"I apologize, Milord, for my presumptuousness," you bow nervously, "but..."
"It is of no concern," Marquis Rajes waves you off and comes around the desk to stand before you. "You have those you must protect, as do I. However," the marquis pauses, "due to the precarious nature of this estate, I cannot provide you with much additional information regarding its inhabitants until we come to an understanding as to your presence here."
You nod hesitantly, acknowledging the marquis' need for secrecy. Before you can organize your thoughts, the marquis unexpectedly takes a handkerchief from his coat pocket and offers it to you with a wry look.
"I realize it is quite forward," Marquis Rajes states in response to your questioning glance. "But I wonder if you would allow me to see your hair?"
Finally understanding what the marquis is asking, you hesitate a moment, then remove the kerchief that until now has been covering your pure white hair, which falls to cascade over your shoulders. Before you can look up, you feel a gentle touch rub your face. When it lifts, you see the clean handkerchief in the marquis' hand now has smudges of oil and soot, and realize to your embarrassment that he has removed the camouflage from your eyebrows and eyelashes. As your face reddens, you hear the marquis speak.
"I see, it would appear you have progressed thus far as well. It is fortunate for you that your sister has blonde hair, and you need not worry about maintaining your past identity. If your hair is dyed slightly golden, it should mask the true color quite easily, and require little upkeep," Marquis Rajes concludes. After a moment, the import of what he has said dawns on you.
"But, Milord...your hair is..." you query haltingly. It is fairly obvious the marquis' hair is black as night.
"Unfortunately, as for myself," the marquis glumly smiles. "I had rather strikingly dark hair from my youth. In order to maintain the illusion, it requires a great deal of daily care, and a large amount of black dye." You are beginning to understand why the marquis would want someone around who was in the same predicament as he, even a lowborn commoner. While one ran the risk of secrets being divulged, having an ally could be worth it. So if the marquis also had white hair, then the next step of the change would be...
"Milord, even if I change my identity..." you ponder. "There are still some physical characteristics that show I have been involved in manual labor. It will be obvious I am no noble."
Without responding, the marquis gently takes your arm and ushers you out of the study and down the hallway to a room which appears to be a dressing room, likely prepared to ready you for dinner. Although you think for a moment he is dodging your question, the marquis escorts you over to a large mirror and indicates your reflection.
"I am not certain if it is due to the regenerative abilities possessed by vampires," the marquis says softly, "but I have noted certain effects on the appearance, and I believe you will as well."
It is true, and you are speechless. The cracked little face mirror in your old home could not convey the changes to your body. Where you skin was once ruddy and chafed, your arms scarred, your hands calloused, the tell-tale marks of labor are fading from your body, at a rate much faster than it normally would. In fact, given a few weeks at the same rate, it was possible that you would indeed be able to pass for the child of a noble, at least in terms of appearance. Staring at an unfamiliar face, you can barely recognize yourself.