OK, I really had to apply myself to stop bouncing and re-reading my reviews and actual write the next chapter. .:Giggles:. OMG I actually have reviews.

Phantress, I solemnly that I am up to no good. (With the storyline I mean) ;). I can be as cruel as I want…ha ha ha ha…….wait for it……………HA. Thank you bundles of actually reviewing, you made me squee! You too Phurity, don't feel left out.

Alright enough happy chit chat, off to Lompa Land! Wait that wasn't right………Oh I got it. OFF TO CHAPTER THREE! Or would it really be chapter two cause the prologue doesn't count……….

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Bilis Rosa

Midnight, May 11, 1893

Raoul de Changy sat in her bedroom surveying the wonderful place he had made for Christine. Everything was filled with light and happiness. He had never wanted her o have to be in shadow again. The walls were white and the sunlight streamed in the many windows illuminating every corner of the room by day, and at night there were enough lamps to make one believe they were surrounded by the flames of hell. The bed was a accumulation of pink silk, mauve satin and white lace. There was no black anywhere in the room. No black and no red. Raoul sat on the fluffy bed fingering the mauve satin with distaste; he had always disliked the bastard child of pink and grey. But he would have done anything for Christine. He had done everything for her, and none of it had mattered. He shook the painful thought from his head.

Rising he went to the wall to the wall window situated right at head level. The window didn't go outside, but led into the other room.

"I loved him, and I killed him. The music…and the people...and the torches…..and red….it follows you….it's everywhere. And the people and the white ….no the white, it burns….and the colors and the people……no they get you…they're everywhere….he can always hear you…..always. NOOOOOO, the music...oh the music…..it always in your…its always in your head….it burns…oh it burns…the music and the songs. I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT. I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT. I don't wanna hear it. I don't wanna hear…………………….."

Raoul sighed as he watched the shrieks slowly stop as the doctors once again injected Christine with a powerful sedative. If they let her get much past this point she would start to bash her head against the wall to stop the music.

HE wasn't a monster, like his subconscious kept telling him. He was not. He had done everything he could. He had done everything she wanted! And she still didn't love him.

He started humming, he didn't know why, but it seemed ironically appropriate while thinking of Christine. It was an old song, that hios mother used to sing to him at night, she had been so Irish with her red curly locks. She had kept that hidden so well form the rest of the world, but at night singing him to sleep she was Irish through and through, The same when she taught him to dance like an Irishman, when he had been a little boy stuck inside the house all day long because of rain. Now he hummed it softly, wishing he could emulate her soft lilting accent. He closed his eyes and he could smell it, heather. She had always smelled of the heather from her native land, he never knew how, because it didn't grow where they were, but somehow she always smelled of heather. The words seemed so ironic to him now. When he was a boy, he had never really understood what they meant, but he had loved to listen to her.

His eyes they cloud

And his last breath spoke

He had seen all to be seen

A life once full

Now an empty vase

With the blossoms on his early grave

Walk away me boys

Walk away me boys

And by morning we'll be free

Wipe the golden tear

From your mother dear

And raise what's left of the flag for me

Then the rosary beads

Count them one, two, three

Fell apart as they hit the floor

IN a garb of black

We must pay respect

To the color we're born to mourn

Walk away me boys

Walk away me boys

And by morning we'll be free

Wipe the golden tear

From your mother dear

And raise what's left of the flag for me

One tear slipped down his face for his poor wife. Another for his child. Another for himself.

He stopped himself. The tears turned dry and salty on his cheeks. It was now two, and he was still awake, oh the winter had been. He remembered the last party they had gone to together, crowds of people were standing, staring at them, judging them for not being perfect. Breathe, he told himself, just breathe. He remembered her twenty-first birthday. He had wanted to hold her and love her. But she had pushed him away; it was the first item that had happened, the first of many. Breathe he repeated in his mind.

He continued to stand with his back to the wall, feeling so alone and so broken. He couldn't even say her name. The emotions ran through him like wildfire, anger, sadness, pity, jealousy.

He could her her now, talking in her sleep, singing in her sleep.

Fallen angels at my feet

Whispered voices at my ear

Death before my eyes

Lying next to me I fear

She beckons me

Shall I give in

Upon my end shall I begin

Forsaking all I've fallen for

I rise to meet the end

She faded off as she fell into a deeper, drug-induced slumber. Raoul, decided that he would surely go as mad as she was if he was forced to listen to her any longer, no matter how much he loved her, because he surely did.

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A/N

I know it's a lot of song, but it fit so well, Flogging Molly rocks! And so does miss Amy Lee, I can always write like a manic depressive person when I listen to her, so I feel I owe her something.

BTW, the title chapters, well the last two both mean black rose, the first is black as in mourning, the second is black as in blackness, or madness. Kinda clever huh? HUH? Well I thought so. He he I made a funny in Latin. Yeah, I get brownie points.

OK then…………….