Alone, in the quiet of the afternoon, Cindy breathed a heavy sigh; at once relieved at having sung her song, and full of lament at being able to offer it nothing better than phantom singing. Believing herself to be alone, she removed the dark lenses and let out tears which she did not understand to be happy or sad. As she wept, taking care to let her tears fall on her skirt and not the precious instrument, she felt a pat on her head and a gentle voice in her ear.

Glad to see you haven't entirely lost your touch.

Without taking the time to recognise the voice, Cindy wiped eyes dry and re-wore her darkly lensed mask. Only then did she turn to face and see and recognise the smile of her lyrical tutor.

A bit of practice and you'll be back to your former strength in no-

Impatient, she leapt off the lyrical seat to embrace the Who and, without reluctance, he caught her up in the air and spun her about. She was giggling all throughout and even when he let her down, her smile did not drop. Pulling out her notepad, she quickly wrote a message of "What are you doing here?" and held it up for him.

What else, my darling pupil? I'm here for you! I came to your house when I heard your mother had fallen- bless her soul -but you were nowhere to be found. Then I heard from our mutual fellowship that the good woman had sent you to see your father; here in this Tolemac. So I came here. Yet, I never saw you. And so I began to worry that the hearsay had been unfounded. Still, I waited and waited and here you are! I see the old coward is still keeping you a secret but is he at least treating you well? Has he or his witch laid a hand on you? Say the word and I will take you away myself!

Her eyes lit up at the sound but the light was kept secret on account of her darkly lensed mask. And though the temptation to rat out the Gibbses and run off into the lyrical horizon was right on the tip of her tongue (technically pen but forgive the expression), she was stopped by a voice from her tell-tale heart, saying...

I have sent a letter to your Papa, for your Papa he is... And join his side, you must. Have no doubt about that.

And at such a command, Cindy could only shake her head as a reluctant "no" to Smith and maintain her stance whenever he questioned her any further. And he did question her further- again and again until they got tired of it.

Fine then. I am satisfied. But if things should take a turn, do not be afraid to come to me. I've long been a tutor to you. I would not hesitate to be a Papa as well.

With the matter more or less settled, it became something of a schedule that, in the hours when the Gibbses were out, and she was chore-free, Cindy would visit the Hall of Psalms and the lyrical inside. Whenever she played during business hours, the odd person or persons would even come to listen to her and, occasionally, drop a coin or two into a little hat which Smith had placed nearby. Afterwards, she would rush home and keep said coins in the same little box where she stored her salary from the Gibbses; the little box which she hid beneath a floorboard in the attic- which was technically her room.

This went on for a number of weeks before all Tolemac began hustling and bustling in anticipation for a long-expected party with an unexpected twist:

My Dearest Fellowship,

The time has come again for us to give special honour and praise to the Fates for the fires in our homes, the sun of the day, and the moon and stars of the night. Coming upon us now is Candle-Day which we dare call jovial though it is the darkest and coldest night of the year. So, as has been our custom these many years, there will be, on the Eve, a grand feast held in Sir Kevan's Park. And although all the usual festivities will be presented, this particular celebration will be marked by one very special delight.

My good fellows, on this of all years, the Overseers from the Mist have agreed to be in our company. And more, much more than this, they have, on offer, a Candle-Day gift. In that course, I declare a contest: A Battle of Lyrics. Let any and all, without privilege or exception, who fancy themselves skilled in the lyrical art present themselves for judgement. In entry, there is no fee. In victory, there is an unknown gift from the Overseers.

Make no mistake, the gift is not unknown because it is a secret but because it is unchosen. Indeed, the champion may wish for whatever prize their heart desires and, if it is within reason, the defenders of our Realm will oblige. I wish our contestants all the best and to all my fellows in Tolemac- that is all of Tolemac -I wish a Happy Candle-Day.

Sincerely,

Mayor Geoffrey Pelton

Within a few hours of the declaration, the number of contestants grew to an overwhelming number; the reason being that, although few had a passion for the lyrical, most had some education in it- be it from schooling or from tutorials or both. So it was that many of Tolemac's parents, who had themselves learnt the art in their youth and forgotten it in adulthood, got their children signed up. Said parents would then drill said children in practice for hours upon hours in the hopes of winning the coveted pick-your-prize from the Overseers. In the face of such a rush, the one child in Tolemac with any actual chance of winning was minding her own business, unaware. That is, until her tutor burst into the store on a certain afternoon.

Kiara!

As he came up to her, he tripped over his own whosits and whatsits and fell flat on his face. Terrified to a screech from both the shout and the fall, Cindy stole a moment to breathe before helping the Who up; with half a mind to reprimand him for still calling her by that old fate.

My darling girl! What good luck! Look! See for yourself!

And he handed her one of the many announcements posted all o'er the town. As she read the contents and learned of the contest, an excitement began to fester in her like embers on the teasing edge of becoming a fire.

Could they?

Might they?

Will they?

Won't they?

Could it be a cure for our sickness at last?

There was not very much time for excitement- and even less for preparation -since the announcement brought with it a most terrifying occurrence. Indeed, while Cindy and Smith were still discussing their plans, who should walk into the Hall of Psalms but the former Lady Cornelia Gibbs; with her son Darius at her side.

But I don't even like the lyrical! I am average in my class! What chance do I have?

As much as anyone else, my darling boy. You are special and a genius and a few days is more than enough for you to master one song, at least. All you need to do is apply yourself.

As the two Gibbses argued at the entryway, Cindy and Smith went into a panic and quickly found a hiding place in the back room. After leaving his pupil there, Smith took in a deep sigh, as if preparing himself for a pain he seemed sure he would feel.

Is there anyone here?

Here I am and- by the pinky... Look who it is.

Lord Lyrical!

Hullo, little master! Or should I simply say master? My, how you've grown.

I'm the tallest in my class!

Really? How wonderful!

You...

Me.

How have you ended up here then?

I could ask you the same question.

Even so, I will have asked first.

You fired me. I took a job elsewhere. Why are you so surprised? Did you expect me to just sit and starve?

I suppose not. Well then, let's get to business shall we?

Please.

I would like to buy your lyrical.

Really?

Yes. A-and since we go back so far, and I know you are a very gifted man, I would also like you to tutor my son.

Hold on! You didn't say anything about a-

"tutor"

Jinx!

And so, Darius was as voiceless as Cindy and would remain so until cured- that is what happened, in those days, to a person jinxed.

So we have a deal?

Hang on. I've yet to give a price. Let me think... (after a pause) I think I'll have my old lyrical back!

Don't be ridiculous.

Good dame, if you can't pay the price, you don't deserve the product. Expecting anything else- now that is ridiculous.

Indeed. (after a pause) So... could you educate me? Since you are so wise in the ways of business, could you answer a question? Say there was a musician- a purely hypothetical musician, of course -and he owned a purely hypothetical music shop. Now, if that shop was rented from a hypothetical landlord, and the landlord were to- oh I don't know -jack up the price to absurd, hypothetical heights... if the hypothetical musician could not pay the price of rent, by your own logic he wouldn't deserve the hypothetical shop, now would he?

I suppose not.

Not unless you agree that absurd, unfair prices were bad business practice. Or shall I inform Master Corin (Smith's landlord) of your opposing views. I'm sure he would be happy to adopt them.

Lady Gibbs... You haven't aged a day.

How sweet of you to say.

As she congratulated herself on her victory, she wondered at the presence of the lyrical in her house and the convenience of letting Darius practice whenever he had time to spare. Then a new thought came into her mind. A thought of another child with potentially more spare time. The notion of Cindy getting her hands all over the instrument frightened her pale beneath her mask and so she altered course.

Actually, now that I look at it, I think this lyrical would look rather hideous in my home. And what sort of madwoman pays to have her home's interior made hideous?

Witches, I should think.

: Quite... In any case, I see no reason to deprive your store of its... charming centrepiece. So how about this: We will make a schedule and I will bring Darius over for tutorial sessions. He will play and master that instrument here; under your expert supervision.

What a wonderful idea. Don't you think so, Darius?

At the sound of his true fate, Darius felt his jinx lift and his voice return to him. Yet, even though freed, he refused to add another word to the exchange- so afraid was he of his mother.

And so that is how Cornelia kept Cindy from her practice. Desperate to ensure that Darius won the prize, she pulled him out of classes by declaring him sick and had him at the Hall of Psalms for hours upon hours upon hours. The effect of it was that Darius got steadily worse at the lyrical on account of sheer exhaustion and bitter hatred toward the instrument. What's more, whenever Cindy went into the boy's room to clear out his dirty laundry as he was sleeping, she could hear him humming lyrical tunes in his sleep.

Then, at last, the Eve of Candle-Day arrived and from the moment Cornelia walked through the doors of the Hall until that very day, Cindy had not even touched a lyrical. Nor had she left the house on account of having nowhere to go during the blank periods when her chores were finished. Day melted into twilight and then to evening and then the Gibbses, all dressed in their best clothes, made for Sir Kevan's Park where Darius- looking as though he was about to faint -would perform before the Overseers of the Mist.

Certain, at last, that the Gibbses would be elsewhere and not at her precious Hall, she made her way there to drown away the bitterness of the night in lyrical song. Yet, as she stepped inside, she found, adorning a mannequin and glowing as if under a spotlight, a dress remade specially for her.

What do you think? It belonged to my Mama once upon a time. I've done a few touch ups to make it suitable for tonight.

And Cindy would later- as Ellie -kick herself for not catching the hint of Smith's true lineage. Indeed, the sight before her then was not a dress belonging to a blacksmith's daughter- even one who lived in the House of Gibbs. It was of a pure satin, coloured sky blue with a jewel neckline and, slightly, puffy sleeves which made their way to the mannequin's elbows in collaboration with a pair of matching satin gloves- each glove covering about three-quarters of the forearms (and the stand-in was about Cindy's size). With an empire silhouette, the dress's skirt reached all the way down the statue's shins in a flowy, single layer with swirling patterns embroidered along its edges. And the embroidery was done, indeed all the fabric was stitched, with lily-white thread.

Despite being amazed at the display, Cindy kept her face low and simply walked straight to the lyrical; past the dress and its tailor. Smith, thoroughly offended, walked up to the girl, wondering why she did not seem to want to go and see the Overseers and bless their ears with her music. In reply, Cindy took out her notepad and simply wrote "I won't be made a fool of." and began her half-hearted playing.

Who says you will be?

Annoyed at being interrupted and further pestered, Cindy wrote another note saying, "And if I should be recognised? If I should take the prize in Darius' stead? The witch would call it a robbery!" and Smith waited rather impatiently for her to finish. When he received the note, and read it to completion, he let out an "Aha!" and presented her with a little box containing...

Charmed eye drops. With these, your eyes will be ocean blue rather than ruby and emerald. And I know you do not trust the mask, but, even so, look at the one I have chosen! All your life, you've covered your eyes. Your nose, your mouth, your chin- that is how the Gibbses know you. And yet, all these things will be covered by this new mask. And all anyone will see beyond its cover is a (holding out the bottle of eye drops) blue-eyed, (pointing to the wig) fire-haired girl mixed in with a crowd of countless other desperate contestants.

Still hesitant, Cindy took up her pad and began to write again but Smith's impatience had reached its limit. In a fit of frustration, he snatched the pad from her hand and tossed it far to the side before saying...

(playfully) Jinx! Honestly, Kiara, you talk too much. (seriously) I will hear no more excuses. You want to do this. I know you do. I've already signed you up. My darling girl, you are so much better than any one of those prigs now competing. Some might say- not me -that you and I are nearly on par. You've no need for last-minute drills, you've been practising for a time such as this for all these years. It is not practise you need now but courage. Don't you see what you do by staying here? Forget the Gibbses. Forget the audience. Forget me. Forget yourself and the promise of the Overseer blessing. Think of the song that deserves to be played. The art that deserves to be made. Didn't I teach you a long time ago that an artist serves neither fame nor fortune but beauty! For beauty's sake, Kiara! Arise and go!

And as he spoke, Cindy's tell-tale heart let out another voice to speak; and it spoke as if in harmony with Smith himself. This is what the voice said:

You have in you a beauty that demands adoration. And that beauty... either you give it up or it is yours forever.

And when the voice had been satisfied with its say, Smith added to its point, saying...

Are you not, in the least, tired of those dark lenses you've had to wear all this while?

Thus, Cindy arose from her seat and took up the auburn wig, the mask, the coat, the gloves and her delightful new dress and- after discarding her darkly lensed mask -she submitted herself to the charm which had been procured for her. Looking in the mirror, she found that even she could hardly recognise herself. With all preparations seeming to have been made as well as they could have been made, tutor and pupil made their way to Sir Kevan's Park for a Candle-Day's Eve which would be remembered for every year to come.