That Time I Sang a Song and Danced My Heart Out

The stall owner’s approval was evident in his widening eyes. From beneath the wooden table, he produced a small clay figurine. Viktor presented it to me, and I couldn't help but grin, charmed by its simple, faceless form and rudimentary painted-on clothes. Our journey continued from one stall to the next, a victory at one game earning me another prize, and Viktor matching my success at the next. We wandered on until the festive sounds guided us to the heart of the hamlet. There, a joyous circle of people danced to the exuberant strains of loud music. After tucking our collection of modest treasures into a bag, I grabbed Viktor's arm to pull him toward the celebration.

At least, that was the intention. He planted his feet firmly. "No."

"Yes," I insisted.

"No."

Were we truly going to have this argument again? Oh, come on, Viktor, I pleaded silently. It will be fun! Besides, who here would even recognize you? Seeing the refusal hardening on his face, I resorted to the one plea that always came to my lips when trying to persuade someone. "Please? For me?"

Viktor released a long-suffering sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I will watch."

It was a compromise, but I couldn't deny a flicker of disappointment. Handing him my bag, I plunged into the swirling vortex of dancers. I surrendered myself to the music, letting it guide my every motion. Back and forth, forward and backward, I spun and swayed, losing all track of time and place, consumed by the pure, unadulterated delight of the moment. I danced until my limbs ached with a pleasant exhaustion and my lungs burned for air. When I finally stumbled from the circle, my legs threatening to give out, it was Viktor who caught me, his steady hands preventing my collapse.

He steadied me, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips as he remarked, "You cannot dance."

Gasping for breath, I retorted, "Don't you dare ruin my bliss." As I sank onto a nearby bench, Viktor brought me a wooden cup of water, which I drank with a thirst that bordered on desperation. "That's better," I sighed, finishing the last drop. The summer heat left me sweating and exhausted, but the day was far from over. "Let's keep going."

We left the dancers behind, but before we had gone far, my eyes landed on something that sparked a new wave of excitement: two musicians, sitting beside their instruments, unusually silent.

I immediately pulled Viktor over to them. "Why aren't you playing?" I inquired.

One of them sighed wearily. "Our singer strained her voice. She went to rest her throat just a few moments ago."

"I love to sing!" I proclaimed, perhaps a little too eagerly.

The other musician eyed me with skepticism. "Can you, though?"

Instead of a verbal reply, I simply opened my mouth and let a melody pour out. A profound sense of release washed over me; it had been far too long since I had truly sung, not just hummed, but poured my entire being into a song. The musicians’ smiles were all the consent I needed. Singing had always been the true melody of my soul. There were times I would lose myself for hours on end, singing almost nonstop, occasionally repeating the same few songs not from a lack of repertoire, but because the act itself was what mattered. Morgan used to joke, "So, when does the album drop?" whenever I got lost in my music around her. The sensation was intoxicating: to take a deep breath, to perfectly strike the next note and hold it until my lungs were empty, to let my voice rise and fall in flawless rhythm. I closed my eyes, and for one perfect instant, it felt as if reality itself had vanished.

When I opened my eyes at the song's conclusion, I was surprised to find a small crowd had gathered, their applause washing over me. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sense of profound peace settled within me. After the original singer returned, I thanked the musicians for the opportunity, and Viktor and I made our way to a food cart for a belated lunch. We had skipped breakfast in our haste to leave, and in the thrill of the festival, I hadn't even thought about food. Now, I was famished.

As we ate our simple but delicious meal of roasted meat and warm bread, Viktor spoke. "I didn't know you could sing."

"It makes up for the dancing, don't you think?" I joked.

Viktor laughed—not a stifled chuckle, but a genuine, resonant laugh that was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. His joy was infectious, and I found myself laughing along with him. As we finished our meal, the silence that fell between us was not awkward, but comfortable, filled with a shared contentment.

After lunch, we tried our luck at a few more games—losing each one—before deciding to return to the manor. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in fiery streaks of orange and soft pink as we crept back toward the estate, just as stealthily as we had left. A flicker of unease went through me. Where were the guards? The manor should never have been this easy to approach. The moment Viktor pushed the side door open, a sight of such profound horror greeted me that it stole the air from my lungs.

Blood. An ocean of it. The thick, cloying, coppery stench of it struck me first, a sickening miasma that filled my throat. It soaked into priceless rugs, forming dark, sinister pools on the marble floors and splattering the walls in grotesque, abstract patterns. And the bodies… so many of them, twisted into the unnatural stillness of death, littered the corridors. The very air felt heavy, viscous. My mind threatened to retreat into a protective, creeping numbness, but I fought against it. I could not afford to shut down. Not now.

"Markus," Viktor murmured, his voice a raw cry of disbelief. He bolted into the manor. I followed as fast as my trembling legs could carry me, through a gallery of death. The sheer number of slain staff was staggering; I’d never realized so many people worked here. Viktor moved with a desperate frenzy until he skidded to a halt before a partially open door down the main hall. Just as I was about to reach him, my foot caught on something soft and I fell, my hands landing in a sticky, cooling pool of blood beside a corpse. My stomach heaved as I recognized the face of the young maid who had so often served me breakfast. A scream tore itself from my throat. My hands flew to my mouth, and I saw they were stained red. I wasn't even aware I was still screaming until Viktor was there, pulling me to my feet and shaking me. When that failed to quell my hysteria, a sharp, stinging slap across my cheek shocked me into silence. My gaze locked on him, his own face a mask of grim focus, his clothes spattered with the same crimson that now covered me. Against my ribs, my heart hammered like a war drum.

His grip was like iron on my hand as he pulled me through the doorway. This time, I could not even scream. The scene was beyond words, a tableau of exquisite cruelty. There, pinned to the far wall by a series of cruel-looking blades, was Markus. He was alive, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths, drenched in gore.

He's alive! Move! my mind shrieked at my frozen limbs.

Viktor released me, rushing to his friend's side. I scrambled after him, and together we began to carefully work Markus free. He was still breathing, each gasp a fragile flutter. It struck me then that for all the blood, he had remarkably few visible wounds. The monsters who did this had left him alive to be found.

"We have to get him to a doctor," I said, my voice sounding distant and strange to my own ears.

As we turned to leave, we both froze. A message had been inscribed on the wall in the same blood that now defiled the manor: The war has started. So say the Ruen royals.

Together, Viktor and I managed to carry Markus back to the village, seeking immediate help from the local doctor. After a message was dispatched to the castle, we waited. It was only a few hours later, once the doctor had declared Markus stable enough for travel, that we departed from that cursed place. I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I would never return.