Author's Note: This chapter is in a person's, specifically the minstrel's point of view.

Chapter I: A Minstrel's Sorrow

People are bustling about in Prontera…but I don't mind them. It is better this way. With my guitar slung on my back, I walked slowly through the crowd, avoiding everyone and everything. Why, you ask? Because I cannot do anything about it. It has been a habit of mine since I was a child. Forgive me, I have not introduced myself. I am Kelron Mellowgale, a minstrel. I would not wish to tell you more about myself. You will find out more in due time.

My wanderings around the white, cobblestone streets of Prontera ceased when I came upon the place I was to meet my childhood friend, Nahara Sharsa, the apple of my eyes, the renowned gypsy of the Illume Guild. We have been together for many years now since the days when we were novices. We have never been separated, she and I.

It is because of her that I became an archer and, after that, a bard. It is for her that I trained my hands; the very hands that my own mother said were for spell craft, to strum a lute, which finally led to playing a guitar, a gift I received from her. A soft breeze blew by. My fiery-red hair was swept by it. I sat down and waited.

"Kel!" The sound of a nightingale's voice reached my elven ears, my inheritance from my mother. I turned my head to the side. There standing a few feet away from me was an angel. If I had not known better, I would have said I had died and gone to Valhalla and she was the valkyrie sent to take me there. I waved my hand in greeting. Within moments, she had closed the gap between us and I was in her arms.

"I'm so glad you came."

I smiled as I returned her embrace.

"So, are you ready for another performance?" She asked. Her voice was melodic even while speaking.

I nodded. To me, the ancient queen's crown on her head suited her.

"Great. Let's go." She pulled me by my arm, hoping that I would follow her. My balance hat, an apple balancing on a book, almost fell from my head in the process. I shrugged my shoulders and stood from the spot. I straightened my uniform before allowing her to lead me wherever she wanted to go.

Hervey, her orc warrior pet, trudged closely behind. I do not even know why she thinks he is adorable. I still remember the time when I gave her a wild flower. We were still a bard and dancer then. She squealed with delight, saying that it would be perfect when it was tucked behind her precious Hervey's ear. And that was what she did. I sometimes want to laugh at the sight of Hervey, a giant of an orc, wearing such a tiny flower.

But that is not what saddens me…Whenever we perform for our guild mates or simply for our party or friends, I feel terrible. I know every song she knows how to dance to by heart, whether it's Rich Man Mr. Kim or Lullaby. But no matter what I do, I cannot confess how I feel for her. It pains me to know that people are whispering about us behind our backs, saying awful things, especially about me. I feel horrible because of it. They say the truth sometimes hurts. In this case, it does. It stabs my heart like a sharp dagger plunged by an assassin.

My actions make her happy most of the time. It is doing the little things I do for her that somehow compensates for my disability to confess, but even my actions could not tell her how I feel. I believe that she still thinks us friends, close friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

Oh, what I would give to be able to confess to her how much she means to me, how much I love her. All of the men I saw with her, especially Renil Marcon, our guild's war strategist, made me green-eyed. I vow to find a way for me to finally declare my love for her, no matter what the cost. I will do anything for her…