At the acceptance of her offer, Demelza let out a small, involuntary squeal of delight. A place to perform. It was a small glimmer of hope in a dark time, one that she seized onto with both hands. “Music’s the way to the heart,” Demelza said with a slight, flirty tease, “Least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

When she was called Mel, Demelza almost corrected her to say it was Liza. But…she rathered liked the new nickname. Not because of the name itself, but because it was Ona who had given it to her. That it was just for them. That made Demelza blush all the more, so much that she practically glowed.

“Never,” Demelza said with all the resolution of her revolutionary heart, “This place ain’t what it used to be, no, but Dresmond’s still here. Just look…” Liza gestured out over the crowd, which was still buzzing with excitement, “It’s there.” She turned back to Ona, wide-eyed and hopeful, “And worth fighting for.”

Demelza giggled with sheer joy as she blushed and reveled in Ona’s attention. What a stunner she was. Tinged with sadness, yes, but in a way that was so hauntingly beautiful Demelza thought her a work of art. The revelation that this was a whorehouse made Demelza’s brow furrow. Such things had not existed in the times before the Elouir—why would they? The Dresmondi were a sexually liberated people, but ones that did not traffic in it. The fact that there was a need to do so now plucked a string of sorrow in Demelza’s heart.

“Makes no difference to me,” Demelza said with a shrug, though her voice was a little rattled, “Music is music for those that wanna hear it.” She looked around, searching the faces of those there as if they contained answers. “Do the Eldouir often come here?”