In the shadow of the Razorback mountain range, nestled snugly in the rolling, tree-covered foothills, sat the cozy village of Emerald Cove, its angled rooftops sparkling in the midday sun. The village, quaint and comfortable, bustled with activity—idle chatter filling the air of the eastern market district along with the delectable smells of lunch preparations wafting from homey restaurants and streetside food stalls. Tucked away on an offshoot of the main road was the Angel Haus tavern—a squat, ash-brick building with scraggly ivy growing up the walls. Inside, patrons from all walks of life enjoyed their midday meals, discussing everything from upcoming festivals to which trees had started showing their autumn colors.

Lapis was about to ruin their entire day.

It wasn't as though she aspired to be a day ruiner—in fact, at this exact moment, she only aspired to mediocrity. Anything was better than the horrible reputation she'd been saddled with. "The Demon Bard of Angel Haus", they called her.

Sitting in her tiny attic bedroom above the tavern, her nimble fingers plucked out a melody on her lyre—a silver, crescent-shaped harp barely larger than a dinner plate. Despite the beautiful weather outside, the attic window was shut tight, not allowing for even a single note to escape the room.

The scheduled time for her performance would come any moment, but in the meantime, Lapis enjoyed her isolation. Alone in the attic, she played beautifully—the music she delicately pulled from the harp's strings was melodious and soothing, not unlike a gentle creek washing over smooth river stones. Playing the piece required almost no thought—Lapis knew the notes by heart, and summoned forth the song from pure muscle memory. For the moment, she was calm, sitting poised at the edge of her bed. She strummed a peaceful rhythm into the air, swaying gently back and forth and letting the music move her, until her mind wandered to the thought of her impending performance.

She imagined stumbling onto the stage that awaited her in the tavern below, and the judgmental stares of dozens of eyes boring into her like red-hot daggers. Her fingers went stiff, and she plucked a wrong note. She tried to force the thought from her mind and return to her peaceful melody, but she could still feel the eyes of her imaginary audience, their disapproval burning hotter with every mistake she made. Her pulse quickened, thudding against her chest as she tried to force her way through the rest of the song, but the gentle cascade of music devolved into chaotic river rapids crashing over jagged boulders. The song and her spirit shattered, falling into sharp little pieces, until she stopped playing and set the lyre in her lap.

She wondered why she even tried.

As if on cue, a knock came from beneath the attic floor, and the trap door opened with a creak. Agatha Dawnborough, the tavern's owner and Lapis's employer, poked her head up into the attic. She was a stout Dwarvish woman nearing the end of her Prosperous Age, her copper skin worn with time, heavy wrinkles settling around her eyes and mouth. Her greying hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and the apron she wore was smudged with flour from a morning spent baking.

"Lapis?" she said, "All set for you down here. You ready?"

"Almost," Lapis stammered as she quickly stood, taking a moment to adjust her dress. "How many are there?"

"Mm... About a dozen."

"That's fewer than last time..."

"Aye, I was hoping there'd be more," Agatha replied, scratching her chin.

"No, smaller is... better, I think," Lapis replied anxiously, moving to the attic's mirror and quickly brushing her fingers through her hair, fixing a few flyaways. Her deep blue eyes peered back at her through heavy black bangs. "Maybe having fewer people watching will make things easier?"

"You'll do fine, love."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I haven't done 'fine' in the half-dozen times I've tried this."

"Well, you're on lady Celinne's number now! Maybe she'll give you a spot of good luck?"

Lady Celinne—the seventh god in the cycle, goddess of connections and community. Maybe Agatha was right. Yet, Lapis didn't let herself get her hopes up. Celinne was the mother of humans, and though she didn't know her exact origins, Lapis was clearly Elvish—long pointed ears and bony frame. Plus, she didn't like to rely on blessings from gods who had been dead for millennia.

"One can only hope," she mumbled.

Lapis continued tidying herself. Her clothes weren't anything special, just one of her many work dresses and the pendant she always wore, but today she had tied a bright blue ribbon into her hair—a splash of color that stood out against her dark hair and the dull, dusty blue of her dress. Earlier that week, Agatha had suggested adding a pop of color to her outfit to draw more attention. The bright blue ribbon was eye-catching, certainly, but Lapis was unsure if she wanted to be catching eyes at all.

"Cheer up, love!" Agatha said, smiling. "You'll do great this time, I can feel it! Dave and I will be there to cheer you on—plus your biggest fan is back again."

Lapis squirmed. Her "biggest fan" was a tavern regular who was somehow always there on days she'd be performing. Lapis was unconvinced he actually liked her performances—it was more likely that he enjoyed Agatha's cooking enough to tolerate the mediocre bard who imposed herself on the tavern’s patrons once a week.

Agatha, sensing her trepidation, waved encouragingly. "You've got this, love. Just come on down when you're ready." With that, she descended the ladder and closed the trap door behind her.

Alone in the attic once again, Lapis soaked in her last few moments of solitude. She picked up her harp and stood in front of the mirror, straightening her back and forcing a smile. Maybe Agatha was right—maybe this time would be different. The thought felt foolishly optimistic, but she held onto it regardless. Maybe, after all this time, this performance would be the one—the one to endear her to the tavern's patrons, allow her to shed the Demon Bard title she hated so much, and start making meaningful progress toward her goal. Maybe, for once, the performance would go well.

The performance did not go well.

It hadn't been as disastrous as some of her previous attempts, at the very least; it had actually started off reasonably well. Sitting atop a rickety stool on the tiny corner stage in the dining area of Angel Haus, Lapis had decided to try something new: Blocking out her audience entirely. She had completely avoided looking at any of the tavern patrons as she made her way to the stage, and kept her eyes locked onto her lyre as she began to play. Though she was a bit shaky at the start, after a few moments she managed to settle into a decent rhythm. The song didn't sound as good as when she played by herself, but she tried not to let that bother her, considering the circumstances. And surprisingly, her new method was working... until a patron whispered something to their table mate, and Lapis's focus shattered. She was abruptly snapped back to the reality of a dozen sets of eyes staring at her. Heart thumping in her chest, a cold sweat prickled on her skin, and her fingers locked in place. She forced out a few more strangled notes before cutting the song short, rising to take a stiff and awkward bow before hurrying out of the room. A handful of awkward pity claps followed her as she scurried up the stairs, around the corner, up the ladder, and into her attic. Letting out a single, earthshaking sigh, she flopped facedown into the bed.

Attempt no. 7 ends in failure. Thanks for the luck, Lady Celinne, she thought.

The long-dead goddess did not reply.

Lapis lay in bed, her face burning, embarrassment weighing her down like a wet blanket. Maybe if she lay there long enough she would simply become one with the mattress, and she'd never have to show her face in front of any of the tavern's patrons ever again. However, after a few minutes, her wallowing was interrupted by a familiar knock at the trap door.

"Lapis, dear?" Agatha called out as she stepped up into the attic. Her tone was kind, but hesitant. "You alright?"

Lapis didn't see a point in lying. "No," she groaned, her voice muffled by her pillow. She lay there despondent as she listened to the trapdoor open and Agatha's footsteps approach, only turning to look at her employer as she felt her sitting at the foot of the bed.

"I'm sorry, love. It was better than last time, though! You got through more of the song this go-around!"

"That's hardly worth celebrating."

"On the contrary! Small progress is still progress. You did your best out there, love. You're improving bit by bit every time. Remember your first concert?"

"Unfortunately," Lapis grumbled.

"You barely played a single note! Just froze in place like a baby deer, all trembling."

"I wish you wouldn't remind me."

"But that's the point—you're improving! This stage fright of yours—it's just some kind of mental block you've gotta work through. You said so yourself, you must've been an bard in the past, right? You'll figure it out, you just have to keep trying!"

Lapis lay in silence, considering Agatha's words. While it was true that today hadn't been her worst performance attempt, it was still a shameful botched job compared to how she could play with no one else listening. She was certain the only reason Agatha had so much faith in her was that she was one of only two people who had ever heard her really play—though both cases had been entirely on accident. A few weeks after Agatha had taken her in, Lapis had been so absorbed in practicing her lyre that she didn't hear Agatha approaching, and the tavern keeper had been able to hear the music through the closed trap door. The instant Agatha had made herself known, Lapis's playing had devolved into an anxious, jittering mess of jumbled notes, but ever since, Agatha had been pushing her to get over her stage fright. "The world deserves to hear you," she had said.

While Lapis was grateful—Agatha's encouragement was one of the main things that kept her from giving up entirely—she couldn't help but feel like she hadn't earned the praise she was given. Surely her awful showmanship wasn't worth all this effort.

Agatha shifted up the bed, reaching over to give Lapis a pat on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, dear. I know it's hard. You take some time and get yourself sorted."

"What about the lunch shift?"

"Oh, it's just about over. Besides, I have Dave holding down the place."

Agatha grinned playfully, but Lapis grimaced. The usual customers at Angel Haus weren't a rowdy bunch, but if something did happen, it wasn't as though Dave would be able to do anything about it. Aside from shouting and wobbling back and forth a little.

“He’ll be fine,” Agatha continued. “Besides, he’s more likely to pick up on some good gossip if I’m not hovering around the room." She gave Lapis a final shoulder pat. "You just take your time, okay?”

With that, Agatha left the attic, leaving Lapis alone with her thoughts. The early afternoon sun streaked gently through the small window and onto Lapis's bed, bathing her in warmth. As she watched the puffy clouds above drift gently by, her mind wandered back to her performance. She picked up her lyre and strummed out a few notes: Perfect, clear, and beautiful. She sighed.

How am I supposed to play in front of crowds if I can't even get through one song in front of a handful of people?

She lay on her bed idly plucking her lyre's strings, pondering her situation, and counting the minutes as they passed. She hoped that, if she waited long enough, the tavern patrons who made up her previous audience would go on their way; waiting on the tables of people who had just watched her miserably fumble a performance, again, wasn't an enjoyable prospect. However, after roughly half an hour, she forced herself out of bed and tied on her work apron. While she may be a mediocre bard, she didn't want to also be a cowardly one.