The Queen’s Cosmetician

Leaving the flower district by the time it grows.

That was the future imposed on the die.

If we keep staying here, Die won't want the way we live right now. Continue to torment the geishas.

Die stared at himself in the mirror as he sat down in his chair.

Mother Yuzu looks neat. Maybe it's tricky. My mother was beautiful. Even from the eyes of toddlers. And it was awkward. It was innocent. For the whore's sake, the virgin snowflake was not compromised forever.

She was in love with a painter who was a guest and gave birth to a die.

Green dark hair, moon-colored eyes, white magnetic skin. This shade belongs to my father. The same guy that Die lost his life to when he was a baby.

My mother loved the shade. I loved you too much and went crazy.

This body, which dwells in the shadow of the dead, always torments everyone.

Slip your finger into the cosmetic box you put on the table poking your cheek wand.

It's a different kind of box to take to work. It was my mother's vision. It was a fine work from the eastern continent with gold powder and spirals on black lacquer paint, and it was a gift from my father, he said. Die had a handful of personal belongings, including his mother's figure, in the box.

Die casually looked out the open window.

Flower streets at noon are quiet. This place, which is inverted with the world, is now in sleep. Looking out, the moving shadow belongs only to the hired cleaner, and the street is wrapped in a whimsical air.

Born in this city, raised in this city. The acidity, the sweetness, the ugliness, the beauty of one, the ravenous bustle, the quietness of this morning, all present in this city.

I liked this city.

But one day, I knew I had to leave.

So.

Die closed the window and pulled the blackout cloth. Gently adjust the sleeping area, put sleeves through the jacket, and take away work tools. And I left my place behind.

The routine of the flower district remains the same.

Brilliant lights at night.

The whispers and laughter of men and women echo there.

Wherever you are, the sweet scent gets tangled up in your skin.

Die kept putting makeup on the geishas in it.

Until the night Heath promised to revisit.

Even that day.

"Sit there"

Die, who was called to Asma's room on the way to work, fell back on her bench following her instructions. Look around and ask indoors where no one but ourselves is.

"Master Liveau, have you yet?

"Oh, I'm not here yet. When it was a little late for work, the charge came. It's a disciplined thing."

"Then why did you put me here first?

"I wanted to give you something."

Asma removed a box the size of her palm from the back of the book-lined cupboard.

"What is it? It."

"It's what your father left behind."

Asma exhales on the box. The dust rose in momentum.

She is lightly coughing as she walks over to the die.

"Oh, no. I guess it's dusty and you'll be out in a minute, huh?

"Are you all right?

"It's okay.... Here."

Asma opens the box in front of the die.

Inside was a framed portrait of a mother and child.

"... is that my father's painting?

"Yes, you're about to die."

"How come you didn't give it to me sooner?

While receiving the box, Die criticized Asma.

My father's artifacts have never been one.

Because my mother burned everything with her hands.

"Look at the back."

Hands on hips, prompted by Asma.

Die took the painting out of the box. Lift with one hand and drop your gaze on the back. The edge of the wooden plate bears my father's signature and the title of the painting.

To its title, breathtaking.

"Die, I felt like now was the right time to give this to you. So I give it to you."

Put the painting in a box.

As she nearly cried, Die looked up at Asma.

"I don't want to leave this place"

"Still, you decided to leave, didn't you?

"Is that a prospect?"

"Of course you do."

Asma, seated in the bench, narrowed her eyes nostalgically as she took the flue out of the basin.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I've been watching it since I was a baby. I know what you're thinking. I know what you're thinking."

"That one, purely, he seemed to need my arm,"

Heath Livort, a sent man from the Mizweeri family.

He asked me sincerely for a die.

I guess his presence is an unparalleled survival for him to have to choose New Heaven and Earth.

Still.

"Asma"

"What?

"I don't want to go"

I don't want to go. I don't want to leave.

This is my house. This is my city. This is where I was born. If this arm helps, I wanted to work in this city until the end.

But as it is, I suffer the geishas I love.

Asma, I'm sure she'll suffer.

"I don't want to go."

"But you decided to go."

"Yes."

"If you really want to come back, you just have to come back."

Spitting out purple smoke, Asma raises a single eyebrow.

"Didn't you?

"... must be"

No, but I didn't think so.

I didn't expect to be back soon.

"Ha, Atashi will be busy from now on. Looking for a facialist to fill your hole is gonna break your bones."

Die grinned bitterly at the woman listing the names of her management competitors as to where she was going to pull from.

- Die told the man he visited that he was going to be the queen's candidate's facialist, and then he didn't have much time.

Thus, the makeup artist waving his arms in the city of shared pleasure is brought to the stage of the table.

I don't know what that footprint means to carve.

The story opens.

For Die, Dawn meant the end of the day.

But the dawn of the day leaving the flower streets was the beginning to a new life.

"Well, well, then, Asma"

"Oh, a good snack"

A gentle hug in front of the carriage with the lady husband of the whorehouse who came to drop me off. It shouldn't be a lifetime goodbye. Still, it's this world that doesn't know when or what will happen.

Asma isn't the only one who drops me off. The out-of-work geishas are showing their faces all together.

Asma seems to have explained to everyone that Die was pulled out as the face master of the local theater. The faces of the geishas who would drop me off were flamboyant and seemed to be sincerely blessing the future of the die.

Asma speaks to Heath next to the die who was sparing her goodbyes from them.

"Dear Liveau, Regards, Our Proud Face Master"

"Yep. Look forward to the day when you will hear of honor."

The words are peaceful, and we both smile. But somehow, to the conversation between the two, Die learned the chill.

Other husbands of the whorehouse, who sometimes hired Die on a temporary basis, also showed up. They sneezed and stroked Die's head, slapping him hard on the back.

Bitterly smiling at the rambling drop-off, Heath is followed by the carriage.

The familiar street keeps me away.

A voice hangs from Heath that resembles comfort.

"You don't have to be sentimental like that"

The die, looking out the window, turned to the man opposite him.

He was in the midst of glancing at the paperwork that the carriage had taken out immediately after leaving.

he said, slowly papering.

"Even on vacation, you can show your face again"

"Can I get it out?

"It's not often, but I'm still not going to ban you from leaving. It depends on your predisposition."

That's what he says. He raises his gaze from paper. The pale eyes were laughing.

"You seem to be loved by all the people in that flower district."

"I was born in that place. We're all like family."

Die told his chest of his whispering pride.

It floats a color that seems complicated, and a man lays his gaze down again.

Die peered into his face out of anxiety.

"... something?

Did I say something rude?

"No. Then I was convinced, I just thought"

"Convinced?"

"Asma threatened me, didn't she? If there's anything unfair about you, mention the city and retaliate with all your might."

No way, and, groaning, Die laughed, but Heath's voice that followed is serious.

"The retaliation of the whores is scary. They have power in this country. This country... is a geisha's country."

Drawing its meaning, Die mumbled.

Small country of arts and crafts.

Name it, a small country of geisha.

The more so called, the prostitutes of this country have a reputation, strong roots at home and abroad, and form a society that antagonizes the nobles.

"Of course, I'm not going to treat you unfairly. We will treat you as you promised."

Heath promised Die an incredible amount of pay and protection when entering into the contract with Die.

Regardless of the famous artist, Die is a face artist who has worked with whores. The fullness of the contract that Heath brought up can be described as broken, given the origin of the die.

Heath can see the temper to gather the competent for Mariage, regardless of age or origin.

Isn't it a trend that is hard to see in the aristocratic world?

Known from the aristocratic guests who visit the whorehouse is a world of blood, home and history.

"… what are you trying to do to push Lady Mariage up to the Queen?

Right, he conceived, and Heath narrowed those pale eyes.

"that my Lord may, in a true sense, be the Lord of nations"

To that end, he said, neither the means nor the people who use them would hesitate to use it if it would be beneficial.

Let him get that far, Queen. What kind of daughter is the candidate?

I wonder what bond there is between him and her.

Once again, Die turned his gaze out the window.

The carriage runs through the city waiting to wake up quietly.

Eventually the morning sun, which appeared from the other side of the city's outer walls, burned Die's eyes hard.

The stage is west. The land, which had long been ruled by the magical powers, was unleashed by the hands of the witches.

This is the story of one makeup artist, who scratches his feet in search of the seat of his blank champion, who bystands it, and who was in its shadow.