Thanks to Linda’s insistence, none of the household experienced any major issues; they got all their business done, got home, and relaxed. It was tight for the boys, though—Nozumu and Ivory were barely 50 paces out of the city when they could hear the beginning of a commotion. All was good in the Postlethwaite household.

That was until Linda’s group of [Singers] came to the door for a session.

Ivory, Nozumu and Linda were all in the living room having a lovely read when they let themselves in. Ivory was deep into an essay by a [Grand Sorceress] about some erudite magical theory, which was sure to be forgotten soon after. Nozumu was waist deep in the evils of necromancy, and Linda was reading the monthly Merchant's Guild report from Izril. Fascinating stuff.

"Hello?" a voice called.

Ivory put the book in his lap and looked up at Linda, who was equally as unsure.

And then it happened. Her eyes almost shot out of their sockets as she mouthed fuck racing up.

"Coming!"

She threw her newsletter on the ground as she ran to greet them.

Nozumu and Ivory shared a look of confusion.

"The Watch?" Nozumu offered with a shrug.

"Could be, but she looked panicked, like she forgot someone was coming. Maybe—ah."

Ivory got up and went to get Misoe, who was lying next to Nozumu.

"It's those [Singers]."

Ivory could hear the click-clacking of many shoes on the undoubtedly expensive marble-esque floor getting ever closer.

A young woman, probably Linda's age, poked her head around the corner in an appraising fashion. A look of 'ah' followed.

"So Linda's finally bringing some boys home, huh! Who'da thought!'

Ivory and Nozumu turned red faster than a lobster in a chronomancied pot of water.

"Err—" Ivory began, but she just laughed.

"I'm just joking—sorry to be crass! Linda looked flustered when she let us in, so I reckon she forgot. Fair, seeing as there's a lunatic on the loose."

The young woman casually walked to the kitchen counter and put her head in her hands, as the rest of the singing group came in. Linda was last, looking equally embarrassed and, judging by the scowl, annoyed.

Ivory saw an eclectic group of women. They were of all ages, styles—classes, too—and probably from wildly different backgrounds. Ivory bet that one of the other younger women was some kind of royalty, judging from the overt… perfection she radiated, from her posture to her dress.

Comparatively, the one who had first appeared looked like something the cat dragged in. She had on a baggy t-shirt and a frayed skirt.

And that was only two of the eight.

"This is Ivory and Nozumu, my new housemates."

"Hey all."

"Hello."

"Excellent," Linda said with a clap. "Shall—"

"Now, don't you be an ungracious host, Evangelinda!" Said the oldest woman, waving her cane faux-menacingly at her.

"I concur! Why not join us? I'm sure none of us mind?"

They all chorused variations of 'no', to the absolute irritation of Linda.

"That's it, then. You two young men are welcome to join us for a 'therapy' session; what better way to introduce ourselves? We owe much to our dear Evangelinda; it’s the least we could do.

Ivory knew better than to decline, for all that it wasn’t really a favour. Plus, they seemed nice enough!

"We—" he looked over at Nozumu, who didn't look like he didn't want to— "would be more than happy to! If that's okay with Linda?"

"Yes, of course," she said, with a forced smile. "I'll come too."

All of the [Singers] looked genuinely happy that they agreed to join them; the slight grins to the warm smiles were contagious.

"We'll see you down there!"

Ivory, Nozumu and Linda were a little bit confounded; the former two especially so. The last of the eight women had turned the corner, and he could hear them walking down the stairs into their dedicated singing room. Ivory robotically turned his torso towards Linda.

“What on earth was that about?” he asked, squinting his eyes. There was obviously something going on here.

“What do you mean?” she replied, trying to act like this didn’t bother her.

“C’mon now. You’re obviously shitty that they’ve invited me down there… is it a cult? Is that what it is? [Cult Leader] Linda?”

Linda rolled her eyes, but did so with a begrudging smile.

“No… It’s just, they’re too nice, and of course they’d pull a stunt like this.”

Even Nozumu craned his head to the side in confusion.

“This is what I mean—why’s it such an issue? To the point where you even have to come and supervise us? Like, I don’t care, but it’s just a bit weird.”

Linda bit her lip, her eyes darting from Nozumu back to Ivory.

“They’re going to tell you about their… problems. I introduced the idea of group therapy to them all; that’s partly how this started. It’ll be very uncomfortable. I want to be there so I can give you an out if it gets too much.”

Ivory wasn’t expecting that, but he tried not to let it show.

“Why not just tell us that from the start? Anyway, doesn’t matter now. We’ll go down there, listen, and come back up and that’ll be the end of it. Alright?”

Nozumu didn’t like the tense atmosphere, and he didn’t really understand why this was even happening. Childish squabbling.

“Okay, okay. It’s my bad. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Linda sighed deeply, inaudibly, and beckoned them to follow her.

Ivory and Nozumu shared a brief look of trepidatious eagerness, despite her odd, uninviting demeanour and warnings. Misoe was just happy to be here.

The stairway was located, funnily enough, at the back of the staircase going to the upper floors, like a shopping centre escalator system. It was unassuming, generic, and quite steep—easily thirty steps.

He had an idea of what to expect. It was somewhere where a group of people would recreationally sing, but also where they could sit comfortably and talk about their problems with likeminded peers.

… That was a strange crossover. Turns out he didn’t really know what to expect, other than a room, chairs, and maybe a lectern each for putting lyrics on?

The time was now. Ivory was almost at the bottom of the Bowser-esque stairs, and could hear the screeching of wood-on-wood. It wasn’t wretched enough to warrant you to plug your ears with your fingers, but it was certainly, auricularly speaking, unpalatable.

“Welcome to our little burrow!”

They were greeted by one of the other younger women, who had just placed a third extra chair in the circle for the visiting party of three.

There was no way, Ivory realised, that he would ever have guessed what this room would have looked like.

It was like walking into his sister’s room back on Earth when he was still a kid—the walls were adorned with all manners of candles and incenses; they provided some eerie shadows in what was an already well-lit room. The smell evoked placidity; the earthy aroma was reminiscent of backyard get-togethers, park barbecues and host of other homely scenes.

Around these candles were a vast arrangement of portraits, showing an array of differently aged figures; there were also dogs, cats, horses and a great other variety of animals pictured. Each looked to have been painted and drawn with tender and loving care.

Most curiously to Ivory, though, were the strange glyphs and markings randomly placed around the room, including one on the ceiling. They were definitely magical.

“Proximity-based enchantments for light, cooling, heating, and so on,” Linda spoke quickly, noticing his gaze on the walls.

Ivory nodded. Made sense, really—it’d be a waste to have them on all the time. It was nicely temperate down here.

“We thought it would be nice,” the eldest woman said, “if we introduced ourselves in our own way. Please have a seat.”

Linda had already sat down; Nozumu and Ivory couldn’t share yet another look as all eyes were on them, but they both sat down, uttering thanks.

“We do this every couple of months, just to remind us of our roots, to feel grateful for the now,” the middle aged woman to his immediate left said. “I’m Alexandra, a [Fisher] of the city.”

She began by speaking to Ivory and Nozumu, but transitioned to speaking to group-speaking.

“I’m 56 years old, though the seasalt makes me feel a woman of 30! I come from a family of esteemed [Blacksmiths] from Avel; if you’ve seen an arrowhead, chances are it’s of Knappen make. At the age of 16, I moved to this beautiful seaside city of Phel’s Light, having been estranged by my family for not following the family tradition. The smoke, you see—it makes me sick; the sweet scent of the sea soothes my body and my mind.”

Many of the other women were shaking their heads, which seemed strange. She continued.

“I still love my family, for all that they reject me. I know that I’m better off being apart from them, but it still hurts. Time and time again I’m told by the ever-blunt [Fisherman] that they’re pathetic, and it’s their loss that they reject me. It would have almost been a year ago, now, that I found out that when I was 40, both my parents had died. That… broke me. To know that I wasn’t even given the dignity of knowing those that I still loved had died; to know that even my siblings didn’t reach out. When I was at my lowest, I found a flyer looking for people to join a little women-only community, to talk and sing. And that’s when I met Linda!”

All eyes and smiles, now, went to Linda, who was blushing, with a tear glinting in the corner of her eye.

“We all, here, met Linda in such a way. I can’t speak for everyone, but I don’t think I would be here had I not met her, and these lovely ladies.”

__________________

The next hour was filled with the other seven women telling their stories. Nozumu had rather suddenly retired back upstairs by the third introduction, as the incense was making him nauseous.

Jane, 20. [Journeywoman]. Her identical twin drowned when they were teenagers. Her family spiralled as a result—her father turned to being a [Pickpocket] to get by after their mother died of heartbreak.

Lianne, 25, who’d spoken to them originally. [Waitress]. From Chandrar, her parents became [Slaves] due to unpaid debts exacerbated by corrupt Nerrhavian officials. She became a ward of the state and was going to be illegally sold to a depraved Terandrian [Lord] as a lover. The Pheislant navy intercepted the Chandrarian ship after a routine search; they knew the signs of human trafficking, and rescued her.

Tabetha, 45. [Veteran]. Did not speak much, but what was said was emotionally-charged. Obvious war-related trauma.

Manitella, ‘Mixxy’, 90. [Magical Weaver] that invited Nozumu and Ivory down. Content, but long-term partner of 82 years died last year. Stalwart, but understandably lonely.

Kathleen, 74. [Menagerie Owner] of close to 50 years. Laments the death of all her ‘children’.

Meribeth, 84. [Retired Guildmistress] of the city’s Adventurer’s Guild. Has outlived all her peers.

Zuria, 23. Local [Lady]. No trauma, but keenly aware of the social injustices of her city and the monarchy. No fear of the [Serial Killer], as she believes and trusts in the efficacy of the Watch now that they are allowed to act. First member of the group, who used her connections to find struggling women to help. ‘Leader’ of the group, alongside Mixxy.

It was an emotional hour, with tears shed by all. It was beautiful, really—Linda had selflessly created this sacred space and cultivated this little community. He was happy to have had this experience.

There was a clear theme from these women’s stories; be it by generation, culture, or the healing power of time: loss. As Linda could have said, being a statistically-minded women, ‘loss’ is a considerably broad term, and to say that this was a unifying theme was pushing it.

But loss came in many different shapes and forms.

He was about to speak up and thank everyone for sharing their stories with him when another woman began to speak so softly that she was almost inaudible. Her words, though bubbled in Ivory’s ears.

“I am Merithamet. A [Sailor], and [Survivor]. Landfolk Drakes sank my civilian ship. I was the only survivor.”

The sensation was unlike anything he’d experienced before, and he’d had his ears cleaned with hot water by a doctor a few times. It was doubly so since he could not see who was speaking. Meribeth spoke up upon seeing his confusion.

“Next to me, child.”

“My [Survivor] Skill. I am sorry for the confusion.”

He squinted at the empty—no, there was a chair!

“Hi, sorry,” Ivory said as the Drowned Woman became visible.

She looked like a giant lamp; her dress began at the neck and came down all the way to her feet. Resting on her knees was a large crustacean’s arm. It didn’t look like a lobster’s or a crab’s; the actual claw itself would have encompassed the space between your index and middle finger of a Human hand, as opposed to the entire ‘hand’ being the claw. Her face gave no further clarification, save for looking distinctly wet and crustaceanly.

“My greetings to you, and to your sea-friend,” she said, bowing her head at Misoe. “The sea’s bounty grace you.”

"Ah, thank you… the same to you."

Ivory managed that corker out to warm smiles from the older women.

"You're all [Singers] then, right?"

"Oh, yes, dear," Mixxy replied. "Would you believe it, all of us over level ten! Us gals aren't just a group of miserable old reminiscers! Why not join us for a song?"

"Oh, no, that's alright; I had to sing for school and was part of the 'crows' that had to lip sync since we were so bad."

Linda had to purse her lips hard to stop herself from grinning.

"Yep, let's go Ivory," Linda exclaimed, getting up and giving Ivory an expectant look.

"Silly girl," Tabetha, the [Veteran], muttered kindly, shaking her head.

"I do as the boss says. Thank you, ladies, for your hospitality."

A few shakes of the head, a few waves, and many kindly faces.

"Any time, Ivory! Alright ladies: [Where We Left Off]..."

Ivory waved at the group and closed the door behind him.

"See? That wasn't so bad."

"...Boom, boom, boom, boom…"

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“...Together in my room…”

Ivory turned to look behind him as he panted in disbelief.

“You’ve taught them… Vengaboys?”

Linda didn’t respond, as she had sat down on the top stair with her head down, puffed. Ivory leant against the railing with a pained grin on his face.

“We’re… unfit… I think. Like a third of a foot… each stair…”

The distant singing, boosted by an uplifting Skill—[Sing a Happy Tune], a doozy—replaced about 2% of Ivory’s superficial exhaustion with a shred of elation. Linda looked up, unaffected, and smiled at Misoe’s mid-air jig to the music.

“But yes. I have a lovely skill: [Perfect Recall (Music)]. I was a level 14 [Singer], after all—though I’d have traded it for an economics version.”

Linda, now recovered, got up and headed into the living room, with Ivory in pursuit. He thought he had some overpowered Skills!

“What, so you can just remember every song you’ve ever heard?!”

“Sure can,” she said, turning back and striking a pose: tongue out, with her index and middle finger up against her face. Ivory laughed and leaned against the cool wall.

It was surprising, to him, how welcome the light was. It wasn’t that the basement was bereft of light—far from it—but the natural sunlight just felt soothing, like he’d escaped from some sensory deprivation room. Perhaps it was the vitamin D? Or, better yet, the incense which had caused Nozumu to tap out. Trivialities aside, now he could tinker with some enchantments. Off to the lounge outside—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Ivory froze; the fear that coursed through his body made him feel like he was being reprimanded by his parents. Linda marched up to him and prodded him in the shoulder.

“There’s a dead rat all over the back garden. Clean it up first!”

…

“Yes, ma’am.”

He’d bloody well forgotten, though you could hardly blame him. A swiftly recovered Nozumu, sitting at the kitchen table, looked up and smirked.

“The next great [Necromancer] of Terandria, Ivory Henderson.”

Linda bellowed a ‘ha’. Poor Ivory didn’t get the reference.

“So says the sook who didn’t like a bit of incense!”

Nozumu’s smirk faded rapidly. He looked, dejectedly, back to the iPad.

That was ranked quite low on the list of banter they’d shared—he looked in confusion at Linda who, even from their limited time together, knew this was an unexpected reaction. She returned his gaze and mimed an iunno.

Ivory walked up to Nozumu, giving Linda a quick look-back, who shooed him onward.

“Just a joke, sorry. Hey, at least you don’t have to clean up dead rat?” Ivory said, giving him a light pat on the back.

Nozumu throatily clucked and shook his head; his laugh never ceased to inspire humour.

“Atta boy. Time for hell.”