A/N: Whoa, the doc manager format is so different. Anyway. Here's how much I suck. I start another story without finishing the other ones. BUT, you may or may not be happy to know, I AM working on the next chapter of SCOM. Hooray! Finally some free time to write!

Anyway. This is kind of a different path than I'm used to, so bear with me as I find my footing. Believe it or not, the idea struck me today when I was listening to this song (ugh, when did One Direction actually start making good music?) and taking a bath. It started as a seed and just blossomed over the course of twenty minutes, and I landed here. I had to write it down.

Chapter two is already partway done. I hope you guys like it. Please review!

xoxo

WHEN THE NIGHT CHANGES

Chasing her tonight, doubts are running 'round her head
He's waiting, hides behind his cigarette
Heart is beating loud, she doesn't want it to stop
Moving too fast, moon is lighting up her skin
She's falling, doesn't even know it yet
Having no regrets is all that she really wants

We're only getting older baby
And I've been thinking about you lately
Does it ever drive you crazy
Just how fast the night changes
Everything that you've ever dreamed of
Disappearing when you wake up
But there's nothing to be afraid of
Even when the night changes
It will never change me and you

"Night Changes" - One Direction

CHAPTER 1

Philadelphia – April 1947

Frigid.

It was the first word that came to mind as Spencer Hastings stood idly by the enormous bay window, watching as the darkening sky erupted with droves of snow. The day had started off as being rather mild, a negligible chill on the air but no clouds to speak of. But somehow, throughout the course of the evening, the sun had taken its unceremonious leave, turning the other cheek to Jack Frost and his kin. Cobalt had quickly contorted to slate gray, and before anybody had realized what was happening, the whiteout conditions had all but taken over.

She swirled the last gulp of champagne around in its flute, fighting to ignore the grandiose musical number blaring from the room down the hall, so loud that it echoed in the floorboards beneath her feet. She had never been much for parties, much less ones as unnecessarily ostentatious as this. But the diamond on her ring finger doubled as a silent leash, and wherever Wren went, she was meant to follow.

Her parents had been thrilled when he had requested her hand. When the Philadelphia Record rolled off the presses the following day, she found her own face staring up at her from the front page, an entire article boasting their engagement. Peter Hastings had submitted the announcement himself, and before Spencer had even thought through the immensity of its implications, the decision had been made for her.

If she were being honest, there were far worse suitors than Wren Kingston. He was heir to the Kingston Estate, a multi-million dollar corporation that had managed to weave its voracious grasp throughout most of New England, planting money trees on every available inch of vacant property and greedily reaping the benefits of its investments. One would be hard-pressed to walk a single block of downtown Philadelphia without passing at least one Kingston building.

Her friends were wildly envious of her impending climb up the social ladder. Cecilia Drake had practically wept at the sight of Spencer's engagement ring, blathering on about how she had never seen such a gem "in person," and how jewelry magazines did no justice to the sparkle of "real diamonds."

All things considered, she knew she should have been grateful that he had found her to be worthy of sharing his fortune. At the very least, she should have felt some swell of pride or accomplishment.

But as she slid her fingers across the cool panes of glass before her, driving a trail through the frosty layer that had ensnared the coveted window surface into its clutches, she could not help but feel a sense of complete and utter detachment.

Frigid.

"Spencer! There you are!"

She turned abruptly, nearly losing the last of her drink, as Alison DiLaurentis strode briskly toward her. Though her friend's face was flushed pink from the festivities, the blond ringlets framing her cheeks still lay in immaculate coils, unperturbed by the hubbub.

"Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere. You missed the unveiling of the hotel model!"

The King Palace. It was Wren's pride and joy – his first, true, independent creation without the guiding hand of his father. He had been developing it for months, every iota of his heart and soul entrenched in its preparation. There was a distinct glimmer that danced across his eyes whenever he studied those sketches. It was rather endearing, but somehow, simultaneously maddening. Proud though Spencer was, she could not help but wonder why her fiancé shared more intimate gazes with loose leaves of drawing paper than he did with her.

"Somehow I doubt I was missed," she said, forcing a light-hearted smile to lift at the corners of her lips. Perhaps then she could succeed in passing it off as a joke, though she knew, in all the excitement, that Wren was unlikely to have noticed her absence.

Alison batted the claim away, like a pesky gnat buzzing around her face. "Don't be silly. Of course you were. You're the fiancé of the guest of honor!"

There was that strange word that caused a phantom itch somewhere in the core of her heart. That odd, ceremonial phrase that felt more like a job description than a term of endearment.

She did not have time to let it settle. Alison had already strung Spencer's elbow through her own, guiding her back through the hallway and toward the ballroom.

"You should have seen it," she was gushing, "photographers everywhere, reporters shouting to be heard over the crowd, desperate to have their questions answered by the Wren Kingston." She sighed dreamily. "You're so lucky."

Spencer smiled stiffly. Truth be told, the whole thing sounded atrociously uncomfortable. Besides, why should she be sorry she missed the opportunity to be dangled silently on his arm through torrents of interviews? That wasn't exactly what she had in mind for the evening. She couldn't bring herself to understand how, even to someone as superficial as Alison, that sounded anything remotely close to enjoyable. Then again, when it came to rubbing elbows with the wealthy, Alison wasn't difficult to please.

"I've been thinking about the wedding," Alison continued, scarcely breathing before surging forth. "Star lilies. Trust me. It's what Queen Elizabeth is using for her wedding. And, let's face it, after this marriage, you will be considered comparable royalty."

Spencer hated star lilies. "Sounds wonderful."

"And you simply must have your dress tailor made. One-of-a-kind. Something with a bustier, though. You don't want to look too flat on your wedding day."

Spencer looked at her chest area self-consciously, but before she had a chance to process the underlying insult behind Alison's well-intentioned advice, the blond had already moved onward.

"Top hats and tails would be ideal for the men, as well, because – "

Alison stopped speaking so suddenly that Spencer was sure she had spontaneously gone deaf when the peaceful silence graced her once more with its presence. It wasn't until she followed Alison's train of view that she understood.

There, in a dark, abandoned corner of the regal hallway, was Wren, entangled in the arms of a familiar brunette. A brunette with whom Spencer had shared a bedroom growing up. A brunette who had once coached her very reluctant younger sister through Cotillion. A brunette who should have been the last person to be caught in such a compromising position.

Before Spencer could shriek in outraged surprise, Alison had already clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her away from the sight. The two lovers did not even flinch.

Her insides were on fire. It was a sense of contempt unlike any other she had ever experienced, but was different than most stories she had heard. Friends whose husbands had been caught with their hands up unfamiliar skirts…They always spoke of the shame and heartbreak that accompanied being deceived by the person they loved.

Spencer only felt fury. She knew her sister was self-absorbed at best, but to deliberately chase after the man she was supposed to marry? Melissa had accused Spencer of being jealous of her beauty and social standing their entire lives. And yet, here she was, making one, glaring notion abundantly clear: for once, Spencer had something that Melissa wanted.

The two of them had some nerve, thinking they were capable of outsmarting her. Assuming she was too stupid to ever figure out their indiscretion. She deserved far more credit than that.

"Alison!" Spencer hissed once they were out of earshot, struggling to free her arm from her friend's talon-like grasp. "What are you doing? I want to know exactly what – "

"You can't say anything," Alison breathed, whipping Spencer around to face her. "You will regret it. Trust me."

Spencer impatiently pushed an invasive lock of hair from her face, vaguely aware of how her heart was pounding so ferociously she could feel it in her eardrums. "What are you talking about?"

Alison sighed with a rather condescending sort of patience, as though trying to explain a difficult concept to an inept child. "Lots of men do it. It isn't anything to worry yourself over."

Spencer scoffed in disbelief. "Isn't anything to worry myself over?"

"Stop. Listen to me. Wren has money. Remember? Lots of money. Marrying him will be the best thing that ever happened to you. You understand that, don't you? You can't let a little thing like him kissing your sister ruin – "

"A LITTLE THING?" Spencer cried indignantly.

"If you call attention to this, you will only cause a scandal. Is that what your parents would want?"

And there it was. The argument that Alison had surely known would deflate Spencer's resolve. Though she and her parents often found themselves at odds, their reputation was something of immense importance to her. Her father had worked his fingers to the bone from a young age to build this life for her family. He had earned their place in the spotlight with nothing but a shabby monogrammed briefcase and a meager savings bond. Something like this could unravel the very thread with which he had stitched their livelihood.

"Better?" Alison said, a nigh undetectable air of triumph in her tone. Spencer nodded resolutely, but said nothing. "Good. Now compose yourself. You're behaving like a lunatic."

Spencer bit hard on the inside of her cheek to choke back her knee-jerk rebuke, simply consenting to nod mutely once more.

"All right. Let's go back to the party, shall we?"

It was amazing, really, how quickly Alison was capable of shifting gears. One minute she was all fire and brimstone, blue eyes flashing wildly like a puppet master losing grip on the strings; the next, giggling coquettishly behind the mesmerizing smile of her perfectly white teeth.

Nevertheless, Spencer allowed her to quietly guide her back into the ballroom, feeling as though she were going to be inexplicably sick.

The nausea lifted only when she spotted him – the one person who could somehow effortlessly mask all of her worries, if only for a short time. His long-practiced knack for cheering her up could not have come at a more opportune time.

"There's my beautiful little sister," he said affectionately, though she knew him well enough to detect the slight hint of jocularity in the statement. He, like her, was not fond of these pretentious events, and often resorted to playing a role to make the evening more enjoyable.

And, as she so frequently did in his presence, she smiled in spite of herself.

"I'm going to go get us some more champagne," Alison said pointedly, the curvature of her cocked eyebrow providing Spencer with one last warning. She knew that, ordinarily, Spencer told Jason everything. "I'll be right back."

She whisked herself away. For a moment, Spencer and Jason were left in blissful silence.

"You feel that?" he murmured out of the corner of his mouth, looking around surreptitiously. "Dare I say it – there's room to breathe again."

Spencer laughed outright at his joke, allowing her head to lilt quietly onto his shoulder. "You would not believe the night I've had."

"That depends. Are we comparing notes?"

She snickered into her hand once more, biting back what would have been a much louder laugh as someone passed. Jason smirked knowingly at her, pulling a face that mimicked the glare coming from the elderly lady near the refreshment table.

"I got you something today," he said, rifling through the pocket of his suit jacket. "A kind of engagement present, I guess you could say. But really it's more of a 'just because I kind of like you' present."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his attempt to be flippant. "It wasn't necessary, Jason. Really."

At last he unearthed a long, rectangular case from his coat. Before she could continue to protest, he had already flipped the top open. Inside the crushed velvet lay a silver bracelet, sparkling beneath the lights of the chandelier hanging above, her name engraved in cursive print.

He looked a bit sheepish, clearing his throat as he took it upon himself to fasten it around her wrist in poignant silence. Jason was not one to express emotion openly, but she could see in his thoughtful, downcast eyes that this gift entailed something much more meaningful than he was letting on.

"To remind you where you come from," he said quietly, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.

She did not know what to say. The corners of her eyes stung with saline, and her throat felt suddenly tight.

"Thank you."

The music drifted off once more, and suddenly the crowd was applauding thunderously and turning back toward the grand staircase. She followed their attention to see Wren standing at the top of the steps, grinning victoriously from ear to ear. He was going to make another speech.

The feeling of sour milk settling in the pit of her stomach returned. And before Jason could notice, she ducked quietly out of the room and headed purposefully for the front doors.

Upon breaking free of the building that had done nothing but suffocate her all evening, she at once felt a sense of relief. It was short-lived, however, as the weather had taken a turn for the worst and immediately ensnared her in its merciless undertow. The snowfall had increased ten fold, blinding her to what lay so little as five feet ahead. It came down like pins and needles, prodding ceaselessly at the sensitive skin of her exposed arms, calling each and every hair follicle to stand attentively. She vowed to herself to ignore the way the wind whipped at her face, chapping her cheeks and lips, rendering her nose numb to its cruelty, as she rounded the corner and ducked through the alley she knew would provide a short cut to the main road. There she knew she could find Wren's driver, who would be more than happy to escort her home if she claimed to have fallen ill.

She was almost there – almost home free – when three figures emerged from the shadows, faces cloaked in darkness.

"That's Wren Kingston's whore, isn't it?" one of them said.

"Sure is," the second replied gruffly. "Talk about hitting the jackpot."

A flood of ice erupted in her veins that had nothing to do with the weather as they surrounded her.

"What are you doing wandering out here all alone, baby?"

"Not very wise to go tramping about without your fiancé."

He said it with such vindictive mockery that it was like being slapped in the face. If she hadn't hated that word before, she certainly did now.

"Take what you want," she said, doing her damnedest to mask the tremor in her throat. "Please. I don't want any trouble."

The strange men laughed in a macabre chorus, sending another shiver tickling down her spine.

"Check out that rock on her finger," one of them declared. She jumped, startled, as another immediately grabbed her hand to survey the ring.

"You get tired holding that thing up all day, sweetie?" the second cooed. They all guffawed in unison once more.

"Take it," she breathed, ripping it from her finger without ceremony and tossing it to the pavement. "Just let me go."

"What a fancy bracelet," the shortest mocked, brushing his hand down her arm and to her wrist. "That must be worth a pretty penny."

"Not that," she begged, pulling her arm out of his grasp and holding it protectively to her body. "Please. Anything else. Not that."

Their voices began to echo around her as they closed in, like a cadence carried by the snowstorm swirling around them in an all-consuming vortex.

"Aw, it's a special gift."

"How precious."

"Anything else," she repeated fervently. "Anything but that."

"Well, if she really means anything else…"

A hand on her backside. Fingers trailing across her collarbone. A body pressing into hers. Each time she leapt away from the unwelcome advances, another was waiting in her path.

She tried to step backwards. Her feet gave out from under her and she landed hard on her back, her head swimming with stars. She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes even as her consciousness gave way. Her body was frozen, in every sense of the word. Soon, she would not be able to feel anything…and she could not welcome the feeling soon enough, vaguely aware of how her limbs had gone numb, how the moisture that spilled down her cheeks turned to ice before the drop-off of her chin. How everything around her had gotten so very cold, so fast…

Frigid.

The blackness overtook her.

CONT'D