A/N: Apologies to my great readers for this chapter taking so long to post...my real life has gotten extremely busy and it's almost impossible to squeeze any writing in nowadays. Thanks for your patience:-)
Lyrics for this chapter are taken from Cradle of Filths AOf Mist and Midnight Skies and Absences AEverlasting Moment.
As always, special thanks goes to my incredibly wonderful beta and dear friend, Erik (Musique Et Amour).
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The promise of a contract was something that attracted young talent by the hundreds, so it was not a surprise to see the auditorium filling up two hours before the allotted show time. Malabranca Records was renowned for finding new talent in all places...even in dark corners where other record companies and talent agents failed to look.
The box set aside for the company's personal use tonight was undergoing last minute cleaning - dusting, sweeping, and just trying to make a good impression on the signing agents.
Antoinette Giry had worked for the management of the theatre for some time, supervising the cleaning staff; though there was a large turnover of the actual workers, Giry stayed on. As for why she did, she loved the freedom the job allowed her. Granted, cleaning was not an easy job, nor was it something one should be entirely proud of...yet, when she had finished supervising her girls' work, she could not help but feel a tiny surge of pride when compliments were bestowed upon her for the cleanliness of the area in question.
Renounce the guilt, ignite the flame...
Today, though, her help had virtually deserted her. Down on her hands and knees, she was attempting to scrub stubborn spots off the concrete floor, angrily jabbing at them with a brush. Damn those lazy girls! Especially that Sarah...she knew this was an important job! I'll not show them, her included, any kindness, if they return.
Across the room working on the side windows, Giry's teenage daughter, Meg, was gently wiping down the glass with a soft rag. In her own world, she was humming a nonsensical tune as she cleaned.
Cast the fetid virgin back from where she came...
Giry sat back on her heels, watching her daughter clean the same place again and again.
"Meg!"
Not hearing her mother call her, Meg continued to daydream and hum to herself.
Realizing that Meg was not going to hear her, Giry stood and walked over to her curly haired daughter; placing a hand on Megs slight shoulder, Giry said her name again.
"Oh!" Meg cried out, totally surprised at her mother's voice. "You scared me, Mother!"
"You didn't hear me when I called you from across the room, Margaret," her mother said sternly, placing her hands on her hips. "Please pay attention to what you're doing and we'd finish a lot sooner."
"But I'm cleaning the windows like you said to!" Meg protested, her large eyes wide. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"
Drink deep of the promise in my eyes...
Giry sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, that's what I told you to do, but you've been cleaning the same place for the last twenty minutes. That spot is quite clean by now, I'm sure."
Meg turned and looked at the area, then began twisting the rag in her tiny hands. "Oh, Mother...I'm sorry. I guess I was thinking too much again."
Giry couldn't fault her that...she was, after all, the age when most young women her age were either in college or readying themselves for marriage or even establishing a career. Yet, she knew young Meg would not be like most girls...this she had known for some time now. She studied Meg's large brown eyes and reached out, absently fingering a long brunette curl. How she loved her daughter more than anything else in the world! She knew, beyond a doubt, that Meg was the primary reason she kept her job as the head of the cleaning staff at the Riverwood Auditorium...with her hours, she could spend time with Meg or be there for her when she needed.
Of mist and midnight skies...
Truthfully, Meg did not mind helping her mother clean; she rather enjoyed the job and the few dollars she earned. In her room at the tiny duplex, Meg was saving all of her dollars in a special place so that she might have enough someday to purchase those pointe shoes that she had dreamed of for years.
I drown in fathomless dreams...
This dream that would forever go unfulfilled saddened Giry terribly; she knew that Meg needed training from some of the top instructors in the city, if her dream of professional dance would ever have any chance of coming true. Except for one little problem...dance lessons were simply not in the tight budget.
Sighing, Giry put these thoughts from her mind and once again began to scrub at the invisible spots on the floor.
For now we congregate where once my angel sang...
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Christine made a hasty retreat to her dressing room, once the altercation with Cheryl had ended. She knew that by letting his hands rest upon her for those moments, she had given him false hope...yes, he was good to her at points, but the fact still remained that they worked together and nothing good ever came of a relationship between co-workers.
She sat down at her vanity and considered the moments past. How she longed for his touch to never waver...yet, all things must end.
Some things must never begin.
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"Christine..."
The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, but Christine knew who it belonged to...as it was familiar to her. Her face lit up with a radiant smile and her hands patted her hair, as if to assure herself that the curls were perfect.
"Angel! You've come!" She looked all around the room, as if by doing so she could find the source of the words.
"Tonight is your night to shine, my angel...do not disappoint me."
"I will sing for you and only you..."
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Take away my pain...
The blade glinted in the dim light. Carefully, the sharpened silver raked ever so gently across the pale skin beneath it; an imprint of the path was left in its wake.
Not deep enough.
This is not your struggle...
Again, the metal danced across the skin, attempting to leave a memory forever emblazoned and forever seen. A red welt had begun to swell up behind the fleeting blade.
All your efforts in vain...
Not deep enough.
As the old saying goes, the third time's the charm...and when the blade went across the swollen, reddened skin again, the path was marked. A deep crimson liquid began to appear at the points of contact...still, it was not enough.
I've already lost this battle...
A fourth time. On and on and on. Lessen the pain. Forget the present. Purge the hurt from the soul.
No sound was heard.
Not until the blade clattered to the floor.
On this everlasting moment I curse the day I was born...