The aroma of mulled wine and exquisite dishes permeated the main hall of the Thornleigh residence. Candles lined the walls, casting a warm glow that reflected off the mahogany paneling and portraits of Thornleigh ancestors—maestros of music and composers who had etched the family name into the annals of art history. Edric stood beside his father, Alaric, amidst a refined and influential crowd of guests. A polite smile remained etched on his lips, yet his weary eyes ceaselessly scanned every passing face, searching, hoping to find a trace of the pair of dark eyes that had marred the harmony of his heart. Celia Bennett. He did not yet know her name, but the woman's presence felt more real than the polite chatter that surrounded him.
Alaric Thornleigh, with the proud aura of a grand composer, raised his glass, drawing the attention of all the guests. The room fell silent. Edric felt his father's demanding gaze, a wordless signal. This was the moment.
"Distinguished guests," Alaric's voice resonated, full of authority. "It is an honor to have you all here tonight, celebrating the art of music and, of course, the extraordinary talent of my son, Edric." A thin smile, more an expression of personal satisfaction, curved his lips as he turned to Edric. "I am proud to announce that Edric Sebastian Thornleigh will soon embark on a more serious stage of life."
Edric stepped forward, offering his arm to Lady Lilian Elowen Ashcroft, who stood gracefully beside him. Lilian smiled, her cheeks faintly flushed, radiating perfect elegance. Lilian's slender fingers gently clasped Edric's arm.
"I happily announce my engagement to Lady Lilian Elowen Ashcroft," Edric's voice rang clear and steady throughout the hall, spoken eloquently, yet without the same emotional tremor he possessed when playing the piano. "And as an initial celebration of this bond, and a significant step in my career, we plan to hold our wedding ceremony after my most ambitious concert in Paris, later."
A rumble of applause and congratulations immediately filled the hall. Guests clustered, eager to greet Edric and Lady Lilian. Lilian accepted every congratulation with a sweet smile and graceful thanks. Edric returned handshakes and nods, his eyes briefly meeting his father's, who now wore a satisfied smile—a strategic move in solidifying the Thornleigh family's position. For Edric, this announcement was merely another note in the perfectly orchestrated sonata of his life, a melody he played without true emotion.
He conversed briefly with several of his father's colleagues, answering questions about his upcoming Paris concert, and occasionally exchanging pleasantries with the Ladies who praised his performance. Every interaction felt like part of another show, a social dance he mastered but found empty. His mind continuously drifted back to that dark gaze, to the basket in Celia's hand, to the simplicity that contrasted so sharply with the luxury now surrounding him. He had to find that woman. That desire was now far stronger than his curiosity of the previous night.
After what felt like an eternity, Edric finally found an opening. He bowed to Lilian, "Forgive me, my dear. I must attend to some urgent matters concerning the supper arrangements with the head butler."
Lilian nodded, her gaze slightly concerned but still understanding. "Of course, Edric. Go on. I shall wait here."
Edric swiftly extricated himself from the crowd, moving through quieter corridors. He did not head towards the kitchen or the main servants' quarters, but directly to his dark study. There, he lit a single candle, its flame flickering over stacks of scores and old books. He was searching for something. No, not an object, but a method. A way to find Lilian... no, Celia.
He opened his desk drawer, retrieved a blank piece of parchment and a quill pen. He began to write, not musical notes, but precise instructions for someone he trusted. There was only one person he could rely on for such a delicate task.
He exited his study and headed towards the servants' quarters, an area he usually avoided unless giving orders. He found Thomas, his young and efficient personal valet, overseeing other servants arranging tea cups. Thomas, with his brown hair and honest eyes, was the son of a former housekeeper who had served the Thornleigh family for generations. Thomas's loyalty was an invaluable asset.
"Thomas," Edric called softly, ensuring no other ears would hear.
Thomas immediately turned, his eyes alert. "Yes, Master Edric?" He bowed respectfully, moving slightly away from the bustling activity.
"Are all the preparations for the supper proceeding smoothly?" Edric asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
"Perfectly, Master. Lady Lilian herself oversaw the placement of the flowers and the desserts. Nothing was overlooked," Thomas replied proudly.
Edric nodded, his gaze briefly sweeping towards the window that revealed a thin drizzle falling on the grounds. "Is there... was there anything unusual at the concert hall last night? Or in the backstage area, perhaps?"
Thomas seemed to think for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "Nothing conspicuous, Master. Everything proceeded as usual. Many people came and went, of course, servants and deliverymen. Why do you ask, Master?"
Edric quickly shook his head, smiling faintly. "No reason. Just... checking. Perhaps a small detail was missed. Well then, carry on with your duties."
"As you command, Master." Thomas bowed again before turning to resume his work.
Edric sighed softly after Thomas left. He had taken the first step. The fevered desire now had a clear purpose. He returned to the main hall, where the laughter and melodies of the party continued, playing his role with greater conviction. Yet, deep in his heart, he knew that the real search had only just begun.
After the supper party concluded, and silence finally enveloped the Thornleigh residence, Edric found himself lying in his four-poster bed, eyes closed, yet his mind was a tempest. His body was weary from a day full of social demands and performance, but his thoughts refused to rest. Celia's image danced in the darkness behind his eyelids, every detail of her gaze and movement replaying, clearer, more captivating. The scent of burning candles in his room felt like lingering traces of her perfume. The strange thirst that had first emerged at the concert hall now grew into an uncontrollable wave, a new melody dominating the symphony of his life.
He finally drifted into sleep, but it brought no peace. He entered a dream, a landscape that felt incredibly real, yet with colors too vibrant for the waking world. He was in a vast sunflower field, the golden-yellow petals towering high, bathed in warm sunlight. In the distance, amidst the rows of sunflowers, he saw her. Celia. She ran, her simple gown fluttering in the wind, a clear, light laugh echoing from her lips, a laugh that called to him, beckoned him.
"Miss!" Edric called out, his voice choked with a strange joy and breathless urgency as he ran to chase her. His feet felt light, leaping over the sunflower stalks. "Hey, Miss! I... I just want to ask, what's your name?"
Celia did not stop. She merely glanced back, her smile widening, and her laughter growing louder, as if daring him to continue the chase, to become even more entangled. The sunflowers seemed to dance in rhythm with her laughter and footsteps, creating an endless golden labyrinth. Edric ran, and ran, his obsession deepening, his heart filled with a desire no longer pure yet so intoxicating. He did not know that every breath, every step in that sunflower field, every captivating laugh, was an illusion, a carefully crafted fantasy by the Devil, planting seeds of darkness that would soon flourish within his soul.
When Edric awoke, a thin dawn light seeped through the curtains. The memory of the sunflower field still clung, offering a false warmth that swiftly faded into the chill of reality. Yet, the desire did not wane. Instead, the dream had solidified his obsession, transforming curiosity into an absolute necessity, weaving a new thread of destiny. His harmonious world had cracked, and from that fissure, the dangerous melody of a fevered desire began to flow, calling him towards an abyss he did not recognize, yet felt so strangely familiar.