In the days following their visit to the music hall, Janet could be heard humming those songs almost daily. To help her move on from them, Miss Susan scheduled several consecutive music lessons in an effort to steer her back on track.
With Elena's voice hoarse, she focused on playing the piano while Janet took charge of the singing. These kinds of songs, composed specifically for parlor performance, were known as parlor music. Often adapted from operas or art songs with new lyrics added, parlor music was growing in popularity. In fact, more and more original compositions were being created for this setting—music that demanded less technical prowess and was easier to sing.
For both girls, parlor music was a required skill. At dinners or gatherings, a girl with such a talent would inevitably be asked to perform. It was akin to showing off one's artistic skills during the holidays. Compared to the more accessible songs of the music hall, parlor music possessed a touch more artistry and refinement.
That said, music hall singers weren't celebrated for their vocal excellence or advanced technique. Their true charm lay in their energy and vivid personalities. When that star performer at the music hall sang longingly to the audience—"My lover in the gallery above\~"—who would stop to critique whether her pitch was perfect or her vibrato refined?
Parlor songs, on the other hand, were a different matter. While they might not match the grandeur of operatic arias, they did borrow certain techniques from opera—especially the use of vibrato. There was reason behind this: these songs often revolved around themes of melancholy love, and vibrato helped express those emotions. Still, Elena couldn't quite get used to it.
Janet, forced to practice this style where every word had to tremble several times, received only Elena's sympathy—and silent gratitude that her own voice wasn't yet recovered.
Mrs. Campbell was deeply concerned about Elena's voice. After all, she'd been home for quite some time and still hadn't recovered. She even considered inviting an apothecary to examine her. Naturally, Elena stopped her. She explained frankly that her condition was beyond human remedy—an admission that only worried her mother more.
That day, as usual, Elena accompanied Janet on the piano while she sang, voice quivering through, "Why must the\~ beautiful\~ ones\~ die\~"
Sometimes, Elena truly felt the urge to call the police.
This song was hard to sing. Done well, it sounded like a malfunctioning radio; done poorly… well, Janet clearly fell into the latter category.
"Janet," Susan said worriedly, "maybe you should stick to piano at the next dinner party."
Susan's urgency to train Janet's singing came from recent news: the Campbells would be vacationing at their estate this summer. Though Janet was still too young for formal dinners, she'd definitely be expected to perform at family gatherings. Many girls who hadn't officially entered society yet had built a reputation through such occasions.
Janet had made great progress with piano previously, so Susan hadn't focused much on her singing. But since returning from the music hall, Janet had clearly been enchanted by vocal performance, prompting Susan to intervene. In hindsight, the results were… a little ridiculous.
"But I can sing music hall songs really well," Janet protested. "My lover in the gallery above\~"
And truthfully, without the peculiar vibrato, Janet's voice was quite pleasant—clear and emotionally expressive.
"But you can't sing that at a dinner party," Susan shook her head with a sigh.
Janet let out a disappointed sigh.
Then Susan turned to Elena, her tone hopeful. "El, would you like to try?"
Elena quickly shook her head and smiled. "Not with this voice."
"Oh come on," said Janet, seizing the opportunity to retaliate after catching Elena giggling during her own performance. "I've never even heard you sing!"
Under pressure, Elena reluctantly agreed to a brief attempt, broken voice and all.
Back in her previous life, she'd taken a beginner vocal class after being humiliated in a karaoke session where she couldn't hit the high notes. Later, she continued practicing with online tutorials. She wasn't aiming to be a singer, but she could definitely impress in karaoke—just enough to satisfy a shallow bit of vanity.
With that foundation, and Susan's recent patient instruction, Elena gave it a go.
Though her voice lacked beauty, her vocal cords were otherwise in perfect condition—in fact, thanks to her transformation as a goddess, her physical health now surpassed that of an ordinary person. As she sang and played "Ah, May the Red Rose Bloom Forever," she started off a bit off-key due to nerves, but soon her technique shone through.
"Wow," Susan clapped in surprise. "El, you sound far better than I expected."
Janet added in astonishment, "Once your voice heals, you'll sound amazing!"
Elena herself was shocked. Who knew this gravelly voice could still carry a tune? A thought struck her—if only rock music existed in this era! With her voice, she'd be perfect for a rock band—especially something like death metal. She could totally be a rock star.
Unfortunately, rock was still more than a century away. Even if she could pull it off, people today wouldn't get it.
After a long day of music lessons, Elena stretched and headed toward her room.
There, she found a letter from Herrmann reminding her of her deadline. It was getting harder to delay. She could no longer pretend she was too busy—her ghostly journeys had settled into a rhythm, and her previous serials like 'Helen' and 'Paper Dolls' had wrapped up. With a bit of free time on hand, it was finally time to complete the second half of 'A Strange Journey in Dreams'.
Previously, she had carefully planned the male figures appearing in the heroine's dreams: a powerful nobleman, the heroine's upright friend (who happened to be her husband's good friend), and the gentle, shy neighbor. These three characters formed the first half of the story. She'd wanted to gauge reader reactions before choosing the next cast of dream-lovers—to avoid going too far and drawing backlash. But from Herrmann's letter, she received only overflowing praise, not a single word from readers. It seemed no matter what she wrote, readers applauded.
So, Elena decided to take a closer look at the imitation manuscripts flooding in. By seeing which characters the imitators favored, perhaps she could infer readers' preferences.
Last time, she'd barely glanced through one before Janet interrupted her. This time, she locked the door, opened the trunk filled with contraband materials, and pulled out her own 'A Strange Journey in Dreams'—such an upright-sounding title—and began flipping through the other works.
Clearly inspired by 'A Strange Journey in Dreams', most of these copycat stories were written from the perspective of ordinary women. However, male authors attempting to write in a female voice often failed to capture emotional nuance, leaving their narratives stiff and awkward. Predictably, every story featured a dream involving lust—not sure if they were following a trend or genuinely saw it as central to their story.
Many of these stories were long, starting with a dream and evolving into a full-blown affair. It was clear the writers had, without instruction, gravitated toward writing illicit fiction. Given Herrmann's comment that these works were selling well, it was clear this was what readers craved. Yet they lacked the genre's classic touch: peeking through a door, sneaking in during a bath… all the classic taboo scenarios were missing. It was simply forbidden—but without finesse.
In terms of descriptive detail, these works also fell short. While the authors tried to mimic Elena's subtle writing style, they missed the essence. Instead of tension, their works came off as crude.
For Elena, these works were boring.
But that only gave her room to shine.
In her latest outline, the heroine's dreams would feature even more vivid and diverse characters. There was the cheerful, teasing older brother of a friend, who always flirted with the heroine and subtly undermined her husband. Then the cold, arrogant brother-in-law, who resisted but secretly yearned for the heroine, only to fall into guilt and self-loathing. And to stretch out the story further, she introduced a rugged, wild carpenter—once the heroine's childhood friend—who returned to build her furniture, and with a single glance, reignited sparks between them.
Look how much effort she put in! Each character had a distinct personality and their own unique approach—unlike the imitators who only varied social roles but not temperament.
The teasing friend's brother would smile as he withheld satisfaction, the aloof brother-in-law would battle between temptation and morality, and the muscular carpenter? He'd lift the heroine up while whispering filthy sweet-nothings that left her blushing in indignation.
With the outline complete, Elena began to write.