I’m quite adept at smiling. Practice for long enough, and one becomes a natural at such tokens of nonverbal social connection. I can produce all sorts of smiles on cue. Which is imperative in my profession, since spreading joy is only possible if one is a shining beacon of such emotion to begin with.

A smile, a real beaming, brilliant smile, one that reaches all the way up to the eyes, conferring them with that twinkle, that is part of my stage outfit. A superlative of the one I put on when I emerge from solitude and enter the world, my stage smile only falters when it should: during the emotional middle part of my set, when I am set to convey other emotions and give room to grief and sorrow.

Therefore, it did not falter when I scanned the room during the first songs I played, and found he was not present. No one could have guessed that I was breaking inside as I swayed over the stage to the upbeat sounds of ‘The ale is hers.’ No one but Edmund.

I was sure of this, because I know I’m good at what I do. But I was additionally reassured since Ed was aware of my feelings, and was literally giving me a thumbs up. He only did that when he was especially proud, which was hardly ever, but that made me value his encouragement so much more now.

It gave me the extra strength to bring out the necessary enthusiasm to incite the crowd on an empty stomach. Lifting the spirits of the dozens of people packed in that decrepit inn was a trial today, but one I was gloriously winning.

I held on until it was time for abatement, settling down on a stool as Edmund brought me a glass of water. At least, that was our usual agreement. Today, however. Without prompting, I received a glass of what one sip revealed to be brandy. Not the cheap kind either.

I gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement, before striking the first minor chord of ‘the light you shone’, a classic ballad about the departure of a loved one that was well-known over the continent and generally silenced the entire audience within seconds. It had the same effect today. And the mood shift was palpable, like a thick fog of sorrow weighing down the atmosphere. It rebounded back to me and unwillingly gave my supressed feelings an opening to pour out of.

That’s okay. I can shed tears through a doleful song. The public display of emotion only makes the performance more real for the onlookers, and provides them with an excuse to let their own sorrows flow.

From Ayberon’s classic, I used a well-practiced segue into one of my own melancholic songs. This one I actually wrote about my mother’s death, which was presently laden with an intensity of complex new sentiments it had not even contained the day I wrote it. For the first time in years my voice broke, but it earned me a deafening applause, almost too grand to be originating from less than a hundred people.

Normally I would have added two or three other sorrowful songs, but I gathered from the undercurrent that it would be hard to pull the crowd back after that. At least a third of them was openly sobbing already. So I took another swig of the brandy and a deep breath, kicked the stool away, and launched the joyful tones of ‘The Maiden of Hellcliffe.’

The lightheartedness needed to lift up the spirits was hard to come by, but I drew from all my happy memories to force that genuine merriment back on my face and in my voice. I could physically feel myself raise the heavy burden from the crowd, as my soul nigh buckled under the pressure. 

But when I looked up at the audience, it was instantly gone, and I could float weightlessly in a sea of delight. For there at the bar, in the exact same spot as he had been the day before, my eyes found him.

His presence seemed to radiate, as if illuminated by a beam of heavenly light. His delicate features shining as if presented to me, saying: here is your destiny. These lips will be the only ones you'll ever want to kiss, these slender arms offering the only embrace you'll ever crave, these eyes the ones you'll await to open every morning, forever. 

As he caught my gaze, his lips curled up in that misschievous smile I had not been able to put out of my mind for the past twenty-four hours. 

Then, as if it wasn't hard enough to keep myself from running over the heads and shoulders of the crowd to immediately join his side, he winked at me.

My whole being exploded. I was made of stars. A thousand fires burning hotter than the sun, floating freely in the night sky. Such was the state of my soul. 

He could not leave again. For I instantly knew that if he did, there would be none of me left but an empty shell.

I signalled Edmund. But he was distracted, chatting with a man clad rather lavishly for this crowd. A merchant, probably. I tried to catch his eye two more times during the song, but it was difficult. For I was entertaining a hundred people who had just bawled their eyes out, whilst every fragment of my being was constantly drawn like a moth to the flame that illuminated my life and set my heart on fire.

After the applause died out, I decided to call him out.

“Thank you, kindhearted souls. And welcome to the handsome gentleman at the bar, who must be severely attracted to that maiden of Hellcliffe, for he appears every time I play it.” I said, succeeding in turning Ed’s attention to the young man along with everyone else’s.

It took me less than a second to realise this was certainly not what my soulmate wanted, for he instantly turned on his heel. I immediately diverted attention away from him by complimenting a woman in a vermillion dress, stating that she must have never been to Hellcliffe, otherwise the song would have revolved around her instead of some silly maiden.

I complimented a couple of other women, and joked about some men, trying to keep the attention on the crowd away from my manager, who was now slightly assertively preventing my fated from leaving. When I saw him take the drink Edmund offered, I finally dared to continue the performance, strumming an upbeat lovesong I had recently written and had been received with enthusiasm over the past weeks.

I had been quite content with the lyrics before, but looking at the young man uneasily sipping his drink, I realised that my frivolous song did not convey love at all. Attraction, yes. Lust, surely. But love? No. Love was much grander than such superficial appeal. The immense depth of the pull I felt now, no enticement I had ever experienced even compared to it. 

During the remainder of the show, I kept stealing looks at the subject of my desire. And every time I did, our eyes met, and that same shocking thrill ran through my veins. Careful not to put him back in the spotlight, I serenaded him, devoting every word to his presence, every high note begging him to stay.

And he did.

I dreaded looking up after my final bow, but he had not disappeared this time. I jumped off stage to finally meet the man that had become my obsession overnight, but Edmund stopped me in my tracks with one stern look. The young man at his side smiled at me and lifted his hand, indicating his full glass.

Annoyed with the inevitable delay, but convinced it would not result in losing my chance to talk to him, I chatted with the grateful crowd for a couple of very long minutes, until the attention slowly dispersed, and people went on with their business. Then I made my way over to the bar, where received a new glass of brandy and compliments from my manager.

I, however, only had eyes for the brown-haired man next to him. From up close he was even more breathtakingly handsome. His fair skin was adorned with several tiny beauty marks. His pink lips were slightly ragged, but plump and kissable. And his eyes were blue pools of infinite depth in which I was already hopelessly drowning.

“Your manager keeps feeding me drinks, I think he’s trying to get in my pants.” He quipped. And I immediately fell in love with his melodic voice.

I tilted my head slightly and pointedly looked him over. “My dear Edmund is usually quite the ladies’ man, but I can see why he’d diverge.” I told him, adding my most charming smile.

I had half a mind to just forego all the games and banter and just pour my heart out, but I didn’t want to come on too strong, so I opted for my usual tactics instead. They seemed viable, for I received a winsome smile in return.

“Do you now? Well, he’s not my usual type either, but I must say the manager of the great Prince Vivace seems quite a catch.”

“He does, right? Hair is SO overrated.” I drawled, trailing my fingers through my perfectly moisturised locks.

“Oi, I’m not just gonna sit here and be the object of your mockery.” Ed playfully punched me in the shoulder, before heading outside for a cigarette. Edmund had always preferred to smoke his tobacco in the midnight chill, instead of indoors, only lighting up where he sat if it was pouring rain.

“Is that your real hair, or is that a stage wig to cover up your own receding hairline?” The recipient of my everlasting affection had the audacity to inquire.

I gasped in mock outrage at his suggestion. “How could you possibly imply that I deceive my audience? I would never! No, in reality I sacrificed my firstborn to the God of haircare.” I twirled a shiny lock between my fingers.

“Certainly looks like it was worth it. But I wonder how many other children you had to sacrifice for that face, that body and that voice, never even mind the fame and fortune. You must have sired an army…” He teased. And I couldn’t believe I walked right into that one.

“Ah, you overestimate my progeniture. But I am sincerely flattered you estimate my other qualities on equal footing with my much coveted hair.” I told him, trying to shift his mindset from my reputation for promiscuity as soon as humanly possible. “However, I must admit there is no intriguing tale of barter to be told. I inherited my other features from my parents, and owe my fame and fortune to the Lady Luck. Who is, in spite of what many believe, actually a rather plump man with a receding hairline.”

My quip made him chuckle. And it was the most beautiful sound, turning my insides into a swirling mess in an instant.

“May inquire as to your name?” I asked him.

“Tired of the mystery already, my Prince?” his eyes sparkled above his mischievous smile as he purposefully stretched the last syllable, eliciting such a strong response from my body that it momentarily overrode all my senses.

“Do you perhaps wish to find a quieter space for us to converse? I can imagine the great Prince Vivace would not want to fuel the more troubling rumours that surround your reputation.”

“And what gossip would you happen to have overheard that would tarnish my reputation so?” I leaned closer, the innuendo lingering between us.

“They say your appetite is not limited to the fairer sex.”

“The fairer sex? How could one speak of a fairer sex when one is in with the presence of an ethereal beauty that knows no equal amongst any gender?” I told him, successfully eliciting a blush.

“So does this mean there is truth in the rumours?” Our eyes met as he covertly trailed his finger over my leg, setting every inch of skin alight with burning desire.

“Who knows? It’s a mystery of a magnitude rivalling the one around your name.” I teased.

“Elijah.” He told me.

“So, Elijah.” I tasted it on my tongue, and the syllables started writing their own song instantly. “Are you one of this renowned village's residents?” I tried to sound casual, but I may have needed all my attention to stop myself from begging him to take me home.

“No, thank the gods I don't live in this hellhole.” he shattered my wish with a quip. “I’m with the caravan. I tend to the horses”, he added, snuffing out what little hope I could have possibly had that Elijah owned a private carriage. Not that I was expecting the young man to be a merchant of sorts. His threadbare jacket already gave away that he was not amongst the well-endowed. Well not with money anyway...

It brought an idea to mind though.

“I have a horse. His name is Largo. Are you perchance interested in meeting him?” I tried.

Elijah’s posture suddenly changed, and not in a good way. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at me.

“Luring me outside, huh? To your dingy wagon, I’m sure. I bet you’re afraid a filthy peasant like me would soil your bed? Nah, I may be poor, but I have my pride, your highness.” He spat the last words at me and shoved his drink away hard, sliding it past me over the length of the bar.

My eyes followed the projectile as it crashed on the floor at the end of the bar, splattering expensive brandy all over the well-clad merchant Edmund was chatting up earlier. When I turned my gaze back to Elijah, he had disappeared into thin air.