@pxgeturn
Though it had only been a month, it felt as if an age had passed since The Sinner’s Ball. In those scant days the world had shifted on its axis, and Catherine’s eyes had been opened, closed, and re-opened again to sights she was still unmuddling. Most of her days now were spent poring over her sketches for Madame Harley - though she feels now that she should call her Winifred, as she had been closer to her than any other. But the sketches were rough - rougher than rough - and her memory of the poses was clouded with her own lust.
Russel Street was good for several things: buying illicit substances, buying stolen good, and buying flesh. Right now, Catherine was looking for the latter. She needed someone to pose so that she could get her foreshortening right, and Russel Street had some of her favourite models to work with. For that reason she found herself upon the familiar street, scouting around for a girl of similar build to Winifred, who could stand in for her, even if they could not live up to her.
As she peered round a figure caught her attention - but not for the reason she had initally hoped. It was familiar, and as Catherine squinted she realised that she had seen that mouth, those shoulders, that chin, a lifetime ago. Miss Isabelle Thomas, who she had been so eager to see.
Lifting up her skirts, she hurried her way towards her, her thoughts concerning her art for the moment abandoned. “Isabelle?” she called, hoping she was not mistaken.