Special thanks and much love to my fabulous beta, Erik! Lyrics in this chapter are from Nightwish's "Swanheart" and "Sleeping Sun," along with Cradle of Filth's "The Black Goddess Rises."

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Christine wrapped her coat tightly around her shoulder, as she walked to the auditorium in the brisk winter air. Her long hair fluttered in the breezes, sneaking out from the wool hat pulled low on her forehead. The longer she walked, it seemed, the colder the weather became. She desired to practice her vocals during her hike to the hall, but in this air she dared not.

The Angel would be displeased with her.

Her stride was finally broken by the change of a light at the intersection of Clay and Royal; forced to stop until the traffic halted, she began to hum a partial tune, forming the words with icy lips, as she waited.

"In my world love is for poets, never the famous balcony scene...just a dying faith on a heaven's gate..."

Looking around as the tune came into fruition, she noticed a lone snowflake falling from the winter skies; it landed ever so gently on her outstretched glove. Almost as fast as the landing, it melted into nothingness.

She raised her head ever so slightly and saw the lit figure beckoning the pedestrians across, then continued her trek to work.

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A soft, melodic tune floated through the air...somewhere, a violin sang as only angels can when the bow was caressed across its strings in a sweet, airy kiss.

The musician, with the violin held by long, deft fingers, waited for her arrival.

She was late. Again.

As time passed, a tune began to weave itself into the presence's mind and it softly sang: "For my dreams I hold my life...For wishes I behold my night...The truth at the end of time, losing faith makes a crime..."

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Glancing down at her watch, Christine saw that it was twenty past three...and she was late. Damn it all! She was supposed to be at the auditorium right at three for her vocal lesson. He was furious when she'd come in late. Tonight was her night. It was nearly time for the performance where the producers from the highly prestigious music label, Malabranca, would decide whether or not to take on the group. All of them - Steve, Tony, Phil, Nico, and even Erik - were counting on her to achieve this feat, this dream that they all had for so long.

The Angel even told her that she had to be in top form for this audition of sorts. Too much was at stake if she did not sing to the heavens.

"Christine, this is your chance to be recognized for your talents...your gift of voice is precious and should be heard by the entire world. You must sing as you've never done before."

She was to sing a variety of songs, some of the band's best pieces that would not only show off her angelic voice but the playing of the other members, as well.

Finally arriving at the Riverwood Auditorium, Christine dashed in through the back door and hurried up to her dressing room. As she dashed through the building for the stairwell, a pair of eyes caught sight of her tiny figure hurrying along the well-worn paths on the floor.

The deep, gravely voice spoke. "My, my, Christine. Are we late for somethin'?"

She stopped when she heard the voice. Slowly turning to face the lounging figure, she gritted her teeth and spoke calmly. "Yes, Erik, I am late for 'somethin',' if that's any of your concern."

"Ooo...ain't we all defensive today!" The lean form pushed himself away from the wall and lit up a Lucky Strike, blowing blue circles of smoke towards the singer. "Tell me, young Chris. S'it a man ya waitin' for? If so, I can tell ya, he ain't gonna wait for too long. Ya ain't the only fish in the sea." With that last statement, a dark eye closed in a wink.

Setting her jaw and vowing not to jump to her own defense, Christine calmly replied: "Erik. I need to go prepare for tonight's show. I do not have time for you or your bullshit."

Raising his hands - cig firmly held between two fingers - and shaking them a bit, he twisted his face into one of mock fear. "Lookit the big gurl playin' tough! D'ya really think I care aboutcha and the vocal ex'rcise crap ya do?"

Christine took a few steps towards the sneering man and leaned in ever so close to his face. "Erik. I'm going to say this once and I want you to listen carefully."

"I'm listenin', chickadee," he replied, raising an eyebrow at her forwardness.

Staring into his dark eyes, she quietly chastised him. "This is our big chance at a record deal. I will not have it ruined by some punk asshole who thinks he's God's gift to music and women. Is that clear, Monsieur Erik?"

"Oh, goin' all Frenchy on me now, eh?" He smirked. "No worries, luv. I ain't gonna do nothin' to ya. Just messin', that's all."

Christine inhaled slowly, then released it just the same. "We are in a group together, for god's sake...why can you not do anything other than screw with my head?"

A slow smile crept up the corners of his mouth and his eyes held a sparkle. "Why, darlin'...I like screwin'...ya..."

Just as soon as the words had left his crooked lips, Christine's eyes widened in disgust. "How dare you even think such a thing, you freak! How can you possibly even entertain such an idea when you look like that!"

Erik stared at Christine in disbelief. He had never heard her say anything of that nature before. Instinctively, he reached up and touched the mask that covered his face; flesh-colored, it was practically invisible to the naked eye...having that virtual fortress protecting his one vulnerability, Erik allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. He had believed, truly and utterly believed, that Christine would be the last person to take his deformity and shove it back into what remained of his face.

Oh, how I craved for you...you so pure and other-worldly with your scent of Winter...am I to bleed myself dry to see your delight?

He tipped his head down, inadvertently causing his dark hair to fall over half of his face and a furious glaze turned his eyes as cool as onyx. He took several slow breaths as he tried to control his anger. That seething hatred that bubbled up in his chest. Faster than a blink of the eye, a hand shot out and grabbed the tiny alabaster neck, slowly squeezing...

With a low growl, he yanked her closer to the very thing she had just cursed, the pressure began to mount and fear flickered in her eyes. "I have killed people for less, you bitch," he spat, while Christine writhed in his strong grasp.

"Erik!" A voice shattered the silence. "Let her go. Now!"

Drawing a breath in deeply, Erik slowly complied with the command. After releasing the girl, he watched as she just stood there, then ran up to her dressing room as fast as she could to get away from him. His arm fell to his side, softly and silently, while his eyes saw nothing.

Almost as fast as it happened, Erik slid down the wall behind him, whimpering like a wounded animal. He curled up into a ball, placing his head down on his arms and allowed his hair to act as a shield. Sitting down beside the crumpled man, Aref placed an arm around Erik's shoulders and pulled him close, saying nothing.