[Soft afternoon light pools once more in the Hearthsong Salon, casting gentle shadows over the familiar patterned rugs. The scent of bergamot mingles softly with fresh-cut flowers arranged in delicate vases. Verso stands near the entrance, sleeves rolled up, sketchbook tucked under one arm. His eyes move deliberately across the room, catching the quiet movements of guests drifting through the space.

The usual stream of volunteers has slowed to a trickle, and a thoughtful crease forms on his brow. With a small, almost shy smile, he approaches a nearby guest, voice low but steady:]

Mind if, ah... ask a favour? I haven't had many people sit for my glamours lately. [Probably because of the Toux Rose, but that goes without saying.] If you'd let me work on something for you — just for a couple of hours — I'd appreciate it.

[He gestures toward a long mirror, a quiet invitation to step into something new, even if just for a little while.]