed to be.