Elle ran through the halls, blind from the tears in her eyes. They had taken her sonata from her, the most beautiful piece of music she had ever written. The one that called to her from her dreams and wove its song through her soul. She heard them playing it, heard them telling the minstrels they had created it. She had rushed into the room, demanding Desda and Arim to tell the truth. Elle revealed that they had heard her playing it during their group rehearsal time for the last festival. She told the minstrels the same story she told them about hearing it in her dreams and even pulled out the worn book she she had first scribbled the notes in after the breeze had changed the common folk song sang by a distant herder to something breathtaking. 

 They both denied it, saying it was a changing of a common tune that no one could own, and Elle had nothing to do with the heart-touching tones they had blended into a new work. Arim's friends, Kerin and Valkin were drummers from the warrior tribes of the northern shorelands, the pair had defended them and attacked Elle vehemently. The war of words had become too much for Elle's gentle nature, and she had fled in tears when the minstrels had declared they not believed her. Now Desda and Arim would get the reward of presenting the music at the Festival, and another year as favored students, and she would get sent home to the southern vale as a failure.

Later, Elle watched the four laughing and singing the notes together under the red maple in the courtyard. Some of the minstrels had wandered by and given them smug smiles, and patronizing compliments of how nice it was to have such talented underlings who brought such generous benefactors to the school. It was then she saw them, gossamer threads touching Arim and Desda, binding them together in their deception. The strands reached out to the minstrels too.

For the next month, Elle put up with the taunting of Desda and Arim's shills, and the malevolent criticism of the minstrels who favored the pair.  Elle watched for the strings and noticed they formed a web all about the school. Some students were untouched and wandered unnoticed by the tacky threads, but most of the instructors, top students, and especially the headmaster were tangled. She watched horrified as those ensnared lured those who were not into the web. Promises of prosperity and popularity were made to the most talented, while secretly the lesser skilled siphoned off their creativity.

One night, she was sitting in her room and a new song whispered to her in the nightingale's call, the rise and fall of the tides, and the rustle of the wind through the old cook's bamboo chimes. By morning, she had woven another masterpiece, but she dared not play it anywhere but in her mind, fearful that it would be stolen. She asked the cook to help her, and the old woman proffered a suggestion. A friend with a farm, not far away, needed someone to sooth his beast in the evening. 

Every day after evening meal, she snuck away to the hills, and to an old farm. There she played in the barn's loft as the farmer milked his cows. One day, a young man was sitting in the barn. He begged to listen as she practiced, and the farmer milked.

"Who wrote this?" He asked curiously.

"I did." She answered proudly. "I'm Elle."

"I'm Sartah. Please, play something else you have written," he begged, and so she played the piece that had been stolen. "It is so beautiful; may I return tomorrow with a friend?"

Elle was happy to have an audience besides the old farmer and his cows, and agreed. Every evening a few more came to listen, and every night more music flowed from her heart. So many new beautiful notes that she could no longer play all of them in an evening. Sartah wrote them as she played, smiled at her more affectionately every day. Then one fateful evening, she saw Valkin and Arim in the crowd. Valkin looked surprised by the quality and style of the music, but Arim looked enraged and left before she was finished. She trembled in fear as she started to leave, knowing her secret would be revealed to the school before morning. Valkin was waiting for her. Sartah stood protectively by her side.

"Why have you stolen more music from Arim?" Valkin demanded.

"She has stolen nothing," Sartah announced in her defense. "I have listened to her create what she played tonight. Perhaps it is your friend who stole from her." He spoke boldly for he knew of Elle's heartache and the lost sonata.

"The minstrels at the school have said it was not her work," Valkin announced haughtily.

"Only because they were paid by Arim and Desda's benefactors. Pay attention and see, the minstrels will get to keep and sell the sonata for their own profit after the festival. Arim and Desda will not protest the loss because they were thieves first," Elle said softly. "The whole school is based on thievery and graft. The minstrels are spiders spinning webs. Spiders feeding on the creative blood of those who believe they are being gifted with the opportunity to prosper, like I once did. When in truth, we are merely food for their bloated insidious industry,  seeking to fill their own coffers rather than truly support the growth of our art. I have found it is better to sing and play freely to the poor, than become tangled in their web of deceit, profit-mongering, and pandering to the wealthy courtiers."

She had never spoken in her own defense since that day, never caused another outburst, and had taken their taunts quietly, but the calm assurance in her voice caused Valkin to doubt everything he thought. Reaching the school, she thanked Sartah for the escort and the basket of fresh bread and fruit she was gifted for her music, waving farewell as he walked away. She started up the stairs but turned to look at her schoolmate.

"Be careful, you are friends with spiders, who will further tangle you up in their webs and not hesitate to feast on your blood." Valkin stared at her, unsure of what to make of the strange statement.

The next day the head minstrel was in Elle's room with two others when she returned from mid-day meal. They were looking through all her song books and letters, demanding to know where she went each evening, and what else she wrote since the piece claimed by Desda and Arim.

Elle held their gaze with calm rebuff. "So now you believe that I composed the piece they will play at this week's Festival? Why?"

The Headmaster glared at her, "Perhaps we were hasty in our judgement of the composition's origin."

Elle shook her head, in disbelief. "I told you how the piece came to be. Everything about it except the name of the song from which it was created. If Desda and Arim truly wrote it then let them give credit where credit is due, unless you are admitting they are thieves and do not know."

"They are popular students and well liked, how dare you accuse them?" one of the minstrels hissed.

"They are parasites feeding off the creativity of others, like a spider trapping a innocent in its shiny web and sucking the life from it, just like all who work here. This whole school is one giant web with the smaller spiders feeding the bigger spiders. My blood has been stolen once, you will not steal it again." Elle declared in a calm voice.

"You will be expelled, banished from ever being a minstrel. Now where are your new works?" the Headmaster threatened, his voice carrying to the hall and the courtyard beyond her open window.

Elle smiled passed him at the students who had gathered in the hall to watch. "I told you all they were spiders seeking to bloat themselves on our blood." The students murmured uncomfortably but did not yield way as a minstrel tried to close the door on them. Elle declared boldly, "You can not hide your webs from those whose eyes are open."

"Leave this school now!" The Headmaster ordered, flushed with embarrassment at the tiny girl's defiance. "Take her books away, pack her clothes, and put her out."

Elle raised her voice for the first time, and shouted at him, "You cannot steal the song in my soul, Headmaster, and your minstrels will not find the scores it has written. I hid them from you. Enjoy Desda's stolen sonata, she will never write you another."

Once her clothing and instruments were packed, Elle was taken to the gate. She smiled to herself knowing her compositions were safe with Sartah, in his father's book shop.

"You would throw away your future, your dreams to be a minstrel over a misunderstanding? We are the only ones who can give you what you want. You will never be a minstrel if you leave." The minstrel who had supported Desda and Arim tried to persuade Elle to relent for she knew the value of what Elle's soul bled. "Apologize to the Headmaster and surrender your writing without drama and we will give you a share of what is gained. If you walk out the gate, no one will ever hear a note your soul has written."

"There is no profit to be made from becoming a spider," Elle scoffed at her, "How do you bank the laughter of a maiden, or place value on the wistful tear of a crone? There are many beyond this place who love music and it cost nothing to listen. I bleed for them, not you."

Head held high, Elle walked out of the school, humming the new sonata she had written. Many came to listen, many purchased score copies from her through Sartah's book shop. After the first month, she was joined by a tentative few. It was a beginning of a revolution. Those who dreamed music and did not want others to be the gatekeepers between the beauty their souls bled and those who sought beauty because beauty should be free too all.

:::Never let another steal the creative blood of your soul. 

Many sources of creativity overlap but each creation is unique.

Do not let fear or intimidation devalue your dreams.:::