I don't own any references I make to any book, movie or musical, or to the PotO book/movie/musical in this chapter, or any chapter, and this applies to the whole story, so back off FFdotnet police! I'm Scott free::begins to play bagpipes while doing a Scottish jig:

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Isobel had not always been cruel. But of course, cruel was an understatement, just like beautiful and intelligent, when applied to Isobel.

Adrian remembered the first time she ever saw Isobel. She had been playing in the basement of her parent's house, making up lonely tableaux with broken second-hand dolls who usually ended up living happily ever after and leaving Adrian all by herself. She had been five then.

A footstep sounded on the stairway. Then another, and another. They weren't papa's, because these were too light. They weren't mama's, because mama never came down.

Suddenly, a girl dressed all in pink and jewels had appeared in the basement. She was the most beautiful girl Adrian had ever seen.

"Hello."

The girl's voice was beautiful too, and left Adrian speechless.

"Well, what's wrong? Are you a mute or something?"

Adrian swallowed.

"Hello"

The girl burst out laughing. The sound was so wonderful, Adrian had to smile.

"I'm Isobel. What's your name?"

"Adrian"

"Well, just don't sit there gaping like a fish! Give me a doll!"

Adrian and Isobel had played the whole day and far into the night. Isobel was funny, smart and above all, beautiful. She was so beautiful, Adrian forgot that her father was supposed to come down and feed her. She forgot the bruises on her arms. She forgot how cold it was to sleep in the basement. She forgot that mama was sick. Her entire life became the two dolls, and what they thought and said. Isobel was good at making them come alive, and soon, Adrian began to wonder if the two dolls weren't actually talking.

There was magic in Isobel. She sparkled, she danced, and she flew. Everything about her was color and light!

Finally, Isobel stood, brushing off her skirts.

"I must go, Adrian. But I will be back tomorrow."

How wonderful it was to have a friend!

Every day after that, Isobel came to the basement. The two played together for hours, creating stories and making up personalities. But something was wrong.

As time went on, Adrian became sapped of life when Isobel wasn't around. It was as if the girl was slowly leeching Adrian's energy while they spent time together, and took it away when they were apart. Every day, Adrian became paler and paler, every day, her eyes stopped glittering so much. Every day, her hair lost its golden luster. The only time she showed any life at all was when Isobel was around, and then she only murmured in assent to everything Isobel said. Otherwise, she was a listless corpse, barely getting up from her cot in the basement corner.

She became almost transparent, a phantom haunting the basement. Every action took triple the amount of energy it usually would. Every word was slurred, until she stopped bothering to talk. Her skin turned gray, her eyes lusterless, and her hair almost white.

And Isobel became more beautiful. Her skin shone, her eyes glittered, and her brown hair became more liquid and dark. She was always full of energy, and danced circles around Adrian.

Soon, Adrian simply sat in the middle of the basement floor, not moving from the spot, not touching the scraps her father set out for her for days on end. It was only when Isobel came that she moved at all, and then sluggishly. Isobel would greet her with a hug around the shoulders and a dazzling smile, and set about creating the latest game. But Adrian didn't care. Isobel was there, radiant and friendly, and that was enough.

Then one day, before Isobel came to play, it happened.

Adrian's father was a harassed looking man, who had been rather handsome in his day. But years of taking care of his beloved wife as she wasted away had leached the color from his hair, and created creases and lines across his brow. He came down the basement stairs in a hurry, nearly tripping on the way, and grabbed his daughter's wrist, pulling the child up the stairs. Adrian made not a sound, but allowed her father to drag her along at breakneck speed; she lacked the strength to walk.

Her father threw her into the arms of a maid, and said something hurriedly about "making it presentable".

The maid was very young and new to the strange household that harbored a madwoman. If she had been an older servant with more experience and ease with the employers, she might have said a few kind words to the little child who stayed so eerily silent under the soap and water. But as it was, she hurriedly scrubbed her charge down and shoved her into a faded pink dress before scooting her out into the hall.

Adrian's father pushed her down the hall into a dark room and closed the door after her. This was not completely unknown. Once in a while, Adrian's father would drag her up through the basement and present her to his wife for a few moments before shunting her back downstairs again. But this time was slightly different. Usually, her father stayed with her while her mother stared through her, unblinking, until papa decided that his wife was satisfied that her daughter was alive. Mama never knew that Adrian was kept locked in a basement away from warmth or food, all she knew was that the child seemed well cared for, and wasn't dead. Adrian squinted in an attempt to get used to the darkness.

Suddenly, a light was switched on. In the bed that dominated the room lay Adrian's mother, leaned up and over to the lamp she had just turned on. She looked so soft and pale that if Adrian had been a normal child familiar with fantasy, she might have likened her mother to a ghost. Her icy blue eyes ringed with circles and pale skin were several shades lighter than they should have been, and her golden hair fell in dead wisps over her forehead. The gaslight shone through her skin and hair, making them look transparent.

"Come here, so I can look at you."

The voice was as soft and pale as the rest of her, and faded away like mist. But Adrian came closer to the bed, to this woman who so little resembled her mental image of her beautiful mother, but held a delicate grace in the lines of her face that spoke her identity.

The woman reached out a pale tentative hand towards her daughter, and rested her fingertips on the child's cheekbone.

"Adie, what's wrong? You look so pale…"

A fine statement coming from a ghost of a woman. But her touch was not ghostly. Her cool hands held a frightened sort of love, and rested with soft pressure on Adrian's face, tracing the contours of her cheekbone, her jaw line. She shook uncontrollably at times, and then was still. Fits of trembling came and went through her thin arms, and sometimes her eyes would glaze over, and then return to focus.

"I've been such a terrible mother."

The woman burst into tears, weeping and clutching Adrian to her breast as if she were the last lifeline to the outside world.

"It's alright mama, it's alright!"

Poor Adrian was confused. Her first conversation with her mother, and the lady was crying. And not just crying. She was weeping as if her heart would break, her thin body wracked with sobs. Finally, the tears slowed to a trickle, and Adrian's mother held the child at a distance, as if to look her over.

Something seemed to catch her eye, behind her daughter, and held it fast. Fear, like some scorpion, stealthy, silent and deadly, stole its way into those pale blue eyes. It rooted, and grew like a black, shriveled weed, till it filled her face.

"Adrian"

It was Isobel. She leaned against the doorframe with a nonchalant attitude, gazing with disinterest at the pair.

"I'll wait downstairs till you're finished."

Then she flashed that melting smile at both of them, and clicked out of the room.

Adrian turned back to her mother. She was still staring at where Isobel had been in wide-eyed horror.

"Adrian, go shut the door."

Her voice was harsh and raspy, and Adrian obeyed, coming back to her mother's bedside.

Adrian's mother took her daughter's face in her hands again, searching it, her faded eyes now shining metallically. Pressing her lips gently against Adrian's forehead, the lady let go of her daughter, and watched her with a deep, hopeless kind of sadness.

"It will be all right, love. You'll see."

She bit her lip.

"You'll see."

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Rosalind gazed out her window, watching the rain pelt it and the mist enshroud the trees. The world was most beautiful when it was raining. It was white and silver, but softer than the colors of winter. There was something beautiful about rain, which words could not express. It was nature's music, meant to enchant. It fed the starved earth and unburdened the weary skies. The damp cold was like a mother's cool caress.

Throwing her cloak around her thin shoulders, Rosalind moved silently from her room, shivering.

The house was so big and empty. The one maid her husband had employed did a poor job at housekeeping, and what should have been a welcoming home was an empty tomb. Rosalind had hoped that a child would brighten the world, but the poor thing had been brought into existence by a madwoman. Rosalind knew she was mad. She knew that there were times when she would find herself in the middle of the forest and not remember how she got there. She knew that for the past five years, she had neglected her child upon whom she had hung such hopes. She knew very well that she was not at all well. But there was no way to remedy the situation. There was no hope.

A laudanum addict and a madwoman. What a lovely description and exemplary role model. In sleep there were no waking dreams of phantom faces at the windows, formless shadows on the floor. Just darkness. She had tried to quit so many times, and each time, she failed after the waking nightmare. She had lost her dignity, and no one cared. She would never wake up, and the only thing to do was sleep.

The forest was cool, and even quieter than her room. The trees' pale trunks stood at attention, their leaves shrouded in dark fog. All the world stood still in the forest, especially when it was raining.

Rosalind turned her face up to the soft, grey, cottony skies. She loved the forest. It was the only place where she was free of the illusion that plagued her mind. The green welcomed her. Deer walked beside her with calm assurance. Fox kits played at her feet. Birds flocked overhead. Wolves sang to her. She was truly a creature of the forest.

That was why this place would be perfect for what she had to do.

The stream sparkled at is caught the sparse light, making her think of Adrian. Her shining child.

Rosalind had watched the little girl grow up, out of the corner of her eyes, so that the child would never suspect. But she kept herself apart, afraid the perfect child would be tainted by her illness. And now, the fairy was fading away. Mother and daughter now mirrored each other, pale ghosts barely breathing, on the utmost edge of existence. It tore at Rosalind's heart to see her perfect one waste away, to find the only good in her miserable life fading like ink in water to a thin wash. And then to see that healthy, beautiful girl at the door. To see her heart's joy staring with wonder and slavish love at that girl. It broke her heart in two.

Rosalind's pace quickened. That girl had no right to be so healthy. She had no right to destroy what was dearest in Rosalind's life, and no right to take away what should never be hers.

Rosalind pushed through the trees as if they were simply matchsticks. She was frail inside the stagnant house where no children laughed, but here, in this green place where life rushed about her like a pulsing river, the heavy effects of the drug washed away, her arms flexed as easily as windblown grass, and her stride was swift and sure.

She stopped.

The cliff was overgrown with trees and moss, every rock green with life. The mist hung heavy on the scene, making the air like smoked glass. Flowers shone wetly in the rain, their colors becoming more vibrant and they stood out against the moss like jewels in the grass. Rocks littered the place, each one smooth from years of wear. A Celtic cross stood near the edge, planted by some long dead Irishman. That too was covered with moss, the stone weathered and beaten and covered in vines. It was beautiful there. The place where she had begun her life in the forest as a child. And the place where she would end it.

She stooped and picked up a rock, tossing it in her hand to feel its weight, and then placing it carefully in her pocket.

Other stones followed. Two stones. Three stones. Four stones.

My daughter. My lovely little girl.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

God, forgive me for what I must do. Give me strength to go through with it, for my daughter.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

God, into your hands, I commend my spirit.

Twelve.

I give my life to her.

Adrian was still on her mind as she fell, without a sound.

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As Adrian made her way back to the basement (her father had not come back to take her), she thought over the strange encounter with her mother. What had happened to the silver goddess that had brought her into the world? Why was her mother so pale and tired, and why was her voice heavy with sorrow? Adrian had no way of knowing that she was now almost identical to her mother. There were no mirrors in the basement, and she so seldom traveled upstairs that she had never had the chance to see what she looked like. Being with Isobel made her feel happier than she ever had, and bone-tiredness was second in her recognition.

But her mother had kissed her. A tiny thing to other children, but to Adrian, it was worth all the world. She had been kissed by an angel, not a ghost. Adrian's thoughts were filled with logical machinery, but her dreams were filled with forlorn hopes of love. Her mother loved her. Just like Isobel did.

Even as a five-year-old child, Adrian possessed remarkable intelligence beyond her years. She managed to learn how to talk by listening to the doctor who occasionally came to check up on mama, and to the conversations her father held with the butler late at night. She had found a cache of old, tattered newspapers and taught herself how to read them. Mathematics came from the business section of the paper. All intellectual puzzles yielded to her touch, and no problem went unsolved when put under her mental scrutiny. But even with all this knowledge, Adrian failed to see what was happening to her. She knew she was nearly dead with exhaustion, but Isobel's influence never presented itself as the cause. Love, as they say, is blind, and Adrian couldn't see a thing.

She paused on the landing, panting for breath. Even the short descent was nearly impossible, and as she went further and further down, more of her vitality was drawn away. And yet she continued. Isobel was waiting, and she wouldn't like tardiness.

Finally, after many pauses for rest, she came to the top of the stairs to the basement. The darkness was nearly tangible here, but instead of the soft velvet she was accustomed to, this darkness was like slime coated silk. It oozed over and dragged her ever forward, towards the place that Isobel was surely waiting. Though she didn't know it, Adrian's eyes had an unhealthy spark in them, feverish with desire. She wanted to be with Isobel, to feed off of her beauty and friendship, to drink in her light and warmth. She needed it, needed to taste it, touch it, and feel its weighted light in her hands.

The bottom of the stairs.

Adrian struggled for breath, as if she was smothering. And yet a twisted smile of blind, sick joy twisted its way across her features. There was a candle in the basement, held by Isobel. How lovely she looked in the candle light! The curves of her face were silky and soft, and her hair and eyes gleamed.

Adrian stumbled towards Isobel, and sank down without a murmur to the floor, staring in abject wonder.

Oh, to be like that. So perfect and wonderful. The face that sailed a thousand ships.

"Adrian, come closer."

She did, till she was kneeling inches away from Isobel's skirts. Her strength was flickering dangerously low now, and the closer to Isobel she was, the more it ebbed.

Isobel smiled, melting Adrian's heart to a puddle.

She was about to say something else, when her face turned suddenly white, her mouth thinned to a line, and her pupils became pinpoints. She staggered, and leaning against the wall, lowered her head, her chest heaving. Suddenly, she let out a shriek and sank to the floor, her hands clawing at her breast in horrible agony.

"Your mother! The foul demon! She did this to me!"

Isobel continued to shriek, throwing her body against the walls. Adrian, weak as she was, could only stare in horror.

"Damn the witch, damn her soul, and let it burn slow!"

And then it was over. Isobel stood still, her breath coming in short gasps, and biting her lip till crimson blood welled up over pearly even teeth, which soon twisted into a snarl. Crossing the space between them with a single stride, Isobel gripped Adrian by the neck, knocking her to the floor. Adrian barely felt the impact of the hard, stone floor. This wasn't supposed to happen! Isobel was kind and wonderful! She was Adrian's best and only friend and companion, and now her nails bit into her flesh like the fangs of snakes!

"Do you know what your mother did?"

Adrian tried to mouth something, but nothing came to mind. It was much harder to think, or even breathe, with Isobel's face inches away.

"Your mother killed herself, and left you all alone!"

Isobel released Adrian, pushing her away harshly. Her raving fury was strangely manifest in the soft words she spoke.

"Your mother killed herself, because she couldn't bear to be mother to you! She killed herself because she hates you! Yes, she hates you, almost as much as I do!"

Adrian's mouth worked, and her eyes were wide, but she couldn't say a word. Isobel hated her? Her mother hated her? They hated her!

Something heavy, like lead, began to course through her veins like blood, filling her with cold. The two who she loved, the two who filled her thoughts, hated her. They hated her. They hated her. They hated her.

Adrian slowly curled into a ball, hiding her face in her knees. She was hated. And it was all her fault. She was tainted, poisonous. And they hated her. At the tender age of five, she wished desperately for death to still the throbbing pain of a shattered dream.

But something else, other than despair, filled her, pushing away the dead weight. It was something strong, something wild and silver with moonlight and stars. Something steel.

Very carefully, Adrian stood from her fetal position, looking Isobel straight in the eye.

"No, you are a…liar"

This last sentence came strained and quiet. Her former self might have thrown herself to the ground and prayed for forgiveness. But that was changed. Isobel was lying. She had to be lying! There was no way in hell that she could possibly be telling an ounce of truth. Mama loved her. Mama had said so much in that single kiss, hadn't she? She had given a gift more precious than gold to Adrian, and she could feel it now in her own veins. Her mother's life had not ended, it was here, inside her, pulsing like a silver animal, waiting to attack.

"What did you call me?"

In a flash, Adrian was on the floor, her hair being wrenched from her scalp. Isobel's fingers were no longer gentle. They bit and tore, each nail puncturing flesh and drawing blood.

Adrian became silent, refusing to part her lips. She was too metallic. She could no longer love this girl. She felt protected and invincible. And Isobel stared right back. She too, was metallic, and they clashed like two blades, sparks flying as the steel screeched in protest. Isobel would always have the upper hand. She would always keep Adrian under heel, in her shadow. But Adrian would always fight back, and keep herself from being part of that shadow, keep herself apart. From everyone.

For the first time, she was truly alone.

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Adrian awoke with a gasp.

Those dreams…so real, so painful.

She bit her lip hard, trying to remember the details, the parts that had never been in her memory before.

How could she have forgotten her mother? Her mother who loved her, who had kissed her? It all rushed back like the sea. Her mother had given her life to Adrian, to protect he from Isobel, to keep her from harm. If she had not, that night would have been Adrian's last alive. Isobel would have leached it from her, leaving nothing. And Adrian would have sat there and let it happen, a smile of delirious joy on her face, even in death. But she hadn't.

Adrian stood, wincing as her scars pulled.

She had woken up on the floor, in the strange house with no windows. The house that was inhabited by the god of the dead.

Adrian shivered and crawled between the covers of the canopied bed, drawing the protective film around herself.

She still had to decide what to do about the man who seemed to know what she hid with long sleeves and high collars. The best bet would be to give him an icy shoulder, and maybe he would let her go. Maybe.

But what if he didn't? What if he kept her there in this sunless world of strange, black magic? He was at least ten times as tall as she was, or at least he appeared to be. And every movement was cat-like and powerful. And he was the voice.

If he used his voice, and told her to stay with him forever, she would have no choice but to obey. And then Isobel would find them both, though it might take centuries. She would find them, and he would be dead, his god-like voice never to bind her senses ever again.

And then, Isobel would give her time to create a model of him. She would give her time to caress the wood, and scratch out its shape with her fingernails, carving an exact replica of the man, the shards of wood gouging her hands, drawing blood that flowed into the wood and made it perfect. Then, Isobel would erase him from her mind, along with all of the passion his voice had invoked. Isobel would be gentle, the night Adrian killed him. She would sit beside Adrian, as the corpse grew cold, press the blood-streaked face to her breast, and sing to her. She would sing away the pain that tore at Adrian's flesh and mind, sing away the man in black, stroke Adrian's hair and face, kiss her cheek, and in the morning, everything would be the same. And Isobel would no longer be kind.

Adrian turned over gingerly, careful of her ribs.

Another one gone. And another. And another. They came one after the other, a line of martyrs waiting to die. The doctor and his apprentice. Michele, the old hermit who taught her herb lore and house keeping. Brother Dominic, the Franciscan who taught her to mold wood to life-like shapes. Monsieur and Madame Fontain, the simple farmers who had given her a taste of childhood. And the Professor.

The Professor, who advance her knowledge in music and art, science and languages, architecture and history, geography and astronomy.

Of all of them, the Professor was the only one who might have known he was going to die. When she had entered the room with murder in her thoughts, he had turned around and fixed her with a stare above his spectacles, as if to say, " Do with me what you will; I am waiting."

She had killed him with a scream of agony tearing at her throat. A scream that echoed through the night as she ran away from his house, a scream that was still echoing, though she kept both lips and mind sealed.

It was strange that she should remember this all now. She had thought that it would be many years before the bonds of her mind were broken, and the memories allowed to spill out.

"Shh, shh. Open your mind to me, and I'll wash it all away." So tempting, to succumb to the numbing peace of erased memories.

But those memories came back now with a vengeance.

Was the hour so late that all she had left were painful memories? Where was the good that was surely flying free in the world, waiting for anyone who dared to grab it out of the air and make it rich and golden?

This man who had saved her life was all she had left. Someone who had climbed out to take her off the side of the Opera Populaire, and carry her to this place like a foundling child. Perhaps…

A strange thought began to form in her mind, as poisonous, yet tempting as Eden's forbidden apples. What if, just this once, she didn't tell Isobel the…exact truth?

What if, when she returned, Isobel was not told of the man who sang in blood and smoke, was told that everything was exactly as it should be. What if she was told a blatant lie of lonely night by herself, when she had really been taking a chance to be happy? Why not have friends, go out, and attempt to grab the happiness that surely was waiting for her, flying in the wind? Isobel would never need to know. For two more months, Adrian was by herself. Two months to take a stab at happiness. Two months to start and stop friendships and erase all evidence.

When the man came through the door, as she knew he would, she would talk to him, not just for hard information, but to perhaps learn about what could generate such music that was painted with raw, pulsing, passionate life. Blood in the air, real and living, not tainted by human hands and turned dead.

An odd emotion spun itself over her brain. A feeling that puzzle pieces that she had been turning and pushing into the wrong spaces all her life were finally perfectly matched.

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Sorry for the wait; I rewrote this chapter about ten times before posting it. It was originally a lot shorter, but I stayed up all night thinking that it wasn't enough, so here you have it! By the way, RENT ( the musical ) is SO GOOD. Listen to it, NOW!