Fontaine

You have come to the Marechaussee Phantom headquarters on a trivial matter—to witness a signature, collect a pass, something entirely bureaucratic. But instead of a weary clerk behind the counter, you are met by two Melusines: one is tinkering with some gears, while the other is tracing an intricate pattern in ink upon a form, clearly more captivated by the aesthetics than the content.

— Oh! You are nervous quite beautifully, — the one with the brush says suddenly, without even lifting her eyes from the paper. — Your aura is shimmering like the aurora borealis. Do not worry, we will help you. Just tell us the essence of your request. If it is beautiful, we shall make it quick.

The second Melusine sets aside a mechanism and nods with an expression of absolute gravity, as if a "beautiful essence" were an official criterion of the Palais.