Author's Notes: I made some changes to the text!

Spoilers up to the entirety of season 3, and then rides off into the sunset while cackling madly. This is really 3 AUs bound up into one messy bundle, and it's still not done yet. Past tense indicates the present, and present tense the events of the AU (does that make sense?). The title comes from My Medea by Vienna Teng.

Mustique Island is a real private island filled with the vacation homes of the rich and famous. Yes, the British royal family do own a home there; my sister scored herself an invitation to the island and attended one of Pippa Middleton's parties while I live vicariously through her accounts and my fanfic.

The looking glass, so shiny and new
How quickly the glamour fades
I start spinning, slipping out of time
Was that the wrong pill to take? (Raise it up)

You made a deal, and now it seems you have to offer up
But will it ever be enough? (Raise it up, raise it up)
It's not enough (Raise it up, raise it up)

I look around, but I can't find you (raise it up)
If only I could see your face (raise it up)
Instead of rushing towards the skyline (raise it up)
I wish that I could just be brave

Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)- Florence and the Machine

She met the devil on a warm night after a day of – ironically – heavenly weather.

The sun had only just faded from the sky, leaving traces of orange-purple in its wake. It was a magnificent sunset, and Rachel had spent the entire time sitting in the hotel bar, her back to the windows, a drink in her hand.

(The ice had melted and the condensation long evaporated, but she had yet to take a sip.)

The barkeeper knew better than to pry, but when Rachel caught the man glancing in her direction for the third time in the last five minutes, she drained the glass in one long gulp.

By the time her empty glass returned to the table, there was a man seated two stools to her left that Rachel was certain wasn't there ten minutes ago. Amber liquid glittered in the shot glass before him. Before she could tear her eyes away, he looked up and caught her gaze.

The man smiled. He raised his glass to her in a silent toast.

Rachel furrowed her brow in confusion. She scrutinized him for a few moments, trying to remember if she'd seen him somewhere, for him to be making a gesture like that. She might have been a well-known Broadway star and budding recording artist, but she'd also had her fair share of creepers, and fans with no concept of personal space.

He wore a tailored suit. Well-trimmed auburn hair, if a little flamboyant with a hint of sideburns. Green eyes glittering from either side of a long pointed nose.

A fox. He reminded her of a sleek, well-fed fox.

"It was a beautiful sunset, wasn't it?" he said abruptly, startling her.

"If you've never seen one before, yes," replied Rachel archly, and he chuckled.

"Yes. I believe you're right. Would it be too presumptuous of me to say you're the glass-half-empty kind of girl?" He nodded at her drink. "Or completely empty, as it seems."

She felt a hot flash of anger lance through her belly. "It would." Rachel got to her feet. "Good evening."

Definitely a creeper, thought Rachel as she stalked back to her room.

Instead of spending the following night as she had spent the others, Rachel was invited to one of the many, many parties thrown by the holiday homeowners of Mustique. There had been more invitations but she had declined every single one. She'd come here to get away from it all, and attending glitzy social events was just another day of work for Rachel Berry; actress, singer, and Broadway superstar.

Tonight was an exception. Pippa Middleton herself, the hostess of this current bash, had come to request her attendance – or insist on it, in that charming British manner. "It's not every day we have Rachel Berry here with us," she'd gushed over luncheon, and Rachel couldn't help but acquiesce. She'd plastered on her show smile and told Pippa she'd be delighted to attend, maybe even sing a song or two.

As it turned out, the British aristocracy weren't any different when it came to throwing parties. She'd cranked out some of her hottest singles when prompted, and accepted the drinks, but Rachel wasn't having fun. The crowd made her head pound and even the – admittedly good – music didn't do much for lifting her spirits.

(It's been awhile since she was able to enjoy music.)

"Hi."

This time, her unwanted companion was a woman . She was unusually tall, with legs that went on for miles, and long blonde hair in a too-fancy updo. The shape of her jaw reminded her of Brittany, but those eyes – no, not Brittany. Those eyes were hazel.

Quinn.

Rachel's breath caught in her throat.

The woman laughed. "See something you like?"

"I – my apologies, that was rude of me," said Rachel, tearing her eyes away. "You're very attractive, and you reminded me of my – friend ."

"Thank you," the woman purred. She sidled closer. Rachel did her best not to shudder. "It's a bit noisy in here, and I'd really like to get to know you better. Shall we go elsewhere?"

"How… forward of you."

"I don't like wasting time." She took a step forward. "Coming?" she asked over her shoulder.

Rachel felt compelled to agree, despite her better judgement. She followed the woman outside to the deck overlooking the beach. When they sat at the bench, Rachel noticed that her companion had somehow acquired two drinks along the way.

"You look like a martini girl," she said, handing one of the drinks to Rachel, who accepted it with a smile. "Cheers. Here's to forgetting."

Rachel's hand jerked, sloshing martini on her chair. "I'm sorry?"

The woman took a delicate sip and set it down. "I've been watching you since you arrived. You haven't smiled once, and you haven't budged from that corner of the bar until I came over. Someone hurt you really badly."

"I apologise that I'm not good company," said Rachel stiffly. "I… have a lot on my mind, which yes, I would be happy to forget."

"What if I told you I could help with that?"

Rachel laughed sourly. "I'm sorry, but I don't see how you could have any influence on my private life. I'm not interested in starting another relationship."

"Wrong on both counts, Rachel Berry." Her companion smiled. Her features seemed to blur and shift; in the next instant, Rachel is looking at the man from the afternoon. She dropped her glass in shock.

"So do I have your attention now?" His drink was now a whiskey, which he continued to sip. The shards of Rachel's glass flew back together when he gestured at it with a free hand.

She stared at the now-unbroken glass. "This is a joke, is it? Some publicity stunt?" said Rachel weakly. "I must request your camera people use the most flattering shots of me."

"Oh, I'm very real, Rachel. And right now I'm interested in helping you… forget. Apologies for taking this form, but we got off to a wrong start earlier, and I guessed this was the quickest way to get your attention."

"I don't understand why you are so fixated on my attention, but I must ask that you respect my privacy." She stood up. "Good night."

He stared. "You want to forget. I can help you."

"I heard you the first time."

"You didn't seem like you did," he said.

"I'm not about to jeopardise my career with drugs or what-have-you – "

He burst into laughter, drowning out the rest of Rachel's indignant tirade. "Ms Berry, I just shifted forms from a woman to a man, and I repaired your glass." He pointed to it. "What makes you think I'm a mere human with –hallucinogenic drugs to peddle?"

"Human?" A chill ran down her spine.

"A lot more than that," he said, examining his fingernails.

"You could be one of those street magicians," Rachel said desperately, "Or I could be being pranked. Like how Ellen got someone to jump scare me..."

"You were married to Jesse St James but you never really loved him."

"... What?"

"Your greatest fear isn't of failure, but that someone will look through you and see nothing truly special there." His lip curled. "Tell me, Rachel, when was the last time you truly felt the music that you perform night after night?"

She blanched.

"Sit."

Rachel complied. "I suppose you've proved your point," she muttered. "I am fully prepared to believe that you're – otherworldly. Although it's still hard to believe that Buffy and those TV shows got it right. What do you want from me?"

"Amusement, mostly. It's sort of my thing." He grinned when she glared at him. "It's true. What could you offer me that I would want, or at least, not be able to obtain myself? Any help I offer would not be because I want something tangible in return."

"Your terms?" Rachel asked. His playful act vanished, and he pushed aside his glass.

"I grant you three wishes. Anything you like, no holds barred. Money, power, fame. Immortality. All yours for the taking."

"Sounds good. What's the catch?"

He wrinkled his nose. "None of that 'I wish for more wishes' crap. I will make your life miserable." The man smiled, all unnaturally sharp teeth.

"And then what? You take my soul?"

"No, that's a fucking cliche. No one takes souls anymore – not when they're already offered up so easily."

"Then what do you take?"

He smiled slowly, all teeth. "I'm not at liberty to disclose that."

"I don't see how you expect me to agree to a deal like that, considering so many of the important terms aren't made known to me."

"You're quite the shrewd businesswoman."

Rachel smiled mirthlessly. "Years of contract negotiation and bickering over the fine print teaches you a few things."

"But what I'm offering is worth the leap of faith, isn't it?" As he spoke, he passed his open palm over the glass. It was full when he removed his hand. "And you've always been one to have faith, both in things and in people."

Rachel fell silent. "Can you… turn back time?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't advise that. You might not like the consequences. What I would do is open an alternate reality for you to… shall we say, follow the road not taken?"

"But I won't forget that I made a wish? And I'll remember what my life really is?"

"That's right." He waved expansively with his free hand. "Isn't that great? An exit clause. Just perfect for people who enjoy running away, hmm?"

Rachel ignored that comment, gesturing to their surroundings. "How will I… come back here?"

"You die," he said simply, laughing at her expression. "Think of it this way; if you choose to change your past, you get to live out the consequences, and you'll come back to your real life. You won't have died, not really, because that life wasn't real to begin with. It would make a great experience for future roles." The last sentence is said in a poor imitation of Rachel.

Her face darkened. "I'm not that person anymore."

"As you say." He drained his glass and set it aside. "So, what'll it be, Rachel Berry? I'm very busy, and I haven't the time to wait for your answer."

"You seemed perfectly at leisure to pursue me in various forms."

He seemed not to hear her, attention focused on his drink. "This offer has an expiry date."

Rachel chewed on her lower lip. It was a deal with the devil – very literally, if she chose to let herself think about it – but it was so tempting. He was right; she wanted things so impossible only he could give them to her, and it came without long-term consequences.

Part of her wanted to wake up, alone and hungover, in her bed. The other part of her was very human, and very tempted.

"I'll do it," blurted Rachel.

He smiled and held out a hand. "Shall we shake on it?"

The moment Rachel took it, her hand felt both cold and warm at the same time.

"Done. What's your first wish?"

The words tumbled off her tongue immediately. "I wish Quinn Fabray had never had that accident."