Chapter 1:

There are those moments that you just know are important and life changing, when they happen. It doesn't need to be a big, flashy moment. A quiet one will do.

The moment that changed things for me in this story happened October 3rd of this year. I was walking down the street, near a little café I liked to spend my time. The leaves were dancing in the breeze, as the smell of autumn lingered in the air. It was a glorious day to be alive.

Then I caught a strain of what some would think of as music. It was a song of a soul. Each of our souls sings a different tune that I can hear. Some can be sweet and playful. Others come off as dark and brooding. This one was hint of a song that was sweet, clear, and absolutely beautiful. Needing to know where this song was coming from, I stopped and turned. I saw the most amazing grayish green eyes. They belong to a man, who happen to look a lot like Ville Valo from the band HIM. I found that a bit amusing, since my favorite song was "Killing Loneliness".

Pausing for a moment, I stood dazzled by the song of his soul. Part of me wanted to leap across the street and touch him to see if he was real. Instead, I blinked, and he was gone. The only evidence of his existence is was the lingering notes from his soul.

The song and the man stayed in my mind, but I tried to put it aside. What was the point in dwelling on a passing moment? So, I went about my business without another thought.

Then on the 9th of October I decided to amuse myself. It was night and no one was around. With a smile on my face and my eyes closed, I danced with my soulfire. I had music singing in my mind, and the flames dancing in my palms. Swaying and twirling with the flames, I was in a state of bliss.

I was so caught up in my dance that I did not see him come up to me, until I saw the flames reflect in his eyes. I was a bit startled at first, but the warm, caring smile quickly put me at ease. It was the same man that I thought was a dream on the street on the 3rd. He was real, and standing in front of me.

With cat like eyes and a sweet smile, he watched me curiously. I could sense that he meant no threat to me. I moved closer to him. In a way it was almost like a dance. I just didn't know who was leading and I was fine with that.

He bowed and with a purr in his voice said, "Pleasure to meet you. I am Phoenix Grey."

Resisting the urge to curtsey, I smiled a little, "Lila Marwolaeth, dear sir. The pleasure is mine. I hope I didn't startle you."

He smiled, "Not much startles me. I have seen many things. My nature is to watch. Your dance caught my eye."

I laughed, "Flames do tend to be eye catching. I'm usually more cautious. Sometimes, the music just calls to me. What do you watch and for what purpose?"

He answers, "I watch all manner of things. I keep to the shadows. You'd be surprised at what you witness, when you keep to the fringe of things. Also, it's a good way to gauge if something is a threat or not."

I nodded, "I can understand that. Safety is very important. Especially, to those like us. Still, I have this feeling that you like to keep yourself separate. Seems a shame."

He grinned, "Do you think so? The world must have watchers and guides to help others. I am most comfortable separate from others company. My own is enough for me."

I tilted my head, watching him. My palm itched to touch him. Part of me still wasn't sure, if he was real or a vision in my mind.

Hesitatingly, I held out my palm towards him. He gave me a questioning look. I smiled, "I mean no harm. May I?"

When he nodded, I lightly touched my palm to his chest. A soft blue glow spread from my palm to his chest. In that small connection, I could feel the essence of the man.

Have you ever heard or seen something so beautiful that all you could do is be completely dazzled? That was his soul to me. There are no words to describe how reading his soul made me feel. At least none that would give it justice.

Looking up at him with tears unknowingly running down my cheeks, I smiled, "You are a truly beautiful soul."

Gently wiping away my tears, he looked down at me with a soft smile. Taking my hand, he started leaning me in a dance. With grace and elegance, we waltzed in the moonlight.

The weeks after that night I would meet him at that spot. Feeling silly and foolish, I would be hoping each time he would be there, and my spirit would feel lighter each time I saw him walking up to me. We would just talk or sometimes dance. Once he even sang "Phantom of the Opera" to me in his lovely voice. It was hard for a girl not to fall for that.

Still, I just kept it friendly. I knew from reading his soul that he wasn't interested in anything but friendship from anyone. He was happy just existing. I was just happy being in his presence. I didn't care about how I was in his life. Just that I was in it was enough for me.

The Murder House around the same time:

Staring out of the window, I had my hands clenched in frustration. One time I was able to leave freely. GOD!I fucking missed that! The walls seem to be closing in. Making it hard to breathe. Well, it would be hard to breathe, if I was still alive.

Last year I moved into into this house with my mom and dad, and a few months later I ended up like...THIS. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to leave MY home. But my shithead of a dad fucked up, literally. Because my dad couldn't keep it in his pants, the Harmon family got the joy of trying for a fresh start.

What a fucking crock. There was no fresh start, just the illusion of one. Dad still went back to fuck his mistress. In the end we all died. Mom, Dad, Hayden, and me. One big fucking happy family...not.

Sometimes, I wonder if this was Hell. What can be more hellish that being trapped with THEM? Feeling his presence near, answered that question for me.

Tate Langdon, the real reason for me wanting to bolt, was lurking. He was always around, usually watching me, when he didn't think I know. I ALWAYS knew. From the moment I saw him, I was drawn to him. He was my obsession.

Some might think it funny that a fourteen year old girl would use the word obsession, but there is no better word for it. Since the first moment, I lived for him, and in a way, died for him. If that is not obsession, I don't know a better example.

Turning away from the window, I glanced at the closet door. I might not be able to leave, until Halloween, but that doesn't mean I don't have my escapes. Quickly, I opened the closet and settled in. In here I can ignore everyone. I can pretend that I'm not forced to be around people I hate. I can pretend that I hate HIM.

Placing my head in my hands, I fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. How mortifying, Violet Harmon, the fearless one, weeping alone in a closet. I didn't cry. I screamed. I yelled. I punched and lashed out, but I did NOT cry. Not until him. I've shed a lot of tears, since he came into my life.

Rubbing my eyes in a vain attempt to not cry, I went over everything that happened, since we came to California and the Murder House. I couldn't help but grin at that. I should have known that there would be no other ending but this one living in a house with that name. The blame for living in this house can squarely be placed on my shoulders. My fascination for the darkness made living in this house irresistible to me. So, I guess the blame for our deaths was mine.

Hearing movement outside of the closet, I tensed. It was Tate moving closer. I guess that since he couldn't see me, he was looking to see where I might have gone. Part of me wanted to throw something at him and scream. Another part, and this is what tortured me the most, wanted to be held by him and have him tell me everything will be okay. I was being torn in half and I didn't know how to stop it, or to even fix it.

Hearing the movement again, I debated on whether on not to say anything. In the end I held my tongue, until I sensed that he moved back out of the room. After another minute I relaxed. The urge to run to him became more bearable, not much, but enough that I could ignore it.

The craving for a cigarette started to rear up. You would think with dying, stupid cravings and urges would go away. I mean, I really didn't have a body. So, why the fuck would I crave a cigarette? Another one of life's little mysteries. Could write a fucking book on them.

Slamming my head back against the wall a few times, I closed my eyes to the sensation of the memory of pain. Death is the biggest scam. It didn't solve a damn thing. It just brought more questions. Fuck, I didn't even KNOW I was dead at first. Shouldn't there have been a tunnel or a bright light? I would have been thrilled with a post-it note cluing me in.

I know that life wasn't cut and dry, but I would think that I would get SOME answers in death. Nope. Not a damn one. No angels coming in to fill me in on the meaning of life. No spirit guide letting me in on the big secrets. I wouldn't have cared, except I really wanted one question answered.

Peeking out of the closet, I looked around. Seeing that it was clear, I crawled out of my hiding place. Looking around, I was at a lost. The urge to cry came over me again. I don't think death would be so bad, if I just KNEW.

Was Tate meant for me, or was this just a horrible twist of fate? Was there such thing as true love, or was everything just chance? If I just knew the answers to that, I could stop being so torn. Maybe I could find a little peace and maybe some happiness. Until then, I was living in Hell. I needed some help, but I don't think there is anyone that can help me. I'm dead. I'm beyond help. Right?