CRASHING SHADOWS AND LIGHT

PART ONE

Be My Valentine? or Faye's Story

1: Beginnings

Dear Diary, August 12th, 1994

I can't believe it's only two days until my 16th birthday! I'm being cut loose from my over protective mother! That is, for the first time, she's giving me permission to go out with my friends and do whatever. (Of course I do that all the time when she thinks that I'm asleep…but what she doesn't know won't hurt her.)

My best friend in the whole world- Amber, took me for such a massive shopping spree that I think I've worn the soles out on yet another pair of shoes. Never mind, Daddy said it was time I got a few more pairs for this month. He always says that with a smile on his face and a nice fat wad of cash in his hand. Gotta love being an only child.

The other reason that I'm so excited is…

I chewed the end of my pencil, smiling softly at the warmth blooming on my cheeks.

…a boy. Not just any boy. Azrael- he said he'd like to take me out for my birthday. Seems like the months spent sitting in the back of maths class, staring lovingly at the back of his perfectly shaped head is finally paying off. Amber and I had a contest as to which he'd ask out first- her or me. She's in the cheerleading troop with me, and has great looks- but in the end, I guess natural 16 year old beauty prevailed (she's still stuck being 15 for another 5 months). I'm walking on such a cloud, that I think I'll chose the clothes that I'll wear now! Dress or skirt?…

Faye.

"Darling?" A loud voice crackled in my room. Alarmed, I stuffed the book of my most precious thoughts beneath the closest large teddy bear on my bed. Looking around, I saw no one- it was then that I sheepishly realized that the someone had been speaking through the intercom on the other side of the room, near the door. Sighing, I swung my feet out from the bed and let them sink into the soft, plush carpeting- the colour of peaches and swirls of pale white cream. I had to move a hatstand and pull aside a poster of my favourite band to reach the buttons of the intercom.

"Hello? What did you want?"

"Come down for dinner in a quarter of an hour, will you sweetheart? Wear the pretty dress your aunt sent you. She'll like that when you come down." The voice was feminine- my mother's. Inwardly, I shuddered. I don't have such a problem wearing dresses- it's not as though I have a personal vendetta against them or anything, but the dress that I am being forced to fish out of its fancy box and pull over my body….Can only be described as hideous. Supposedly made of high quality, pale pink silk imported from some remote corner of Asia, it was in fact- brutally scratchy to the skin (due to poor stitching) and unmercifully festooned with ridiculous ruffles, flounces and bows. Not only that, but I simply can't wear the dress, serve my time and peel it off again. Oh no. I have to, 'do something with my hair'. That means no headbands, bandannas or any of the comfortable headgear I equip myself with to get through the day. No, to 'do one's hair' in this case, means that Gillian, my mother's personal maid-attacks my short dark hair with a comb and pins up what she can in intricate little knots with jeweled hair pins and many a muttered curse under her breath. Sometimes she yanks so hard, that I have to bite my finger to prevent myself from crying or chewing off her fingers.

Desperately, I tried to think of a reason to stall for time. Anything to save me from the confines of that garment sewn by the very critters of Hell itself. Was there any homework to be done? No…Daddy had made me do that ages ago. What about cleaning my room? No…that's the problem with having servants- you never have a sickening, disgustingly messy-with possessions floating around everywhere- room when you really need it. Do the goldfish need to be fed? Oh wait…they died last week didn't they? When I gave them coffee to see if they would swim faster. Damn.

Well how about…eep…the door's opening. Fat, callused hand on the gilded doorknob. Could only be…

"'Evening, Gilly." I sighed resignedly. There was no escape now.

"Evening it is, you silly girl. Don't you ever carry a watch? I thought I told you to come home early from shopping to get ready for dinner tonight. Don't you know we have guests dining with the household?"

"Yes." I replied irritably, allowing the middle aged woman with greying orange hair and flabby hound dog cheeks to usher me into the chair standing in front of my beech wood dresser and mirror.

Gillian's eyes glanced down at her wrist, to her plain, inexpensive wristwatch- which continued to plod along and tell the time, despite being twice run through the washing machine, mangled by the kitchen cat who thought it to be an amusing chew toy, and once picked up by a raven who found the shiny object on a windowsill. But when it made to fly away with it, the bird found it too heavy and dropped it on the unforgiving stone paving of the courtyard below. Miraculously, nothing but the glass on the watch face was cracked slightly.

"The time! Only ten minutes! Quickly, quickly girl- hand me that brush! Not that one! The other one, with the coarse bristles!" Looking at the hairbrush with a deep resentment- I picked it from the dresser and held it back over my shoulder. After it was snatched from my grasp, then began the agonizing torment of having my hair nearly ripped out by its roots.

"What on earth have you been doing outside all day?" Demanded Gillian, wrangling vainly with a particularly stubborn knot. Wincing, I replied nothing unusual. No way was I mentioning Azrael. Something in my voice must have given me away, or maybe Gillian just knew me too well- having practically raised me from a stumbling, drooling toddler.

"If you're going to lie through your teeth," she said, "At least think of a half interesting lie to cover yourself with. That was pathetic."

"But-"

"Hold this." I found myself holding the evil brush again, this time- a wad of my hair attached. "No time." Gillian muttered, "I'll just have to give you a pair of braids." I felt myself brighten as gnarled hands divided and wove two sides of hair. Braids weren't too bad, I guess. Beats having your skull impaled by hairpins. "There." she announced at last- taking up a pale blue bottle of hand blown glass, a pump with a squirt attached on top. Using swift, sharp movements- my head suddenly became enveloped in a shimmering mist of water vapor, multicolored glitter and affixitave.

"But won't this-" I began to blurt.

"No time." Gillian's clipped words cut across mine, "Don't speak unless you want to inhale this stuff. Three…two…one. Okay, it'll be dry by now. Off with your clothes, hurry up!"

I grimaced as I slid off the chair- now aware that I didn't want to take off my clothes in front of Gilly, however motherly she may be. It had never mattered before, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a despicable violation of privacy. My stubborn hesitation was plain to see scrawled across my face.

"For Heaven's sake!" Gillian exclaimed, exasperated. "Change already! What are you waiting for?"

"Not while you're in the room." The older woman raised her eyebrows, and a faint smile surfaced before quickly vanishing into her normally sour demeanor.

"Alright," she said, taking up the pink and white striped dress box from out under the bed and onto the goose feather quilt covering it, "You have five minutes. I'll wait outside to zip you up. And Faye?"

"Yes?"

"Crease or rip that dress, and I'll see to it you have to wear it every single night for a month? Understand?"

"…Yes."

"Good girl." I felt like a pet poodle in ribbons as Gillian shut the door. A notoriously stupid poodle praised for doing an equally notorious stupid trick.

In my hands, the light silk of the dress rustled as I located the zip along the back and pulled it down with a whirring noise. Shedding my comfy, oversized t-shirt and sheepskin slippers and throwing them into the closet- I stepped into the tormenting item of clothing and felt the ripple of goosebumps spread across my flesh. Why can't someone invent preheated clothes, I'll never cease to lament.

Okay, dress on. Never mind the fact that I look like a Bo Peep wannabe going to an eighteenth century ball. Shoes…shoes?? Looking…Looking…Damn the shoes. No one can see my feet anyway. I would have much preferred sit in my room and call up a few friends on my private landline. Doubtless they'd be willing to chat mindlessly with me for a couple of hours, but no. Instead, I have to sit in the dining room with the posture of a porcelain doll. Smiling sweetly and giving pretty answers to questionable adults. With slumped shoulders, I crossed to the door and pulled it slowly open. Don't think I don't love my family. It's just that sometimes I wish we could have normal family dinners, and do normal, family things. Like eating in front of the TV, or going to the cinemas that haven't been previously emptied by paid off security guards.

As soon as I stepped foot outside that door, Gillian attacked me; spinning me around and zipping the dress up tightly so that my ribs and lungs screamed that they were in danger of being crushed. Calming my vital body structures, I placed one hand on the polished rowan banister rail and padded down the carpeted stairs. When I was little, I spent ages perfecting my backward slide down the rail at top speed. It was infinitely more fun that simply walking down, though it did have the unwelcome catch of incurring Gillian's wrath when she discovered all the clothes I tore holes in. Seeing the way her cheeks puffed up like a blowfish when she was angry was almost worth all the drama.

From the foot of the stairs, the large reception hall opened out into a circle shape, with wide passages hung with numerous expensive paintings branching in different directions. Crossing the hall, I automatically began the journey down the far right passage towards the dining room and my impending doom. Guess I should tell you something about the dining room, huh? Well…imagine what the throne room of a small castle would look like; that gives you an idea of the size. Replace the stone flagons on the floor with extremely expensive black marble - veined with white. Now in the precise center of the room, away from large bay windows overlooking the sea- you'll find an equally, if not more expensive rose quartz slab, smoothed with skilled hands on edges and corners, and engraved the length and width with flowers blossoming on twisted vines. Around the dining table are half a dozen or so gilded chairs, plumped out with red velvet cushions adorned with gold tassels. But look- harshly illuminated by the lit crystal chandelier sits my family- the rich part of them, anyway. My mother reputedly has a third cousin twice removed who works as a bus driver, but we don't talk about him.

"Faye! Oh, snookums, you look simply marvelous in that frock!" I gave my aunt a strained smile and sat down in the chair our head butler withdrew for me.

"Thank-you, but I'd rather not-" My mother's warning glanced incited me to lie. Quickly, politely, and now. "…Wear…anything else! Ha, ha, ha…" Mentally hitting myself over the head, I stared at my refection in the laid out silverware. When I moved out, I was going to use this stupid dress to polish my stupid floors.

Dinner of course was a fanciful and well-designed affair. Parent's and aunt's boring conversation washed over me as I picked at my small amount of food on a large amount of plate. Idly, but not for the first time- I wished for a simple hamburger, chips, and a giant iced coke. Was that really too much to ask? Of course it was- a small part of my brain answered. To get take-away food meant to mix with people beneath my parents, and that would never happen- unless they underwent a midlife crisis and suddenly decided to become average white collar Joe and Jill. But with all this glorious wealth around us, I doubt that would happen either.

"Faye? Your mother asked you a question!" Daddy's eyes narrowed over the top of his tilted champagne glass.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"Firstly, the correct expression is 'pardon me?', and secondly- I asked you about your less-than-satisfactory result in maths this semester. What have been doing in that class all this time? Staring out the window?"

No. I thought rebelliously, Staring at perfect Azrael's head! Have a problem with that?

"Sorry. I'll try to do better."

"Sorry won't cut it when your out on the streets with a gang of hoodlums because you couldn't find a maths-required job, now will it?" My aunt waved a fork at me with a hunk of fish on the end. Nodding dimly was better than responding irrationally. I had learnt that painfully from previous experiences…

"Well what do you want to do with yourself when you leave school?" Aunt's question was to be expected, but it still startled me each time I heard it. What did she mean…do? Why does anyone have to choose anything at such a ridiculously young age? Why can't I just be me? Isn't that good enough?

"I…haven't really thought about it."

"That's obvious." Mother quipped. "Faye could be just about anything if she actually put her mind to it, but you know how teens are dear. All they think of is dating and shopping."

My darling mother, I thought, how much of an idiot can one woman be?

Dinner dishes were cleared, and after an overly sugared and creamed dessert, the adults knotted more closely together- sipping their coffee liqueurs and opening a delectable new conversation topic. Space travel. How utterly boring. Why Daddy enjoys raving about that scientist or those new computer programs, I'll never know. Humoring him reaps better financial rewards, at any rate…But now the itchiness of the dress was really beginning to grate on my nerves. Desperately, I tried to listen to the chatter of talk around me- hoping discover some pause or inebriated hole in which I could make a tactful escape.

"Daddy?" I said in the useful, but sickly sweet voice, "Can I be excused? All this talk of science and new technology being developed…I think I'd like to borrow a book from your library and read up on it." I crossed my toes. Would he see through the lie? Perhaps it was my guilty conscience kicking the walls of my brain that made me nervous. Had another child been in my place, I'm sure they could have fabricated a story much more plausible…but…then again, they're not, are they? Only me…and you- I suppose… For as long as you wish me to tell this to you. Anyway, it did come off as slightly strange when Daddy beamed at me from down the table- lean and shaven face lit up happily.

"Of course, dearest! Off you go!" Perhaps I had the words 'DISBELIEVING LIAR' written on a post-it-note and attached to my forehead, but I could have sworn I saw the butler give a little shake of his head and a tiny smile as I rushed out of doors and back towards the stairs. I'll put it down to extraordinary flexibility that I managed to reach behind myself and unzip the cursed dress of doom. Bathed with relief that my lungs were now fully operational- I walked into my room, stepped out of the itchy and fore-mentioned evil material, and with pleasing yet spiteful sense of satisfaction, stuffed it back in the box and away out of sight, to its normal banished residence of beneath the bed.

Retrieving my beloved soft and oversized t-shirt, I kicked the considerable army of stuffed animals off my bed and crawled beneath the soft, comforting covers. This was where I liked it best. The place where it was warm, soft, relaxing- and where the most lucid of dreams can be thought to be reality.

a/n: Okay. I hope you all liked the first installment of Crashing Shadows and Light. I didn't particularly. There were some good bits…but oh well. After roughly 35 seconds of hard concentration, I have decided I probably explain the format of this story a little more in depth. It (hopefully) will be comprised of three parts: Part One-Faye's Story, Part Two-Vicious' Story, and Part Three-Spike's Story. I'll interchange the posting of the chapters so that you, as potential readers don't become bored, and I- as the author don't go out of my smallish mind attempting to continue writing along the same plot line for multiple weeks on end.

So, next week you may expect the first chapter of Vicious' Story, the week after- Spike's Story, etc.

Here's hoping that you'll be kind enough to leave a review. I've become quite fond of them, and they tend to give me a more inflated ego than usual… (A bad thing, some others would say- but what do they know?)