A/N: Okay, here's my attempt at an idea I've had recently. This chapter is a hint of what's to come, and I hope it's interesting. Please let me know what you think.

Bad Karma

A Phantom of the Apartment

Stretching all of her still-sore muscles down to the tiniest ones in her toes, a flushed Kristianne turned over, with a soft, placated smile on her rosy lips; golden tendrils slung across eye-lids that refused to open. Oddly enough, she felt quite well rested, and found herself to be awake before her alarm had a chance to go off. She was lying there in contentment, waiting for her mind to fully awaken; emotional remnants the only clues of yet another pleasant dream that was elusively drifting about in her subconscious mind.

After releasing a sigh of defeat from knowing she had to get up, her eyes opened to focus on the violin case propped against the side of her bed, then moved to the scribbled word "FRAGILE" on one of the many boxes she had neglected to unpack the night before. She dispassionately recalled that there were also a few boxes in the corner by the door, and that she would have to finish unpacking when she got home from her auditions that day.

My alarm hasn't gone of… it must be before seven…

Taking her time, she sat up and stretched her neck, unable to stifle a deep yawn. When out of curiosity, her eyes wandered to the alarm clock, the remaining drowsiness was instantly replaced with sheer panic upon seeing that its digital display was blank.

Her naturally wide blue eyes widened even more in apprehension.

How…?

Instinctively from a most recent experience, she sprang to her feet to reach for the cord, and yanked on it to see if it was plugged into the wall. When she was able to pull it all the way out with ease and the end of it dangled in front of her, her jaw dropped.

Not again!

What time was it?

Sprinting into the kitchen, she looked up at the pizza-clock and panicked all the more when she saw what its imitation pepperoni face showed her.

Eight-fifteen??

As she sprang into her morning routine, Kristianne recalled the first time it had happened, but two days prior and thought that perhaps she had somehow pulled it out while moving furniture about in her new apartment. But this second time was beyond her rational reasoning.

In truth, there had been many strange occurrences in Kristianne's recent experiences that she had simply treated as fluke. She would often find herself lucking out; having obtained the job she wanted; getting the apartment she yearned for; beginning with exams being rescheduled in high school; all from whims, fancies and silent wishes. Nowadays she had considered that perhaps someone or something was listening?

How ridiculously childish!

Shrugging off this entire instance with more important things to think about, she put on her jacket and locked her door. It was when Kristianne had arrived in the elevator lobby that she mentally kicked herself for having forgotten the one thing she needed – her violin. It would have been rather embarrassing to show up at the auditions without it. Grumbling to herself, she retrieved it, along with her mp3 player, before leaving in more of a huff than before.

Just as she reached the lobby again, with the buds of the ear phones now in her ears, she reached a finger to call the elevator, only to have the doors directly in front of her slide open before she even had the chance to press the button.

I must have pressed it before…yes, that's it.

But the strange things didn't stop there. This would just be the start.

The auditions were being held in an old structure no more than two blocks away. It was a good thing, Kristianne thought, that she wouldn't have to wait for a bus this time. The butterflies that always formed under these circumstances could easily be thwarted by physical activity – having to hurry was an especially welcome distraction for her.

The biting chilly wind of late autumn was also comforting. It meant that she wouldn't arrive with beads of sweat rolling off her face.

On her initial audition with this orchestra, she thought that she was going to throw up on the Music Director's shoes. At that point she was still living with her parents, and her dad made sure that she had gotten up on time. With time to spare then, she had gotten dressed at a mild speed and even had time to fit in a practice beforehand.

It's a good thing I got a good practice in last night before zonking out…!

After having waited in a dim room with a couple of cellists who happened to be twin girls, and a flautist with an upturned nose that kept glaring at her, it was her turn to go into the great room, to face the three people seated so nonchalantly at a table.

This is no different than before…just play your piece…

As she raised the instrument to her chin, she realized that this wasn't at all like the time before. She had spoken with the Music Director in person though he hadn't been at her first audition.

Now, he was seated there in the corner, as no doubt this was the final round of auditions. Perhaps looking at his tall, lithe form - a graceful shape half shrouded in shadow, seated at the back corner of the room that calmed Kristianne; or perhaps it was how he was leaning against the wall, with his left elbow on the table…

It felt like time stopped in the moment she observed him there, mesmerized by how elegantly his long fingers were holding that pen. There was something astoundingly imperious about him; an enchanting sort of arrogance in his air…it seemed strangely familiar…

Good, that diverted her wracked nerves to loosen somewhat.

Even though Kristianne's fingers still shook ferociously, and her heart was pounding in her ears in a rhythm completely unlike the piece she began to play, her concentration took her beyond the physical, into a realm of trance, of glorious, sweet music.

She wasn't seeing the gazes of the judges or how often and at what point they made notes. Nor was the Music Director's intense stare visible, though she could feet it pierce a hole through her.

The bow slid across the string for the last time, the ultimate, resonant note's bittersweet vibrato ending the song. Sooner than Kristianne expected it, the piece was finished, and its echo stirred her out of her wistful stupour. With shaky fingers she removed her violin, grasping her instrument numbly with clammy hands, hesitantly looking up toward her jury.

The older man with hair that must have been a flaming red in his youth but was now streaked with silver spoke, but a silky voice from the back of the room interrupted.

"Thank you Miss Délouvier–"

"Do you know any other piece, Miss Délouvier?"

Kristianne thought she heard an accent there, but couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

"Uh…yes. I know a few others."

"Do you know any old French folk songs?" The Music Director spoke again, this question evidently enticing odd looks to be exchanged between the three shapes sitting closer to her.

"Yes…"

"Play one," commanded the silky voice from the shadows.