[a/n: I altered they lyrics to one of the songs used in this chapter because it fits the story better. Hope everybody likes, this chapter gave me some issues ;) ]

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The next week and a half passed in a blur for Alyse. She attended rehearsals, she played her part. She sang, she danced, she smiled. She ate, drank, breathed, put one foot in front of the other when she walked. But she wasn't really living any longer--not on the inside, not where it mattered the most.

She went through the motions: speaking to other people, laughing in the right spots. But deep inside, she was hollow. Her heart ached completely, every hour, every day, and the pain never went away. She was fine when she was onstage--she could immerse herself in her character and pretend that the pain she felt was only an act, only an extension of Julia. Once the makeup was off, however, and she was in her room, staring at the shut door, the feelings closed in, choking her, making her feel like nothing in the world could possibly be more wretched than her life. She spent most of her nights curled up on her bed, looking out her windows and wondering how the world could go on while her whole life was shattered, or writing miserable poetry. She avoided Christian at all costs during the day, and it seemed like he tried to avoid her as well. Of course, there were times when they had to speak--he was, after all, the writer and co-director of the play, and it was necessary for her to have his input. But they never exchanged more than a few words, and never met each other's eyes. Alyse figured if she looked at him, she might break down, and she only did that when she was alone.

She had decided one important thing, however. Once the show was over, she was leaving Paris. She didn't know where she was going; she just knew that she couldn't stay in the same city as Christian. Even if they never saw each other, just knowing he was nearby would be torture enough, and she didn't know if her heart could handle that much longer.

***

Alyse tried not to watch Christian as she stood on the stage, waiting for Jerome to come out for rehearsal. But she couldn't help it. He wasn't standing very far from her, yet he could have been light-years away. The conscious effort they both made to speak only rarely was beginning to take its toll on her, and perhaps that was why it irritated her so to see one of the girls with a small part in the play stroll up to Christian and pretend as though she was having trouble with her two lines. He was oblivious as usual, but Alyse could see it in the way the girl looked at him, in her body language--she was definitely interested in him.

The girl laughed at something Christian said, and Alyse felt an irrational anger building inside her. Not anger at the girl, but anger at Christian. Oh, it was silly to be angry at him, he clearly had no clue what was going on--but that was what bothered her the most. How could someone who wrote so knowledgably about love be so blind to it? How could a man who wrote such beautiful words not believe a bit of them? She sighed as the anger faded back to its usual dull ache, and then jumped as she felt a hand on her arm.

"You're staring, you know," Jerome pointed out.

She pulled away from him. "Are you finally through primping, so we can get on with the rehearsal? We do open in two days, you know." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and strode away from him, chastising herself for taking her annoyance out on him. It wasn't like her to be so rude to people. Then again, she wasn't quite sure who she was anymore.

Alyse was in her dressing room that afternoon when her self control took a huge blow. Marie was helping her out of her costume, chattering away about the play and how she knew it was all going to turn out wonderfully, when Alyse heard a laugh in the hallway--female, and she couldn't determine who it belonged to. But the laugh that followed she could have recognized in her sleep. It was Christian, and the sound struck her like a physical blow to the chest. She began to shake, and she had to lean forward and brace her hands on the dressing table in order to keep her balance.

Marie gave her a worried look. "Lovey, are you all right?"

Alyse straightened and nodded. It was silly to get so emotional over hearing his laugh. She commanded herself to pull it together, and had almost managed to quell the shakes when she heard his voice outside the door. The words were indistinct, but it was Christian nonetheless. Perhaps it was the stress of rehearsals and the opening of the show approaching, or the misery over her unrequited love, but suddenly Alyse found herself turning to Marie and sobbing on the woman's shoulder. She didn't have to explain why, and she couldn't have anyways, because she was hiccupping and whimpering as Marie rubbed her back and cooed nonsense. After a few minutes, she calmed down enough to allow Marie to sit her down on a chair. "Now you wait here, lovey, while I run and get you some tea," she said, and bustled out of the room.

Christian was at the end of the hallway talking with Toulouse when Marie hurried by. She stopped long enough to glare at him and say, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, what you've done to that poor girl," before hustling past.

They stared after her. "What is she talking about?" Toulouse wondered, and Christian looked down the hall in the direction Marie had come from. The door to Alyse's dressing room was tightly shut, and he wondered if she was all right.

"Are you coming, Christian?" Toulouse asked, and Christian waved a hand at him. "Go on, I'll be along in a minute," he told his friend, and Toulouse nodded and headed back out to the stage area. He glanced back at Christian before he left the hallway, shaking his head as he disappeared through the doorway.

Christian stood for a moment, not sure what to do. He was concerned about Alyse, and yet he knew it wasn't his place to worry over her. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted no romantic involvement with her. He just hadn't counted on losing her completely in the process. It was likely the best arrangement, anyways--cutting off all ties completely, but the more he tried to tell his heart that, the more it tried to tell him that he'd made a horrible mistake.

He found himself at her dressing room door before he even realized he'd taken the steps. He raised a hand, not sure if he wanted to knock, and then he heard it--sniffles coming from the room. She was crying. He pressed a hand against the door, as if that could soothe her, and then was startled by someone pushing him away. "The last thing she needs right now is you!" Marie chided, holding a cup of tea. "Go on, she doesn't need to see you!"

Christian backed away from the door, and Marie slipped inside, shutting it behind her. He slowly made his way back out into the theatre, mumbling some excuse to Toulouse about why he couldn't go wherever it was they had been going--he certainly couldn't remember now--and making his way home. Once there, he sat at his chair in front of his typewriter. Oh, how he wanted to write, to work out these miserable feelings that were burning inside of him. But the words wouldn't come. So he stared at the doorway instead, waiting for Alyse to come home. He figured they needed to talk things through, and this was as good a time as any.

She ran up the steps an hour later, dashing into her room before Christian had the chance to call out to her. He got up, intent upon knocking on her door and speaking with her, but she came right back out just as he was entering the hallway. They both stopped and stared at each other. Her face was pale, her eyes red, but it was the look in them that had him concerned--such a bitter sadness. When had this happened to her? Was this his fault? Shame washed over him, and he opened his mouth to speak. "Alyse--"

She shook her head, walking briskly to the stairs. "Not now, Christian," she said. "I don't have time." He watched her walk up the steps to Toulouse's. He stared after her long after she'd disappeared before going back into his room, where he paced and argued with himself for the next hour, finally deciding to go on up himself. It couldn't hurt anything, and besides, he'd like to see Toulouse. That was the excuse he used, anyways, as he pulled himself up the staircase.

***

Jerome had met Alyse as soon as she'd walked into Toulouse's room. He'd persuaded her to come when Toulouse had invited her earlier, after her crying spell. She'd agreed, because after pouring out all of those emotions, she'd been left feeling brittle and hollow. She was hoping that some drinking and dancing could make her feel something again.

But all it was doing was making her dizzy. She knew she'd had too much absinthe, and had tried to tell Jerome that she didn't want any more after the fourth glass, but he didn't listen well, and she didn't seem to have much willpower. She didn't feel much like dancing now, either, but he insisted upon spinning her around the room, and all she could do was laugh and hold onto him. She wondered if that was his plan, but didn't think about it too long. She thought she deserved to be a little reckless, and Jerome certainly was a reckless choice.

He had her down in a low dip for the end of a song when they both saw Christian step into the room. Alyse straightened too quickly and felt the room tilt.

"Oh, how kind of your poet to stop by," Jerome said disdainfully, his arm tightening around Alyse's waist.

"Not my poet," she muttered, willing her head to settle down.

"Really?" Jerome countered, turning her body so that she was pressed close to him. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth across her cheek, his breath warm as he whispered, "Why don't you prove it." He started to move slowly to the music playing, holding her against him, and Alyse closed her eyes briefly. Oh, if only she could just forget who he was, who he wasn't, and just give herself over for a while. She was so lonely, felt so lost. Jerome was handsome, charming, talented…he was interested in her, that was no mistake. She knew he could make her feel alive with just one kiss. He…

…He wasn't Christian.

She opened her eyes and stared into Jerome's. They were brown. She longed for green eyes, soft, laughing green eyes. "No," she whispered, and pushed away from him.

Jerome's eyes flashed. He grabbed her arm before she could go far, and she tried to wrench away, but his grip was too strong. "He doesn't care, Alyse," he hissed. She shook her head, still trying to get out of his grasp, but he only pulled her closer and held her in place.

"Pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything, pretty soon she'll figure out what his intentions were about," he sang, his deep voice mocking her. "And that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head, and that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head…it's the way that he makes you feel, it's the way that he kisses you, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…"

"Jerome…stop," Alyse whispered, but he ignored her, circling her as he sang, forcing her to turn her head as he moved, taunting her with words.

"She's beautiful as usual with bruises on her ego and her killer instinct tells her to be aware of evil men, and that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head, and that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head…it's the way that he makes you feel, it's the way that he kisses you, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…"

The more he moved, the more had to turn to follow him, and the room was starting to spin slowly as he continued with his song. Suddenly he stopped and put his lips close to her ear. "Pretty girl, pretty girl…pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything, pretty soon she'll figure out you can never get him out of your head…it's the way that he makes you cry, it's the way that he's in your mind, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…love…"

His words were swirling in Alyse's mind as he finally let go of her arm. She moved away from him as quickly as she could manage on shaky legs, and Jerome laughed at her back. "Running away, pretty girl? It's only the truth," he called after her, and she shook her head against his voice. All she wanted to do was go back to her room and collapse on her bed. Her head hurt, she was so dizzy, she couldn't get the words to go away…

Pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything…

She pushed her way through people, no one paying any attention to her since they were all as drunk as she was. She just needed to get to the door, get out of the crowd, be alone where she could clear her mind…there was so much noise, so much light, it was all hurting her head…

It's the way that he makes you cry, it's the way that he's in your mind, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…

I can't love…I never want to feel that way again…It hurts too much…

She bit her lip as Christian's voice slipped into her mind, and she shook her head, willing it away. She looked up as she bumped into someone…looked up into green eyes…soft green eyes that used to look at her with laughter, but now were only filled with concern. Christian. She blinked at him. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear any words, only could see his mouth moving. It was so strange--everything felt like slow motion to her. His movements were slow, exaggerated, and she blinked again, trying to stop the black fog that was creeping across her line of vision. It was no use, though--she felt her knees buckle, and she was enveloped in the dark mist that had been reaching out to her since she'd started for the door.

Alyse pitched forward into Christian's arms, and he just barely caught her before she hit the floor. He stared down at her for a moment, at her pale face that still seemed pained even while she was unconscious, and then glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else had seen. The only person that was looking in their direction was Jerome, and he raised his glass to Christian with a sneer before turning and walking away. Christian felt fury snap to life inside of him, then fade as he realized that, while Jerome had probably been the one to give Alyse whatever it was that had put her in this state, it was certainly as much his own fault for causing her to drink that much.

Christian picked Alyse up and carried her downstairs and into her room. He didn't bother with her clothes--he didn't think she'd be so appreciative of him undressing her as she had been before--and instead pulled back her covers and laid her gently on the bed. She shifted and moaned, her eyes fluttering open. They met his and she moaned again. "Please go," she whispered, her voice thick.

This time it was guilt that clutched at his chest, and he pulled her blankets up, tucking them about her shoulders as he had when she was sick. His fingers accidentally brushed against her arm and she recoiled, snatching the blankets out of his hands. "Do you…do you need anything?" he asked her, stepping away from the bed, feeling utterly useless.

"Leave," she said bluntly, shutting her eyes and turning her head. "I need you to leave. I can't…I can't look at you. Please, just go."

Christian stared at the back of her head and realized that he was at least still able to feel pain--her words cut him to the bone. He nodded, mostly to himself since she couldn't see him, and made his way to the door. He paused and looked back at her. This was all his fault, he knew. If she'd never met him, none of this would have happened. Her life would still be happy and carefree--she wouldn't know of the miseries a person's heart could cause them. He didn't know if he'd ever hated himself more than he did right then as he slipped out of her room, shutting the door behind him.

Alyse heard the quiet click as the door closed softly, and was finally able to let the tears seep out from behind her closed eyelids.

***

She awoke the next morning with a raging headache and a bitter knot in her stomach. She blamed them both on Christian--he was an easy target and he was, after all, the cause of all of her pain, which had been the cause of her drinking…

Alyse knew she was rationalizing, and it was unfair of her, but she couldn't be bothered with fairness when her entire soul was devoid of all feeling except pain. It didn't make for a pleasant mindset, and she headed for the Rouge that morning with an unusually bad disposition.

It came out in words, a jumble of them that crowded her mind until she had to take action. She stole one of Christian's pencils and a piece of his paper--taking some satisfaction in the theft, even though she knew he'd never be able to tell, or care, for that matter. In between scenes she scribbled out a song on the paper, scratching out lines and adding new ones, hiding the page in her script when she was needed onstage.

By the end of the day she had it all worked out, and was feeling much better, having gotten her thoughts out. She was reading it over when Harold Zidler's voice startled her. "What is that, my peach?"

She spun and tried to hide the paper behind her back, but he was surprisingly fast and took it. His face lit up as he read. "You wrote this, my little dove?" he exclaimed.

Alyse began shaking her head. "Yes, but really, Harold, it's private…"

"Nonsense!!" he cried, grabbing her arm. "Come, come, you must sing this for the others. We could use a break from the show, and rehearsals are over for today, anyways, so let's hear you sing for us! Something different!" He pulled her out onto the stage, ignoring her protests, and thrust her out into the center. "Everybody, our Alyse has written a song, and she's going to sing it for us now! Let's all give her our attention, shall we?"

She stared at Zidler and he smiled brightly. "Go on, peach, we're all anxious to hear it!"

Alyse clasped her hands in front of her and looked out across the seats. She wasn't nervous anymore on the stage--she'd lost that feeling long ago--but now it felt like a swarm of butterflies were in her stomach. She could see Christian, sitting with Toulouse and the Argentinean, and knew that he would realize what the song was about…who it was about. She turned back to Harold. "Honestly, Harold, no one wants to hear--"

"Nonsense! We can all do with hearing something that isn't from the show!. Dazzle us!"

She hung her head in defeat, and prayed that Christian wouldn't hate her too terribly when she was done. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering up her courage, and then opened them as she began to sing.

"The world was on fire and no one could save me but you, strange what desire will make foolish people do…I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you. I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you…no, I don't wanna fall in love, no, I don't wanna fall in love with you…what a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way, what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you, what a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way, what a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you, and I don't wanna fall in love, no, I don't wanna fall in love with you…the world was on fire and no one could save me but you, strange what desire will make foolish people do…I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you, and I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you, no, I don't wanna fall in love, no, I don't wanna fall in love with you…with you…"

Alyse finished the song to applause. Harold came over to speak to her, but she shook her head and mumbled something about being tired and hurried to her dressing room, closing the door behind her. She sat at her table and stared into the mirror. She'd felt Christian's gaze on her the whole time she'd been on the stage, and she shivered as she imagined how angry he must be.

Oh, he was fuming. He couldn't even move for a moment, he was that angry. What could have possessed her to write something like that, and then to sing it onstage? Did she truly think no one would know what it was about? Christian had heard the whispers amongst people, when no one thought he was listening. It seemed that everyone's favorite topic was why the writer and the star of the play were no longer speaking when they'd been inseparable from day one. He must have tried to take advantage of her…No, I think she threw herself at him, you know he's still pining for Satine, so he'd have pushed her away…It irritated him to no end to hear people talking about him. This little…impromptu serenade certainly wouldn't help matters.

Christian waited a few minutes, so he wouldn't look suspicious, and then made his way backstage to Alyse's dressing room. As he approached the door, it struck him for the first time that it used to be Satine's room, and that did nothing to improve his mood. He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

Alyse froze, hands in the midst of pulling pins from her hair, and looked at the reflection of the door in her mirror. She didn't even have to wonder who was on the other side--she knew it had to be Christian. "Just a minute," she called out, her voice sounding nervous to her own ears. She forced her fingers to work again, but apparently she wasn't quick enough, because the door opened, and Christian slipped into the room, shutting it behind him.

He stood, staring at her, and it made her even more nervous than she already was. Her fingers shook a bit as she fumbled with her hair, and finally he spoke.

"What the hell was that?" His voice was tight, lined with an edge of anger.

She met his eyes in the mirror. "I'm so sorry, Christian, no one was…I just was writing, and Harold saw me, and he insisted…no one was supposed to see it…"

Christian shook his head. "Then why were you writing it here? You should know by now it's impossible to keep a secret here!"

Alyse felt her temper flare--it seemed that it was never far from the surface these days. "I'm so sorry," she said again, this time coolly. "I'm not as skilled in the art of repressing feelings as you are, it would seem."

He stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

She gave up on the pins and dropped her hands to her lap. "I'm talking about the fact that not everyone can hold back their emotions all of the time. Not everybody can ignore what they feel like you can. Some of us aren't so good at being stoic and heartless." She sighed, and before she could think, more words were tumbling out of her mouth. "I've never been in love before, so I don't know all of the rules!"

Christian stared at her. His face blanched, and she suddenly wished she could turn back time, if only just a few seconds, and erase what she'd just said. Oh, how she'd taken such care to not let him know she loved him…she'd sung it, but that could easily be written off as overdramatic. But this…

"L-love?" he stuttered, running a hand through his hair uneasily and glancing at her. "You…you love me?"

She squeezed her fingers around the pins and closed her eyes. "Yes, Christian, I love you," she said, her voice ragged, sounding as though she'd just swallowed glass.

Christian shook his head. This wasn't possible. He'd known, of course, that she had romantic feelings for him, but love? How on earth had he managed to miss that…to let it happen in the first place? He waited until she looked at him and then began, "That's not…you can't love me…it's just…you don't…I'm not…"He stopped and shook his head again, knowing he was making no sense but helpless to do anything about it. He was simply speechless.

Alyse felt something snap inside of her. "Not everything in this world is about you, Christian!" she exploded, standing up. "Some things you just cannot control! Stop acting as if you're the only person who has ever felt any pain in their lives! I know Satine's death was terrible, I know it hurt you deeply. It would hurt anybody, having the love of their life die! But you're not the only person around here with a heart that needs protecting. You focus so much on yourself, you just don't see…" She paused for a breath, and then in a burst of anger, hurled the pins she'd had clenched in her fist across the room. They hit the wall with a clatter, making him jump, but she paid no attention to the noise. "What about my heart, Christian? What about me?" She raised a hand to her forehead, the intense energy that had fueled her outburst suddenly draining away, and repeated softly, "What about me?"

His first instinct was to hold her, to beg her forgiveness for causing her all of this pain. But Christian knew that would never work, so he covered the feeling with anger. "Damn it, Alyse, you knew how I felt from the start. There was never any question on that. I never made you any promises!"

She stared at him, blue eyes filled with grief. "Never with words, Christian. Not ever with words."

Her statement stole the rest of his words from his mouth, and neither of them said anything for a moment. They both stood at opposite ends of the room, watching each other, wondering what the next move would be. Then suddenly, Alyse covered her face with her hands and giggled. It was one of the most horrific sounds Christian had ever heard--half laugh, half hysterical sob. He watched in dismay as she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, still giggling. He started towards her, and she looked at him abruptly.

"No. No," she said, suddenly very still. "Go away, Christian, leave me alone." He stopped, but didn't move away, and she said again, "Go away."

"Alyse, really, I think--" he began.

She spun towards him. "Go away!" she shouted, her voice catching on the words, yet strong enough to make her point. Christian stared at her a moment longer. She stood still, clearly struggling with her emotions, and her words echoed in his mind, twisting into memories from the past. Go away, Toulouse, leave me alone…

It was because he remembered his own words that he was willing to leave her. He turned his back, feeling as though he was deserting her even as he knew it was what she needed. He didn't look at her as he opened the door and closed it behind him as he left.

Alyse's shoulders slumped the moment the door shut. She was limbless, and sobs wracked her body as she slid to the floor, wishing she'd never come to Paris…counting the days until she could leave.

Christian walked away from her dressing room as quickly as he could, trying to make the sound of her voice go away. It was no use. Once again he berated himself for letting this situation get so out of hand. It had been his brilliant idea to befriend her, even knowing that he'd had an attraction to her right from the start. Stupid, stupid, he chided himself.

He didn't hear Toulouse calling him until the little man was next to him, grabbing onto his arm. "Christian, what's wrong?"

He didn't stop walking. "Nothing's wrong, Toulouse," he lied.

Toulouse shook his head. "That's not true, Christian. What did you do to her?"

That made him stop. "What did I do to her?" he said, attempting to keep his voice low when all he wanted to do was scream. "I didn't do anything to her!"

"She loves you, Christian, and you're pushing her away," Toulouse said gently.

Christian gaped at him. "What are you…how do you…" He stopped and looked into his friend's eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Toulouse saw more than he ever let on.

"You're the only one that can help her, Christian," Toulouse insisted. "You know how it feels to not be able to be with the one you love, and yet you make Alyse go through the pain when you know you could make it all go away for her. Why won't you help her? You know you love her, Christian!"

Christian shook his head against Toulouse's words, his chest burning with the effort it took to deny the truth. He wouldn't believe it, he wouldn't let it be true. He searched for something to say, and found nothing. So he turned away from Toulouse, ignoring his friend's calls to him, and left the Rouge.

He walked. He walked the streets of Paris, hoping the cool air would clear his mind. He found himself in front of a bookstore, looking up at the sign. He used to come here often, after Satine had died, and immerse himself in the words of others, until he ran out of money and couldn't afford any more books. This was also the only store in Paris that had sold his book. He let out a deep breath and opened the door.

When he came back out, his shaking hands carried a small book. He stopped on the sidewalk, not caring that he was blocking the other pedestrians, and stared at it. His book. The story of his love with Satine.

It was time to read their story. And there was only one place that was right for it.

Christian walked back to the Rouge and slowly made his way to Satine's elephant. This time he didn't climb up a rope to get to her room. He took the stairs, his heart pounding with each step.

I'll meet you in the red room, close the door and dim the lights…

He looked around for a moment. Everything looked the same, and yet it was all so different. It took him a moment to realize the difference. Before, it had been full of life--Satine's laughter, her clothes lying discarded over the bed, her whispers of love as he snuck back to his garret late at night. But now, it was cold and empty; just another room with filled with memories. Christian looked down at the book in his hands. He couldn't put this off any longer. He'd written it six years ago, and for six years he'd avoided it. He sat down on a chair and settled in to read.

***

Alyse couldn't say how long she'd sat on the floor of her dressing room, crying, so overcome with anguish that she could barely breathe. She'd been there quite a while, she knew, when she felt someone next to her. Soft arms encircled her, and Alyse sighed as she leaned into the person's embrace, grateful to whomever it was for the comfort. They sat like that for a few moments, and then the person spoke.

"He does love you, you know."

She had a soft, musical voice that soothed Alyse's nerves. Still, she shook her head against the woman's words. "No, he doesn't," she murmured. "I wanted to believe that maybe he did, maybe he could, but I just can't try anymore."

"Don't you give up," the woman said fiercely. "He loves you, believe me. I know he does."

Alyse opened her eyes to look at the woman. The voice was oddly familiar, though she couldn't figure out why. She knew she'd never heard it before. She glanced at the arms holding her…and gasped.

She could see right through them. There were the woman's arms--she could feel them around her, see them…but they were transparent, as if they really weren't there, as if they were a vision. She glanced up slowly, looking into the face of the woman sitting with her.

Her eyes were a startling blue, her skin a creamy white. Her hair was flame red, spilling down her back in a long tousle of curls. But what Alyse noticed more than anything was the way the woman shimmered--she was blanketed in a soft white mist that simply glowed. She seemed solid, yet she didn't look it at all. Alyse blinked, trying to clear her head of the fanciful thoughts, but the woman…the ghost…was still there, still holding her. "Who…who are you?" Alyse breathed.

The woman smiled. "I think you know the answer to that."

Alyse swallowed hard, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. When she spoke again, her voice came out as a stunned whisper.

"Satine?"

[songs used:

Pretty Girl [The Way]-Sugarcult

Wicked Game-Chris Isaak

Meet Me in the Red Room-Amiel]