Melody realized she had arrived at a square. Bastian had already told her many things about the kingdom, and she was filled with excitement and curiosity. It was somewhat rudimentary, but no less beautiful because of it. In the center stood a lovely wishing fountain—or at least that's what her brother had called it as he gave her instructions on what to do and how to behave around the people who might approach.
"All right, Mel, make those strings sing and let your violin speak for you. Stir the hearts of the Aldreminos and make them come back for more, sister. I believe in your talent."
"Bastian, what about my ocarina? You know the music I play with it is beautiful, relaxing, and everyone loves it."
"Melody, you brought that thing? If our parents find out, they'll punish us and never let us come back. You're insane—that was one of Father's conditions…"
"Oh, Bastian, they won't notice! Besides, you dragged me away from our group. No one here will see me playing it. Stop being so dramatic. I promise I'll only play one song on the ocarina," she said, rolling her eyes.
"All right, Mel, I trust you. I'll come back at nightfall—and for the love of the gods, don't move from this spot. You're too stubborn and too curious. Not here, sister. We could get into trouble."
"Relax, Bastian. I'm nervous enough already. We'll be fine. I made an offering to the goddess Astra for our safe journey. Now go and let me work in peace—my violin and I need to shine."
Once her brother left, Melody took her violin from its leather bag and played a few notes while deciding which tune to begin with. She had already chosen the piece that would delight her audience and, hopefully, fill the leather bag with coins.
She began with delicate, slightly melancholic, yet romantic notes. Gradually, she made the strings sing with more intensity, each note rich with nuance. One by one, people began to gather, drawn in by the music.
Their expressions warmed Melody's heart. She saw three people toss coins into her bag. Then she noticed a little girl who had slipped forward and dropped in several coins—more than anyone else. When the song ended, the girl remained, gazing not at Melody, but at her violin, eyes wide with wonder.
"Hello, little one. Do you like music?"
"Yes, I do," the girl replied. "You play the violin so beautifully. And you're very pretty. I like your clothes too—they look much more comfortable than this dress I'm wearing," she added with a pout, tugging at the layers of her voluminous gown.
Melody laughed. The girl's honesty was disarming.
"You made me laugh, sweetheart. Your dress makes you look adorable. I would've loved to dress like you at least once. You look like a doll—or a princess."
"Thank you! You're very kind and cheerful. What's your name?"
"My name is Melody, little one, but you can call me Mel. That's what my friends and parents call me. And you? What's your name, little lady?"
"My name is Odette. It's nice to meet you, Mel. And thank you for calling me your friend. I don't really have any friends," said the girl, curtsying with delicate elegance. She looked so sweet in Melody's eyes.
"Oh, no one's ever curtsied to me before. But listen—you shouldn't have thrown so many coins into the bag. You might get in trouble with your parents, and I wouldn't want that."
Melody had seen how many coins Odette had tossed in. It was far more than a child should carry.
"But I liked your song. And a lot of people listened without paying you. Don't worry—my parents won't even notice. To them, it's like a drop in the ocean, Mel. You don't have to worry."
"Are you serious, little Odette…?"
"Of course! I wouldn't lie to my first friend. I wanted to ask if you'd play another song for me. I paid well—I deserve at least one more, don't you think?" she said with a giggle.
"And I will gladly play for my new and demanding little friend."
Melody began to play again, this time choosing something more cheerful. Within seconds, Odette was twirling and dancing with grace and joy. To Melody's surprise, it was clear the girl came from a wealthy family—her clothes and manners gave her away. She was most likely sneaking away; Melody doubted her parents would have let her out alone, especially with so many coins.
Her song came to an end.
"I have to go home now. If my father finds out I ran away, he'll punish me until I'm grown up," said the little girl, winking and laughing.
"But you know the way. I can walk you there, little one. I wouldn't want you to get lost…"
"It's not necessary. Don't worry—I know the way. My brother showed it to me, and I memorized it. I hope the gods allow me to see you again, my friend."
"Goodbye, little girl."
After saying goodbye to Odette, Melody returned to her music. More people began to gather around, drawn by her melodies, and little by little they tossed coins into the leather bag beside her violin.
Later, after walking for a while, she entered a small cantina filled with men drinking and playing cards. She approached what she assumed was the bar.
In the bustle of the tavern, Melody—thirsty from performing—asked for some water. A short, elderly woman kindly offered to help her, but her son, a surly man, rudely refused. The old woman asked him to wait while she went to fetch the water herself.
Meanwhile, a man sitting nearby caught Melody's attention. She hadn't noticed him before, but his presence was hard to ignore. He reeked of alcohol, sprawled across the counter, his pale skin flushed from excessive drinking. His long, messy red hair stood out starkly against his complexion.
"Bah, why don't you have something better? Rum, wine, or even a Guelder beer," slurred the stranger, raising his glass in an imaginary toast.
Melody looked at him seriously and replied without hesitation, "I don't drink, sir."
The man let out a mocking laugh. "Are you a boring woman? I thought gypsy girls were more cheerful—and more accommodating to their customers."
That's when it happened. Without thinking twice, Melody raised her hand and slapped him so hard the sound echoed through the bar. The redhead's face, already flushed from alcohol, turned even redder—this time with rage. Two heads taller than her, he stepped back, stunned by the blow.
"You're crazy, you damn girl! What the hell is wrong with you, you gypsy brat?" he growled, pointing at her with a trembling finger.
"Nothing's wrong with me! You're the one who's been rude!" she snapped, her voice firm.
"What did I do? You're a gypsy, aren't you?" he asked, as if that explained everything.
"Yes, I am. So what?" she replied, her tone sharp with indignation.
"Are you stupid or something, girl? This is a bar, and you're dressed so lightly. Tell me—what could you possibly be doing here?" he sneered, a mocking smile on his face.
Melody clenched her fists. "You're a perverted pig! I came here for water. I've been working all day under the sun, and I got thirsty. A kind lady offered to bring me some, and asked me to wait here
The man let out a sarcastic laugh, clearly not believing a word she said. "You think I'm going to believe that? Well, I'm willing to pay you well—for a little pleasure."
Anger boiled inside her. Without thinking twice, Melody slapped him again, harder than before. The redhead's face flushed deeper, and his turquoise eyes, glassy from alcohol, flared with rage.
"You'll be in my bed tonight, whether you like it or not, you little vixen," he snarled. "Those slaps will cost you dearly, brat," he added, touching his reddened cheek.
Before she could react, the man moved faster. He grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled her toward him, wrapping an arm around her waist with no delicacy. Then the unthinkable happened: the scoundrel stole her first kiss. It was violent, aggressive, and reeked of cheap liquor. Melody wanted to scream in helplessness as he laughed, savoring his own audacity. His aquamarine eyes locked onto hers, as if gauging her reaction.
"You're sweet, little wildcat. I bet you'd put up a fight," he said with a sly grin before finally letting her go.
Furious, Melody raised her hand to strike him again, but before she could, the old woman who had gone for water returned and intervened.
"Stop, young lady! That's no way to behave! I told you to wait here—I was bringing you water. And you, boy, every time you come to this bar, it's to cause trouble! You leave worse off than a soldier at war, all bruised and leaving chaos behind!" the old woman shouted, glaring at the redhead.
"Bah, old woman, there you go again with your hysteria! This is all the fault of that gypsy girl, coming here to stir things up. Besides, I always pay for what I break," he muttered, crossing his arms.
"That's not true! This girl only came for water. Don't think I didn't hear you. You were acting like a sly fox, and she was just defending herself. You brought this on yourself!" the woman snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him.
"Old woman, you had to be a woman! Witches, all of you—only good for making a scene! I'm out of here!" the man growled, visibly annoyed.
Without another word, he tossed a few coins onto the counter and staggered out, still drunk.
"Troublesome fox," the old woman muttered, scooping up the coins and tucking them into her worn apron, cursing under her breath.
Then she turned to Melody.
"As for you, little one, avoid places like this—especially dressed like that. No offense, just advice. It'll save you from unpleasant experiences."
"Ma'am, I'll keep your words in mind. I'm sorry for the trouble, and thank you for the water. Let me make it up to you," Melody said, reaching into her pocket.
But the old woman stopped her hand midair, shaking her head. "It's not necessary, child. Just be careful. And remember: beware of scoundrels like that fox. The festival stirs up base desires—and you're a very pretty girl."
As she left the cantina, Melody noticed the sky had darkened. She had wasted half the afternoon because of that jerk. Her brother had promised to pick her up at dusk, but now her spirits were low. Not even her violin could lift them. She took out her ocarina and began to play a soft tune—one her mother used to sing to her and her siblings at bedtime.
Meanwhile, shadows crept toward a nearby carriage. One of them spoke in a hushed voice:
"Sir, we've found our prey. It's the girl who entered the Eye of the Raven tavern. The client will be pleased—she's a real doll. Worth her weight in gold. She's at the Fountain of the Sun, playing her violin, far from her people. The gypsies won't notice she's gone."
Perhaps the gypsies wouldn't notice the disappearance of that little wildcat—but a certain boy with turquoise eyes, reddish hair, and a drinking problem did. He watched from the shadows, frowning, already planning how to stop the kidnapping.
It wasn't that the girl deserved his help after slapping him twice. But something inside him told him he had to act. He couldn't stand slave hunters who ignored the fact that slavery had been banned in the kingdom years ago. To him, gypsies had the same rights as any other citizen. And besides—messing with those bastards was always a good reason to get involved.