When Ciarra was seventeen she decided it was time to break an old habit. It was how she took away her own pain. The things she was subdued to behind the screen and on set were enough to trouble any mind. Now, well into her twenty third year of life, that habit has gone away. Or... she thought it did.

Can't really attend a meeting when your playing along with the fractured mindset of an old co-worker. How stupid she feels for coming back here. Biggest problem is, it's not just her anymore, she's standing in the bathroom with this creature. Someone who looks so delectable and so charming. Someone well endowed. Someone she has reason to believe isn't even human.

His chest is broad and bronze. He sweats in the steam of the running water. His hair is shaved short on the sides. Pretty pink lips conceal, although not well, a plump pink tongue. She trembles in his presence not because she feels weak or small but because she doesn't trust herself. The very idea of him lifting her onto the sink makes her quake with frustration and agony as all these thoughts come rushing back.

If only she's monitored her browsing a little better when she younger she wouldn't be allowing him to loose himself in her. How was she to know? She was so young. Everything hurt. People were cruel and demanding and it made her head spin but when she lied down on the sheets her fingers found her secrets and they made it all go away.

Then why did she try so hard to stop? She tried and succeeded only to allow his horse long dick to unintelligibly rip at her in a way she found; good enough. Her hands reach out and she finds a dirty syringe. Wait, did this belong to Carlos? Where is Carlos? What is happening? Why is she letting it?

All the thoughts come to an abrupt stop when she's injected the needle into his jugular and uncapped it to watch his warm blood ooze out on her and drip down her body between her legs and onto the-

Wait. It's all gone, all of it. She sits on a commode with her phone open to a page in her browser that makes her nauseous and her free hand hangs between thighs that goose-bump in the cold chill of an open window above the sink.

Only a floor up her friends are cutting into another friend and think they know what they're doing. What's happening? Why is it happening? Demonology was something she studied and if it made sense to her then it could make sense to her now. Somethings wrong and she's almost certain it has nothing to do with old fairy tales.

It has everything to do with Trauma.

2 hours until Christmas.

James Masslow fights for his life as people who have never operated take orders from a deranged man who lost his license to practice. Jack Frost stares in from the gallery above in tears as he watches someone he cares about so dearly be hacked at by the ones said victim called friends. Then things shift for Masslow as in walks the chief of surgery.

She looks like one of them, human. She is in fact not.

However when she picks up the scalpel she makes moves to save him. They allow her in. Logan looks to her like she is a God as she closes the wound and saves the leg.

"You helped me." He whispered.

She nods, "You helped you."

The room goes dark and Logan stands beside the body of a friend he just saved as Kendall and Katelyn try to pick themselves up off of the bloody ground. All is calm for a minute and then James wakes up screaming.

Dr. Stones ears perk at the sound as she continues along to her patient consult. Dr. Reginald Wanaldi stands beside the nurses who attacked Carlos and before them is the four year old patient.

"Prognosis." Says Dr. Stone as she checks her charts.

Walandi nods, "Patient is Hunt Wynorski." Liam Arsonlin, "Ruptured valve, the heart is dying. He needs it to be prepared but unfortunate is the case of his malnurishment. Child is four and weighs less than seventy pounds."

It's true. The hospital's latest victim is skin and bones. Sad black sunk in eyes. Oddly enough; his heart is ruptured. If these really are demons why would they go to such lengths to rescue a child? Are they rescuing a child? Malese can't cut into people she has no license to. They want her to put him out of his misery? Where's his parents? Are the body bags even real?

When was it okay to kill children?

"We can't risk it." Says Dr. Stone, "Book an OR."

Dr. Wanaldi nods, "Yes maim."

She is, after all, his attending.

Her heels click away from the empty room, empty besides a dying boy who is fast asleep and cannot hear her. The only one to hear those stilettos is underground and caught it coming out of the vent system connecting throughout the whole studio.

Carlos dangles there like a rag doll forgotten in a tree. His hands cross high above his head and he sways in a cold room as blood drips down from his wrists into his pits. A sigh escapes his lips. Beneath him is the mulch and stone ground separating him from the Earth. Of course none of this he can see. The dungeon he resides in is pitch black and his wounds are infected. It's only a matter of time until this rag doll is merely cotton in the wind.

A whisper from his iron ridden mouth, "I'm sorry Kendall."