The storm began sometime after dinner.
At first, nobody paid much attention to it.
Rain against harbor windows was common in Port Roderick.
The restaurant remained warm.
Elegant.
Lanterns reflected softly across polished tables while wealthy merchants continued speaking over wine and seafood beneath the sound of distant thunder.
But the rain did not stop.
If anything, it grew heavier.
Then came the wind.
By late evening, the storm had fully settled across the harbor.
Several customers who had intended to leave were forced to remain inside the restaurant instead.
The atmosphere slowly changed after that.
Not dramatically.
Gradually.
Conversations became shorter.
Long pauses appeared more often between words.
Even the lantern light somehow felt dimmer against the storm outside.
Madam Roderick eventually mentioned that the hired bard troupe likely would not arrive at this point.
Master Roderick tried keeping the mood alive for a while.
He moved between tables speaking naturally with familiar merchants and guests trapped by the weather.
For a time, it worked.
Then eventually even those conversations began running out.
The storm remained.
The rain continued striking the harbor windows endlessly.
At some point, Ryn casually suggested I should perform something.
“You could earn extra coin before we leave tomorrow,” she said lightly.
Almost joking.
The moment Master Roderick heard this, however, he became immediately interested.
Far too interested.
After a short negotiation involving both pressure and emotional betrayal from multiple members of the Roderick family, I reluctantly agreed.
At first, I did not know what story to tell.
Ryn suggested I could simply do whatever I wanted.
Tomorrow morning we would leave Port Roderick anyway.
Then she added:
“Your creepy stories suit you.”
“You’re disturbingly good at them.”
I asked whether that was truly appropriate for a restaurant like this.
The customers here belonged to a very different social class compared to the travelers back at the Sleeping Goat Inn.
Before Ryn could answer, Spathian laughed loudly from across the room.
“People already know dramatic stories,” he said.
“They yawn during them.”
That was somehow convincing enough.
A short while later, Spathian enthusiastically introduced me onto the small performance stage near the center of the restaurant.
The audience turned toward me politely.
Not because they were particularly interested.
More because refusing attention to the daughter of House Roderick’s guest would have been socially awkward.
I stood there quietly for a moment beneath the lantern light while thunder rolled somewhere beyond the harbor windows.
Then I smiled.
Intentionally.
A little too wide.
I introduced myself politely before asking the audience a simple question.
“Does anyone here know the rhyme ‘One for Sorrow’?”
Several guests chuckled softly.
One man near the center table answered casually.
“Of course.”
“It’s a children’s rhyme.”
“Not exactly thrilling entertainment.”
A few others laughed quietly with him.
I kept smiling.
Then held eye contact with him slightly longer than comfortable.
Slowly, his laughter faded first.
Then I began.
My voice lowered intentionally beneath the sound of rain.
Not loud.
Just quiet enough that the room had to listen.
one for sorrow
two for joy
three for a girl
four for a boy
five for silver
six for gold
seven for a secret never to be told
eight for a tale that the stars have spun
nine for a gate that can't be undone
ten for a river of forgotten lore
eleven for a key to the spectral door
twelve for a mirror that reflects the night
thirteen for a beast that lives in spite
fourteen for a realm that none can reach
fifteen for a speech no tongue can teach
sixteen for a dream trapped in stone
seventeen for the old gods hollow moan
eighteen for the abyss that gazes back
nineteen for the formless cosmic wrack
twenty for a magpie's final verse in a universe where shadows converse
the end of the rhyme the start of the dread
where not a single word is said
At the seventh line, several guests still smiled faintly.
Some murmured quietly that everyone already knew the old rhyme.
Then I continued.
Without breaking eye contact.
Without changing expression.
By the thirteenth line, the room had become completely silent.
Not performative silence.
Real silence.
The kind where people forget to move while listening.
I could feel it happening.
The exact moment discomfort replaced amusement.
By the twentieth line, even the storm outside seemed distant somehow.
The restaurant no longer felt like a restaurant.
Only a room waiting for something terrible to finish speaking.
Then I ended the rhyme.
And the world stopped.
No thunder.
No movement.
No voices.
Only silence.
Even the rain had weakened outside.
I stepped down from the stage quietly.
Nobody reacted at first.
The audience simply stared.
Uncomfortable.
Uneasy.
As if they had collectively agreed something about the room now felt incorrect.
Then suddenly—
Clap.
Spathian.
Alone.
Smiling brightly like a man witnessing artistic perfection.
A second later, the rest of the audience joined in.
Applause spread throughout the restaurant beneath lingering discomfort and nervous laughter.
I looked toward the tables while they clapped.
Many still appeared unsettled.
Some avoided direct eye contact entirely.
I smiled politely anyway.
Nearby, Master Roderick laughed warmly into his wine while Spathian looked absurdly proud of me for reasons I still do not fully understand.
Ryn had the expression of someone realizing she may have accidentally enabled a creature.
Meanwhile, Caravan Master only shook his head slowly.
Exactly the same way he had back at the Sleeping Goat Inn.
Not disappointed.
Almost resigned.
As though he had recognized something inevitable.
And that was how my final night in Port Roderick ended.
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