The Realm of Envy is not a realm where people celebrate openly. Happiness is dangerous here. Beauty is dangerous. Love is dangerous. Anything precious enough to be admired risks attracting the attention of the Empress Envy herself. And once the Empress desires something, it rarely remains with its owner for long.

Because of this, people survive through concealment. Noble estates are designed to look abandoned. Rich families pretend to struggle. Women cover their beauty beneath rough fabrics and ash. Husbands act cold toward the wives they secretly adore. Even compliments are spoken carefully, as though admiration itself were a curse.

And yet tonight, deep beneath the decaying shell of an old manor, people have dared to forget their fear.

Above ground, the estate appears ruined. Cracked windows. Broken gates. Dead gardens. A home no thief or ruler would bother coveting.

Below ground, however, hidden beneath layers of stone and secrecy, an enormous ballroom glows with golden candlelight.

Music echoes through the underground halls. People are laughing. Actually laughing.

Women wear gowns too elegant to ever be seen in daylight streets. Necklines glitter with emeralds and diamonds usually hidden beneath floorboards and false walls. Men stand proudly beside the people they love instead of pretending indifference.

A husband presses a kiss against his wife's knuckles while she smiles behind her fan. A young couple dances recklessly close together. A group of nobles exchange scandalous compliments in whispers.

Servants carry trays of wine while musicians play louder and louder. For one stolen evening, people are pretending they are free.

And at the center of it all stands you.

Your voice fills the hidden ballroom like golden light spilling through darkness. Soft at first. Then powerful. Entire conversations fall silent whenever you sing. Dancers slow just to listen. Even the musicians look toward you with quiet admiration.

You should not be singing like this. Not here. Not in the Realm of Envy. Talent is dangerous. But tonight, people forgot themselves. And perhaps... so did you.

The final note leaves your lips to thunderous applause and delighted laughter.

"Again!" "One more song!" "You sing like a divine spirit!"

Someone tosses flowers toward the stage. Another noble openly wipes tears from their eyes, too moved by your performance to remember caution.

Then suddenly, the ballroom doors burst open.

A teenage servant stumbles inside, pale and breathless with terror.

"The Empress is coming! Her carriage entered the district! She heard singing above the streets!"

The room dies instantly. Panic erupts.

Jewelry vanishes first. Necklaces are ripped away. Rings disappear into sleeves. Women smear ash across powdered skin while servants extinguish chandeliers one by one.

Couples separate immediately.

The same people who had smiled moments ago suddenly force exhaustion and misery onto their faces like masks.

But the eyes turning toward you are the worst part. Horror.

Because everyone understands the same thing at once.

The Empress heard you.