Ok, so this is something that has been rolling around just as long as SFtM. This won't be updated as often. I want to finish SFtM first before I start on this one. Also, I'm toying with another idea so I'll put out the prologue for that one later today or tomorrow as well. That will likely be updated as often as this one will till SFtM is done.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee!, Chris Colfer, Darren Criss, or "Born to Die" By Lana Del Rey.
This is seriously AU. Seriously.
Born 2 Die
Prologue
The mansion was empty.
The rooms had been preserved, the furniture refurbished and the wood work polished. A historic landmark, the Criss museum was one of the best preserved museum mansions in the entire country. It was a popular tourist attraction in the town of Westerville. The Criss family had played a major part in the growth of the city. The Criss family had also been one of the largest collectors in their time, having collections that spanned generations. The most popular attraction of the mansion, however, was the over night stays the museum offered. Tourists would come from all regions of the world to spend a night in the Criss Mansion.
The story of the mansion was simple. It was built in 1858 by the first year immigrant Hammish Criss from Ireland. He came to America a wealthy bachelor and soon married his childhood sweet heart. His family donated generously to the community, Hammish becoming one of the first practicing doctors in the area. Generation after generation, the family thrived along with the growing city in the middle of nowhere. The last generation of the Criss family to live in the house had been Charles William Criss and his wife Cerina. They had been a happily married couple with their two sons, Charles and Darren, for 20 years when tragedy struck. On the evening of February 5th, 1890, Darren's 16th birthday, Charles Jr. entered his brother's room to find him covered in blood and hanging from his balcony doors. The cause of the ruled suicide was never discovered and the family moved out, keeping the mansion in their name while moving to a smaller home in the inner city.
Ever since, the rumors slowly spread. The real cause for the family leaving being not the memory of what had happened, but by the mysterious noises and haunting voice that always echoed from the piano room. The room only Darren had ever ventured into.
And so the fame grew. The family turned it into a mansion in the year 1923. From there tourists would come to spend a night in the mansion. Without fail, the piano room would echo with the sound of singing at the same time every night. 12 am on the dot.
Now the mansion was empty.
The tours had stopped within the last five years, the mansion having become much more active. People would be scratched, some had reported threatening voices that had once never been there. After the woman disappeared the mansion was closed.
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February 1st, 2012
Blaine Anderson was a man well known for his dabbles in the occult. He had majored in the study specifically in college, much to his parents horror. The subject had always fascinated him ever since he saw his first fortune teller at the age of nine.
He'd always known there was something different about him. At the age of 12 he discovered his sexuality when he had his first crush on the class quarterback. He'd thought that would be the end of the surprises. But his true gift left him completely alone.
It started with a dream. At 12 am on the dot. The second the date turned to February 5th, the year he turned 16. The day of his birthday.
They started as simple images. The halls of a lavish mansion. Looking out the window to a large mazed quart yard. The unfamiliar yet smell of thyme that screamed home. Faint portraits of people he couldn't see. Faded memories. The love of a family. The tinkling laughter of a someone dear.
The images slowly morphed over the years, finally taking shape in the form of the halls of Criss mansion. Not once in his life had he ever seen the inside of the building. He had heard of it, passed it even on his way to Dalton Academy as a teenager. But at the age of 24, living in New York, and working with a small team of close friends, Blaine was content running a simple ghost investigations team. And to have his sights suddenly forced in the direction of his home town...
Sighing, he shook his head and reached into the depth of his pocket. His fingertips brushed the edge of the paper before he retrieved it from the clothed prison he'd hidden it in. He was beginning to wonder why he had given into the growing urge to visit the mansion. All he knew was that it had been gnawing at his gut for the past month until he'd finally given in and set up a week. Of which he and his team were going to be staying the night in the mansion. He just needed one more person for his team to be complete.
He pulled the paper from his pocket and lifted it closer to his gaze. There was an address printed on the slip along with a photo. Kurt Hummel. 18 years old. Clinically schizophrenic, susceptible to emotions and subtle changes in atmospheric pressure. Unexplained events of stigmata.
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Lima, Ohio
The room was silent for the most part. There was no mess save for one corner. The furniture was clean cut, sophisticated, and modern. Everything was organized and put away. All except one corner.
By the large window, the drapes drawn back for the sunlight to filter in, pouring onto the table littered with charcoal drawings. Papers were scattered around the floor, erasers coated with the black chalk like substance rolled slightly away from the single chair. Chalk boxes were up turned or closed, pieces of broken charcoal and chalk spread haphazardly over the table.
Seated there was a boy, his chestnut hair reflecting almost red in the brilliant sunlight. He was humming softly, his beautiful counter tenor voice carrying through the almost silent room. He was dressed in a large t-shirt, the fabric smudged with streaks of charcoal, his boxers much the same as he curled closer to the table in his chair.
A hand settled on his shoulder, the hand feminine and delicate. A comforting weight settled on his shoulder and the owner of the hand smiled down at the boy. Their eyes were the same, a mix of greys, blues, and greens. Her red hair shimmered in the sunlight as she leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's temple. A small smile formed on his face and she started humming softly.
Pausing, the boy tilted his head and studied his sketch. Before him was a grinning man with unruly curls of black, his eyes shinning as he smiled back. They had a slightly asian slant to their shape, angling his face handsomely and making him all the more attractive. The woman looked the drawing over from her spot behind the boy. She smiled sweetly and leaned down, singing softly in the boy's ear as he sang with her, their voices matching almost perfectly.
"Choose your last words
This is the last time
Cause you and I, we were born to die..."
Well? Good? Bad? Yes? No? I don't know... drop a review and let me know?