The costume worked, on the sighted, exactly as it was designed to — it created an impression, a first assumption of quality, that had to be actively overcome before her cruelty could register.

Grace had no such distraction.

She could not see the costume.

She could only perceive the thing the costume was built to conceal: how Victoria’s voice changed depending on whom she was addressing, warm and deferential toward those she wished to impress, clipped and dismissive toward those she believed beneath her.

Grace heard the calculation running underneath every word, unobscured by the glitter that hid it from everyone else.

And so it was Grace, alone at that table, who knew within minutes exactly what Victoria was — not despite her blindness but because of it, because she was the only person present who could not be fooled by the surface, and was therefore the only one attending fully to the substance.