The angels are dying. Squabbling over simple and petty things turn to murder in latter days, while carnal sins of the flesh no longer seem relevant. The faithful and devout, they attend mass, speak their lessons unto the world and pray for forgiveness. To what ends? Let them repent, it does no good. There are no answers anymore, none that are clear enough read anyway, and the faithful turn to greed, jealousy, anger. They feel abandoned and rightly so, what is it they have done to warrant nothing but deadly silence? And a war that has waged for countless millenia continues as this world greens and frosts and passes by, ignorance they say is bliss. The media covers what they can not explain, claiming it is an act of nature, angry, devastatingly deadly but nothing more then that.

Frauste Nighthaven.

"That should just about do it. Keep the romanticism alive I suppose." she whispered quietly to herself, signing off on her internet blog and cutting the power to her machine. She was a soft featured girl, velvet skin pale as ivory yet something of water when she moved, as if watching the careful balance of dancers on ice. Every step she took was graceful, every movement immaculate, there was no wide sweeping motion as she turned, and even off balance she was nimble, perfect. Chestnut and burgundy strands drifted softly about her physique as she gently closed her eyes to reflect, skimming her slender fingers through dark hair that shone in every light. It was shoulder length, the way she had always liked it, it curled at just the right moments lapping at her neck in just the right way, the tickle sent chills down her spine. Paling crimson graced her features as she allowed a small smile to crease her lips, mind concentrated deep in thought as she breathed heavily, slowly, deeply, almost as if being alseep she would wander. Slowly, eyes of blue, deep as sapphire opened, bringing her back to the reality she so longed to forget, the cruelty, and the malevolence of life. She sighed.

"Very poetic. You're not wrong." The voice was a hiss, a whisper in her ear. She felt breath on her skin, burning, familiar, could smell the scent. Focusing quickly she turned to her left, nothing. To her right stood only a painted wall decorated with small stickers and decals, creatures like unicorns and leprecauns danced merrily around a fountain while around them lay scattered gold coins and black cauldrons. She turned from her desk, the ever graceful movement fluid like in structure faltering in panic, and she stumbled from her chair to her knees on a carpeted floor. Shag, just the way she liked it. "Not tonight sweetie I have a headache." The voice rasped again, sarcastic overtones heavily lidded the conversation as she fumbled, an empty bedroom surrounded her from every direction. Then, as if she had known from the beginning, the window. Slowly regaining her composure she forced herself to her feet once more, the fluid movements returning swiftly as the voice stopped whispering. She had counted silently, 'one, two,...five' steps that seemed a mile to the window sill, pulse pounding desperately in her mind, drowning the sound of silence that followed. Five steps, and she was peering down through laced curtains into a garden now in full bloom. Petunias, daisies, peonies, roses, multitudes of flowering plant sprang to life in the summer breezes, moon bright as it had been for near on a month since the summer had begun. And there in the midst of it all, stood a man. He was tall, lanky, pale with lighter hair from what she could tell at this distance. He was intriguing, and as she stare down at him, she swore she saw him smile. "Tsk. Tsk. Its not polite to keep people waiting at the door. You should invite them in." She turned from the window in surprise, he stood before her, a light blue dress shirt, black slacks covered him. "Alastair. You would be...?"

"People know me as Frauste. My real name is April." she replied nervously. It was taking everything in her not to scream as loud and long as she could. "I prefer Frauste. Its annonymous, keeps people guessing."she closed her eyes again, tightly and constricted to relaxed as she fought the fear now threatening to overtake her being, trying to slow her breathing as she responded to the question. He watched for a long moment, quietly contemplating her, actions, grace, beauty. She opened her eyes once more, taking every inch of him in as she possibly could. She had been correct in assuming his hair was light, he was a red head. His frame was large, he stood far taller then she had hoped, but there was always a way of turning things around on others in case of emergency. He was simply staring at her. After a long silence, he moved toward her, simple strides, no malicious intent. It didn't take much time, not before he was circling slowly studying her, studying from every angle he possibly could, until he stopped. From behind she felt the breath on her naked skin once more.

"Once again. You're not wrong. It certainly does keep people guessing." he snickered and licked at his chapped lips, his breath a hiss as he spoke. He was taunting, frightening, dominating and she was the mouse caught between a rock and his trap. In his sing song voice he leaned in close to her and spoke, "Guess..what..I'm..going..to do."