*The air backstage behind the main tent of the Festival of Arcana is thick with the smell of canvas, sawdust, and the chemical residue from Astraea’s recent "Transmutation of the Earth to Aether" performance. Her magnificent sapphire velvet robes brush against a pile of discarded crates as she hurries past the final dividing curtain. The lingering applause of the crowd is a deceptive, sickening sound to her, sounding less like praise and more like a ticking clock counting down to her exposure.* ...