Glaudran’s biggest venue was called My Mother’s. 

A bad joke, but good enough for this crowd.

I had never been to Glaudran before. But my manager Edmund told me that on our way back to Arken, we could either go over the same dead towns we played last season, or take a new route and see how far out word has spread about the famous Prince Vivace.

Yes, I am referring to myself. And no, I’m not royalty. I’m a bard. It’s an artist’s name, obviously. Not that I ever bothered to correct any perky damsel that addressed me as Your Highness. To be worshipped can be quite the aphrodisiac, it appears.

All lewdness aside, I was booked for three nights in a row in this downtrodden wretched excuse for a 'theatre of music'. I had been looking forward to it, honestly. But what we encountered was just one big disillusionment. It was just an inn. A big inn, but a sleepover tavern nonetheless. The stage stood one foot tall and had a table and chairs on it when we entered. And the only thing worse than the food that they served was the smell of the patronage. I’ve been to poor farmer’s villages before, but for a place that lined the major trade routes, it was quite uncivilised.

Oh well, it was better than being on the road. And at least they had a bath one could rent.

Edmund and I had been doing quite well on the earnings front this season, and hardly had any unforeseen expenses. So, we were well stacked on cash on our way to Arken, where we would spend the winter, and could afford some luxury at this point. Not that anything in this dump would truly count as luxurious. But for a travelling minstrel like myself, any place that can offer a hot bath is a boon.

It also meant I could free myself from the long braid in which my hair had been captive for days. I habitually braided my hair when I could not be sure if I had a chance to properly wash it. If I let my long black locks flow freely under my hat, my scalp would get greasy quite easily, probably a courtesy of the same oils I used to make my hair shine so brightly. It looked cleaner in a braid, but that didn't mean I wasn't a thousand times happier when it could breathe again.

The turn-out on the first night wasn’t half-bad for a new town. A large caravan had arrived to restock upon, what I think would have to be timber, considering the dense green environment. Which brought to town a crowd of merchants, hellbent on carousing with the locals.   

I was singing ‘The Maiden of Hellcliffe’. A well-known classic that I tend to throw in there to get everyone riled back up after the sorrowful ten minutes I always put right in the middle of my setlist.

I rose up from my chair and there he was.

I’m glad this happened with a song that I’d been playing for as long as I can remember. Because apparently, my hands kept playing my lute, my lips kept forming the words, and my lungs kept doing their job of providing my throat with the necessary airflow to keep my vocal cords busy.

Al in all, no one seemed to notice that my heart stopped then and there for what seemed like a full chorus, as my eyes laid sight upon the most beautiful being the gods had ever created.

His mesmerising face must have been carved by Symea herself. A delicate but sharp bone structure, combined with a nose too cute for any man, yet not so small as to be perceived feminine. The way he was leaning back against the bar, his posture confident and relaxed, suggested he was older than he looked. For his lean body and simple clothing told a tale of youth, as did his beardless face and ragged haircut that made his golden-brown hair fall mischievously over one of his eyes.

Eyes that were looking right back at me. An expression of awe and wonder on his face. I knew the expression, for I was used to being on the receiving end of it. But there was another less obvious emotion in his gaze as well.

He must have noticed me looking, because his lips curved up into a grin. Not a bashful one, like when a lady catches you flirting. Nor the pleasantly surprised smile of a young man realising he has a chance with the alluring artist. No. His grin was of a whole different kind. It looked like a challenge.

And I wanted nothing more than to accept it.

I poured my new-found passion into my performance. Changed up the songs even, to better suit my ecstatic mood. To relay my feelings into the oldest of love songs, finally able to grasp their whole meaning. And maybe to serenade him, making sure he was entertained.

For he could not leave. Not without giving me the opportunity to meet him properly. Not without giving me the chance to see the exact colour of his irises, and map out the freckles and birthmarks on his skin. Not without me even knowing his name.

I caught his eyes again and again throughout the show. I had to. Addicted to the tiny jolts of lightning that coursed through my veins every time our eyes met. He had enchanted me, and there was no way I could possibly look at anyone else.

After the encore our eyes met for a final time, right before I took my bow. But when I faced the crowd again, he was gone.

I immediately panicked and jumped offstage, pushing through the crowd to find him before he left for good. But getting through a crowd after you’ve just delivered the performance of a lifetime is no easy feat. Everyone wanted to talk to me, shower me with compliments, ask me questions tenfold. But I only had one goal. I redirected most of them to my manager, told the rest I’d be back later, but it was in vain.

When I finally got to the exit, my muse was nowhere in sight.

I walked around the building on the off chance I could spot him walking away in another direction. But I did not see him anywhere. Defeated, I went back to the inn and sagged down on the bench outside, feeling as if I had just lost the chance of a lifetime.

I prayed to the gods to bring him back to me once more. To make our paths cross again, so that we could meet, like we must be destined to. For why else would I feel as if my soul was ripped from my body?

“You hot or something?” A voice sounded next to me.

I turned my head to see Edmund rolling a cigarette against the wall next to me.

“No.” I replied, trying to keep the misery out of my voice.

“Then get the fuck back in. People are waiting to talk to you. Go do your job, lest they’ll think you’re some arrogant cunt that doesn’t want to give them the light of day.”

Edmund was right, of course. But I didn’t know how to face the world with such a piece of me missing.

“He’s gone Ed. I laid eyes upon my soulmate, and I didn’t even get to meet him.” I breathed, barely holding in a sob.

“Oh gods! Not the dramatics, Viv!” Edmund exclaimed. “If he ran away, he clearly wasn’t interested in your cock. And I think for a soulmate, that should be a perquisite. If you’ve sufficiently cooled off, get your perky ass back inside. I spotted plenty of pretty girls in there and if you feel like men today, there must be one that’s at least a little interesting to you. But work FIRST, yeah?”

I did not care for Edmund's tone. Here I was, having poured my everything into my show, putting money in his pockets. And he didn't even take my sorrows seriously.

“It’s your work to make connections, Ed." I snapped at him. "I've already done my work for today. I just gave the performance of a lifetime and lost my soul in the process. And you’ve never even complimented me. Instead, you’re immediately up my ass about PR. And then, when I brief you of my unfortunate fate, you don’t even comfort me. You’re being a bad friend...” I lamented.

Edmund’s expression softened a bit as he reached out to me. “There, there.” He petted me on my head twice, then lit his cigarette. “You did good today. Now stop whining and go inside to tend to your fans.”

I sighed as I got up, dramatically flicked my long hair back, and poutingly did as I was told.

Show must go on, I guess. It’s only the harsh fate of an entertainer.