Fantasy Writers 1860

"Gentlemen, would you like some red wine?" Evelyn asked, carrying a tray with a professional smile befitting a maid.

Her words broke the brief but eerie silence in the small group.

Arya's brother, the assistant to the Minister of Colonies and Overseas Territories, had sensed something strange from the moment they started talking about that "Million Pound Note." It was as if they were very familiar with each other in a circle they had no connection with, while he was a complete outsider who couldn't say a word.

A maid's sudden interruption was like a pardon to him, giving him a way to change the subject.

Especially since she was family, her own sister's personal maid.

"Mr. Byron, I remember you said you love red wine the most. Please try some of our collection." He took a wine glass from Evelyn's tray.

Calvin picked up a glass from the tray, tapping his fingers lightly on the rim: "It seems Sir Lenster's advice was not an exaggeration. We may have underestimated the power of words in the past... This trend must be stopped."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the singing and dancing in the hall, and lowered his voice, "However, we are the beacon of democracy, the free Britannia. A direct ban would be too unseemly."

Having said all that, some things are already self-evident.

It's nothing more than giving a slight hint, letting the subordinates use their brains, and letting them disappear on their own.

For example, it just so happens that some new regulations are being issued, or the postal service "just so happens" to re-examine the eligibility of domestic publishing companies for free postage...

Only Alya's brother was still completely bewildered.

How did we end up talking about the same thing again?

Why does everyone seem to understand now? What do they all understand?

Even Aliya, who was a little further away and was having a ceremonial conversation with other noblewomen, could see the confusion on her brother's face.

"My foolish brother..." Alya thought to herself, a perfectly self-developed smile on her face.

Seeing Evelyn slowly walk back, Aliya politely bid farewell to the ladies and went out onto the balcony alone.

"...They're talking about that novel." Evelyn followed silently, disappearing into the twilight like a shadow.

“It wasn’t just the novel.” She lowered her voice. “Kirk Walsh also quietly asked the Home Secretary, ‘Is this also part of the plan?’ The Secretary replied, ‘I don’t know.’”

Aliya looked out the window at the scattered lights from the streetlights in the pitch-black night, "Talking about a popular novel like this is all so secretive, like we're plotting something."

"Is this novel really that popular lately? The newspapers you brought before were all talking about it, with some criticizing it and others praising it. Even Time magazine got involved, and now there are related criminal cases..."

"Nobody cares about me anymore, sob sob..."

Seeing Alia start making strange noises again, Evelyn, who was already used to it, remained unfazed. "I said from the beginning that it's something for next spring. It's too early to announce it now, or other things in the meantime will steal the spotlight."

"Ugh—I didn't want to either. If it weren't for the upcoming school exams, I wouldn't want to be quiet like this for several months—"

"I haven't seen you study either. You're always either reading novels while grinning like an idiot or grinning like an idiot while reading novels. It was the same at school..."

"Ah, the auction is about to start. Let's go back quickly. I still need to decorate the place." Aliya abruptly interrupted Evelyn, pretending she hadn't heard anything and turned to walk into the banquet hall.

The first part of this charity auction was for Aliya to go up and read a short poem she wrote about caring for women and children and showing kindness.

She was the head of the literature department at school, so writing a formulaic essay on a given topic was quite easy for her.

At first, she wrote earnestly with enthusiasm and love, but later she found that no one was really listening. People would just wait absentmindedly for her to finish reading and then clap their hands, praising her daughter's good writing to their parents.

People attend these charity galas not out of genuine care for those in need, but simply as a social occasion.

She could have comforted herself by saying that at least the funds raised eventually went to charitable organizations like poorhouses or welfare homes, and even if the process was somewhat embarrassing, at least the result was good.

Until she discovered that, in the end, not much of the money raised or auctioned actually went where it was supposed to go.

Therefore, she despises this hypocritical so-called "charity".

The same applies to all organizations, institutions, groups, and associations. Even if the founders have good intentions, they will inevitably go astray in the process of implementation.

Only by personally helping those in need and personally configuring those mismatched resources can we achieve this.

All I can do here is be a pretty vase, just for decoration.

The light from the crystal chandelier poured down, bathing everything in the banquet hall in a falsely warm hue. Aliya's steps were light and graceful, and the hem of her skirt rippled with her movements.

"Distinguished ladies and gentlemen," the father's voice sounded slightly distorted by the magic crystal megaphone, "Welcome to our gathering. Next, my proud daughter, Alia, will present us with a poem she specially composed for this charity gala, 'Lilies Before Dawn'!"

Aliya lowered her head slightly, revealing just the right amount of shyness. "Being able to do my part for those unfortunate women and children is the true meaning of tonight."

The applause was polite and restrained.

Alia lifted her skirt, slightly curtsied to the audience, her movements as graceful as an illustration in a textbook, and then slowly unfolded the manuscript in her hands:

"As the first rays of dawn pierce the mist, the clock tower's chimes awaken the foggy city..." she began to recite, her voice clear and gentle, with just the right amount of vibrato, "and those people in the shadows..."

Her gaze swept over the crowd below the stage. Home Secretary Calvin was exchanging a meaningful look with Kirk Walsh beside him; Police Commissioner Soren Holt seemed somewhat absent-minded, his eyes occasionally drifting towards the entrance of the banquet hall; her brother, finally free from the circle that made him feel so out of place, was standing next to the champagne tower, chatting up a young woman…

"...They are waiting, waiting for a pair of warm hands to lift them up from the mud, waiting for a voice to tell them that dawn will always come."

The applause rang out again, this time more enthusiastic than before, interspersed with exclamations of "What a wonderful poem!" and "So touching!"

The charity auction officially began after Alia finished reciting her opening poem.

"With the generous support of many friends, our orphanage has paid off all its loans, but the orphanage must continue to operate..." On the simple auction stage set up in the center of the banquet hall stood an elderly woman dressed in a low-key yet luxurious manner.

She is the director of an orphanage.

"...Therefore, we must do everything possible to raise more funds, so we intend to auction this beautiful vase from Shun Kingdom. Thank you to Earl Rugmoen for the donation!"

Aliya clapped along with everyone else as usual, but she felt that something was missing from the torrent of applause.

Her gaze wandered, and she quickly spotted the figure standing in the shadows in the corner of the crowd.

Evelyn didn't clap; instead, she stared intently at the vase on the stage.