You're so fun, but I've got bills to pay
I don't love any of these men
Just want to feel the most I can
Night, 4th January, 1895 — The Painted Lady (brothel side), Hogsmeade

Ester had never worked at The Painted Lady herself, but she was familiar with most of the girls there – they had crossed paths at one degenerate party or another. She had come here to work today: not like the girls, but as a model. Her photographer friend was scouting other bodies, so it had been a convenient location for the shoot as anywhere.

He was in with one of the other ladies now, posing her for a while. Ester was always a little miffed when she was hired and then hardly used – was this intended to be some sly reminder of her aging grace? – but she was trying not to let it get to her, and entertaining herself in one of the plush entertaining rooms of the place, drinking wine and catching up with friends.

“Now, I don’t believe I know you,” she called out, beckoning lazily at a pretty young thing with long flowing dark hair, a gesture that she ought to join her on one of the sofas. “And I know everyone. What’s your name, pet?”

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