The Silent Witness
The Cursed Melody Arrives
Scene 1 of 3
Scene 1 of 3
The vibration came first.
Elara pressed her fingers flat against the cobblestones. A rhythmic thrumming built from the earth itself, climbing through her bones. She tapped three times. Waited.
The ground answered.
Her breath caught. The pattern wasn't random. It had structure. Purpose.
She peered around the abandoned smithy's corner.
The baker stood in the street. His arms rose. Both feet stepped left in perfect synchronization.
Elara pulled back. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
The seamstress joined from her shop doorway. Same moment. Same rhythm.
Their movements were jerky at first. Mechanical. Then they flowed into terrible grace.
Elara's fingers traced the cobblestones again.
The vibration painted pictures in the dust motes swirling above the dancers. Spiral patterns. Expanding ripples. Beauty carved from chaos.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to look away.
She couldn't.
Children spilled from the schoolhouse. Their small bodies locked into the same steps. Their faces twisted with something between joy and terror.
Elara's hands formed fists. She pressed them against her mouth.
The melody was beautiful to watch.
The horror on their faces told her this was no celebration.
She remained still. Her silence suddenly a shield she'd never asked to carry.
The baker's wife stumbled. Her legs continued their rhythm even as her knees buckled.
Elara flinched.
The woman fell. Her body struck the cobblestones with terrible force.
The other dancers didn't stop.
They flowed around her fallen form like water around a stone. Their feet created circular patterns around the collapse. Endless. Relentless.
Dust settled where she'd fallen.
Elara's fingers stopped moving.
She understood now. The melody demanded everything. Dance until death.
Her immunity wasn't a gift.
It was a responsibility.