•*•*•
P L A Y L I S T
P T O L E M A E A—ETHEL CAIN
W H E N T H E S U N H I T S—SLOWDIVE
B O R D E R L I N E—TAME IMPALA
E N T O M B E D—DEFTONES
A N D R O M E D A—WEYES BLOOD
F  S O N G—STRAWBERRY GUY
S O F T L O V E—THE SYMPOSIUM
P R O B L E M S—MOTHER MOTHER
T E A R Y O U A P A R T—SHE WANTS REVENGE
B L O O D Y M A R Y—LADY GAGA
C R Y B A B Y—DESTROY BOYS
U N F A I R—THE NEIGHBOURHOOD
N O W—PARAMORE
A F T E R D A R K—MR KITTY
G E N E S I S—GRIMES
R E S O N A N C E—HOME
H E A D  O V E R  H E E L S—TEARS FOR FEARS
C H E R I  C H E R I  L A D Y—MODERN TALKING
C O M E  B A C K  A N D  S T A Y—PAUL YOUNG
T H E W I L D B O Y S—DURAN DURAN
T A I N T E D L O V E—SOFT CELL
P E T A L S—HOLE
W H E R E  I S  M Y  M I N D ?—PIXIES
S I L H O U E T T E—PASTEL GHOST
F A C E B O O K.C O M—MEMO BOY
D A R K B E A C H—PASTEL GHOST
T R A N S G E N D E R—CRYSTAL CASTLES
С У Д Н О (Б О Р И С Р И Ж И Й)—MOLCHAT DOMA
A P O C O L Y P S E—CIGARETTES AFTER SEX
G I L D E D  L I L Y—CULTS
G A L L O W D A N C E—LEBANON HANOVER
E N J O Y  T H E  S I L E N C E—DEPECHE MODE
S U M M E R B R E E Z E—TYPE O NEGATIVE
W H O  I S  S H E ?—I MONSTER
Y E S T O H E A V E N—LANA DEL REY
S T A R F A L L—THE SYMPOSIUM
S O U R S W I T C H B L A D E—ELITA
L U S T  F O R  A  V A M P Y R—I MONSTER
I' M Y O U R S—ISABEL LAROSA
•*•*•

C H A P T E R  O N E

{Goodbyes and imminent ghosts...or maybe something more?}

Sobs fill the once silent room, echoing throughout the empty and desolate house. Pale yellow light spills in through the window, illuminating the dust ridden space. The light is warm but no comfort is drawn from its faint presence.

Spiders flee back up their cobwebs to nestle into the damp corners of the room, water dripping onto their homes, making them light up with dull iridescence. Moths flutter back under the torn and mouldy white sheets that covered forgotten furniture. Faint scratching harmonizes with the broken sobs as two tawny mice scurry under the crack of the door, escaping the light that creeps steadily throughout the gloomy space.

In the centre of the room, curled into a tight ball as if to appear as small and invisible as possible, is a girl. Her back faces the window, and her pale skin glows as the light finally reaches her, casting a long shadow on the floor in front of her.

Sobs continue to wrack her willowy body and she shakes. Wildly. Uncontrollable.

Her puffy amber eyes are screwed tightly shut, tears spilling from them like a waterfall of misery, dropping onto the dirty and unwelcoming wooden floor.

Her pin straight and slightly matted raven hair lays limply down her back; as she trembles a small, tangled clump of it falls into her blotchy face, sticking to her skin. Hands balled tightly into fists, she sluggishly lifts one to brush the hair away, not noticing or caring about the drops of crimson washed away by her tears.

Hand trembling, it falls limply in front of her with a dull thump. Her face screws up in pain as cry's escape her sore dry throat once more. Curling into herself, she can't contain or push back down the shrieks that shrill passed her chapped lips, the wails loud enough to rival a banshees, and yet no one comes for her.

There's no one anymore who could. No one left to help.

Unwanted memories fill her head against her will. But that's what she should have expected when coming to this place.

The past flies through her mind like a movie that she is forced to relive over and over again.

Even as it happened then, the sequence of events she recalls upon are...dreamlike. They don't seem real, but they had been. All those months ago.

And she can't quite remember why they had happened. What had been the catalyst, the driving force to make it a reality.

She does remember how she felt. That night her life changed and left her like this.

The fear and pain she had felt as her innocence was ripped away from her. In the rawest sense, in the most messed up way—in a way many on this Earth had experienced.

As stated, why it had happened was...unknown to her, even now. She can't say why she was forced to watch her family be taken from her by a man she thought she could trust.

Why he had wanted her to bask and drown in the sheer terror upon realizing there was nothing she could do to stop him, as she realized that humans really aren't infallible.

Terror gripped her in its destroying claws now as it had done then, and she could do nothing as she watched through her past self's eyes: the way her mother stood in front of her, grasping her hand so tightly she was surprised it didn't break.

She remembered...the sight of the bodies of her father and brother lay before them. The last two survivors.

Her brother—young, impressionable, charming and a delight to be around. Just sixteen—his neck had been slashed so deeply his head was barely attached, blood gushing out of the gaping wound.

His cherubic face which was only ever showcasing a carefree, playful smile was twisted into such a horrific expression of dread it was seared into her mind forever.

Her father, he had been hardly recognizable. Attacked so viciously that his skull had caved in, leaving behind an oozing mess which she refused to acknowledge as the kind and gentle man she had loved so dearly.

She remembered the alarm she has felt as the assailant stepped into the light, the betrayal she had felt when she recognized his face; the disgust she had felt when her older brother dared to smile at her as if she had nothing to fear, face caked in the drying blood of the people who had only ever loved and cared for him.

What had driven him to murder, to kill the ones who loved him most? She couldn't say. It seemed, one day, he had just...snapped—and they had all paid the price for that.

He had still worn that sickening grin that clenched nausea in her gut as he'd advanced toward her and her mother, slowly raising his axe into the air with a manic giggle that if the situation had been different would have been considered joyful.

She recalled, god—she was cursed to see it now like it was all happening again. Her mother turning to her with slumped shoulders of defeat,  fear and love a sore mix in her eyes, and she had whispered one thing.

"Run."

She'd smiled, a singular tear of acceptance had rolled down her cheek, and then she'd turned bravely and raised her head high. She'd squeezed her hand one last time before letting go and running toward the despicable creature she had once called a son, tackling him to the ground.

The girl...it was the most shameful thing, that she hadn't stayed to watch the last of her family be slaughtered before her.

She had obeyed her mother's final wish and ran as fast as she could. She couldn't recollect now how she had ended up on the main road. All she could recall is a pair of headlights, the frantic voice of a woman who must have been in her late fourties with a kind round face and the warmest hug, a fluffy blanket being placed around her shivering body, wrapped around her so tightly it reminded her of her mother's loving embrace that she'd never feel again.

Then there was the police car, officer Bradshaw. A family friend. He had taken one look at her and his face, both impassive and disturbed, had drained of any pigment. He tried. Very hard, that night, to get her to speak.

She hadn't. She couldn't—even now, months on, it was hard to remember anymore how to do so.

The last thing she remembered of that nightmare was being ushered into the back of his car and taken to the station.

After that things were a bit of a blur.

Her brother was sentenced to death for his heinous acts but as always, it would be years before it actually came to that for him.

It was the most shocking case her city of Juneau, Alaska had seen for a while. Everyone fought for a chance to attend his trial, yet she was not one of them.

She couldn't bring herself to face the man she had once called her brother, the man who had taken everything she had held dear.

For months after, like the nuisance her then fifteen year old self had become, she had stayed with some family friends to get back on her feet and to save her from ending up in the system that so often looked down on and abandoned kids like her. Soon enough, though, she grew tired of their pitying looks, the silence that ensued when she entered the room, their meaningless words.

"I'm so sorry," "it will get better, you'll see."

Lies. It was all she knew the empty words to be. All she saw them for, and pity had become so cloying she'd grown to utterly despise it.

It seemed her sadness was so palpable it had begun to affect them too, the kind friends who would spout memories of her mother and father with no regard about her lack of want to hear it.

So she decided to do what was right.

She ran.

Back to where it had all happened.

She had wondered, if facing her demons and the cause of her pain, if saying goodbye...might bring her some sort of closure.

This morning, before she was reduced to the sad little ball of grief on the floor, she had been sure she could do it. It must have been but half an hour ago that she had broken her way through the boarded up windows. Back into the haunted house, the ghostly manor that had once been home.

And wasn't it embarrassing, that she'd crumbled so fast? She had stepped foot into her childhood home thinking she was strong enough, she was ready. But she was reminded of all of the happy times her family had shared as she walked from room to room...and it was bittersweet.

She was reminded of a place that was filled with happy memories, the phantom echoing of joyful
laughter in summer time surrounding her. She could practically see her younger self, her brothers chasing her through the woods in their backyard while their father did his best at attempting to barbecue, their mother complaining playfully how he could never get the burgers right.

Then had come the chill of autumn, whispering it's winds against the house, wrapping her in a chilled embrace of memories and when she had made it into the dilapidated hearth not fifteen minutes ago, it was a dirty sight to see furniture and prized belongings gathering a hefty coating of dust and...decay.

Had it really been so long?

She could actually smell chocolate and cinnamon, see in those abandoned and dust ridden, sheet covered seats her parents had spent many a night in: their father, gray speckled black hair and sparkling eyes of mirth, reading them stories of Gods and titans while their mother brewed their favourite cocoa. She could practically feel the stickiness of pumpkin seeds on the pads of her fingers, always that way when they carved scary jack-o-lanterns.

In one corner of the abandoned room, there was a box of Christmas lights. Tears sprung to her eyes.

That had been her favourite time of year.

Waking up on Christmas morning with the excitement to get downstairs and see what Santa had left under the tree. The warmth of the fire and their parents cuddled up together on the couch, smiles lighting up their faces as their children opened their presents. All of them huddling together as the snow raged on outside and crying when George Bailey reunited with his family and Clarence got his wings.

As she walked through the house she had allowed herself to remember all of this with a smile on her face, the tragedy that had occurred eight months ago forgotten for this brief moment. This tear of pleasantry in time.

That was until she came upon the room.

She had contemplated. Had stared long and hard at the door that would lead inside. The room where everything had happened.

She had felt the happiness and nostalgia, her bravery—it'd all faded away and her strong backbone crumbled to dust so fast it was like she'd never felt any of it at all.

She'd looked long and hard at the door, debating whether to be brave like her mother had wanted her to be or be the coward she believed she was. To run far away again.

Her hands had begun to tremble softly, nails digging into her palms so hard she'd pulled beads of blood to the surface of those crescent shaped wounds. Eventually, she'd approached the door cautiously like a baby deer investigating its surroundings for the first time.

Time had seemed to move in slow motion, then.

A mercy, or just prolonging the imminent doom—it was unsure. All the same, she had gotten closer, and with each step she'd felt her heart beat faster and faster, vivacious and strong. The non stop beat of a hummingbirds wings.

Cold sweat had collected on her brow and her breathing....shaky and shallow, opposed to her heart beating so hard she thought it would explode.

The fear had sat in her chest like some sort of loathsome parasite, weighing her down, the anchor to her ship of misery—clutching greedily at her heart. Her hand had finally made contact with the handle and she'd slowly twisted it open, keeping her head hung low as she entered the room.

It was deathly silent when she'd ground to a staggering stop in the centre. Anticipation had hung thickly in the air, as if the room was waiting for her to make the first move.

She'd heard her heartbeat in her ears, felt the cold sweat slide down the side of her face.

Hesitantly, her head had lifted to finally look at the room.

Like someone had flipped a switch the horrible events of that night had come rushing back to her, her father and brother lay before her again. Blood spewed from their wounds and pooled around their heads like two horrific ruby halo's. Her mother strong and tall before her, pain and fear in her eyes as her phantom hand gripped hers like the icy hand of death.

She'd whispered—haggard, coarse, demonic.

"Why didn't you help us?"

And a petrified scream had been the apparitions only answer from the girl who'd fought to free her arm, stumbling back a step before they all vanished. Before grief had washed over her—a wave of never ending agony. She'd collapsed to the ground. Screaming and bawling, she'd squeezed her eyes closed in hopes that she wouldn't be forced to relive that grisly night and the hazy eight months that followed any longer.

So there she lay now, succumbing to her heartbreak and forced to dwell upon memories of the family that she could no longer have, that her soul longed for. It was strange. She should have run out of there, but she couldn't do it. It would have felt like leaving them all over again, and her guilt was so burdensome it had stuck her to the floor.

She was left, now, realizing how truly alone in this world she was. How bleak and miserable her future was sure to be.

And then, she wasn't.

Unknown to her, a being of neither good nor evil had heard her heartache. A song of true woe...and he'd come to investigate.

She curled into herself, colder than she'd ever been when behind her closed eyes and along her skin, she saw and felt a pitch black shadow creep over her pathetically quivering form.

It chased away the rays of warmth the light from the window had offered and she shivered even harder as she felt it's blanket of coldness settle over her.

She should be afraid. She knew that. Yet, she wasn't.

Opening her eyes, just a crack, just for a moment, she barely saw the terrifying thing stood over her. It was tall—long, actually. Completely made of moving, curling black smoke that wisped in tendrils. It had no face, no distinguishable feature except the large, folded mass on its back that looked close to...wings?

Quickly, seeing enough, she clamped her eyes shut again and absolutely finished with the strange paradox her life had become, she gave in to the oddities she felt she was forever to endure if she let herself go on.

"Whatever you are, if you've come here to k-kill me. Go ahead. I'm not scared." She sounded strong, even as fear clogged her voice in her throat and made her stutter.

And she wasn't. Scared of 'it.' The detected tremble in her words was simply inspired by the thought that when she died, there was either going to be nothing...or everything.

"I have come for you," The shadow whispered in a deep silky voice, "But I have no intentions of killing you." It chuckled without humor.

A sudden chill caressed her cheek, like someone had placed there hand there. She didn't need to open her eyes to know a smoky cirrus was stroking her cheek—the wet skin under her eyes.

It was abnormally cold, didn't feel normal, tingling and numbing her flesh—the way it would be if she'd braved the blistering winds of the Alaskan winter.

Still, for all her talk of her disillusioned lack of fear, it was a different story now it was touching her and she flinched, a few tears that were now her normalcy spilling down her cheeks.

"Fear me not, child. I heard your soul crying out in agony, wanting to be loved, to be held, to be cared for." The shadow uttered, words spiralling to brush against her ear. "I answered it's call and now, I will see to it that you're never alone again. I will be with you until the end—whatever you want or need me to be, just think it and I will become it." It's voice was hypnotic, promising, lulling her and soothing her unease. It was deep and rich and belied wonderment to every syllable.

But how was she to enjoy it? What she supposed was some sort of man, he sounded further away. Fearing loneliness, desperation possibly blinding her to any trickery, the girl whimpered and reached her hand outward, still refusing to open her eyes.

That same wraith-like wisp of smoke was more defined, more human, a now slightly warm hand grasping hers so gently she couldn't help but cry with relief this time, content to feel the comfort that this apparition had brought her after months of misery.

"I will not leave, but I cannot stay like this. You will be frightened." It reasoned. "Imagine what you want me to be, buttercup. I will become it for you. When you have decided, open your eyes." The Spector urged, curling long fingers over her bony ones.

At the term of endearment she let out a despondent sob, reminded of her beautiful mother and how she had once been her little buttercup.

It knew. That was obvious. It new her life, saw into her mind somehow. It had to have done, because no one else could have known that little tidbit from the past.

Disturbed by this otherworldly thing and it's abilities, she still tried to listen. Taking some shuddering breaths she thought long and hard for a moment as she tried to calm herself.

Who did she want him to be? What an absurd question.

Her gaunt face was twisting in pain once more, because she realized that as much as she wanted to see her family again, to turn this...being into someone she loved, she couldn't bear to see her brothers smile. Or hear her fathers calming voice, or feel her mother's loving hug.

Even if she could make this creature resemble one of them, it would be too painful. She'd know they weren't real. They were better off left as ghosts from her past.

To move on—to really move on she'd have to start over, no matter how difficult it would be.

Almost like he could sense her suffering, the shadow gripped her hand just that little bit tighter, rubbing his mist-like thumb across her pallid skin. The reassuring action made her shudder before she gripped his hand just as tightly, afraid that he would disappear.

How did she know if he was real anyway? What if she was hallucinating?

Proving the reality of his mystical talents, he chuckled. Amused at her and all of her worrying.

"I can assure you little one that I am quite real. I'm not going anywhere."

He was right. After all, if he wasn't real then how could she feel his touch? How could she grip his hand in her small, clammy one.

"I'm scared." She murmured softly anyway, in spite of his bolstering, voice cracking slightly.

Her words hung in the air as she wondered what she was afraid of. Change? Accepting what had happened? She wasn't sure, though she didn't have to ponder too long.

"I feel it, your fear. It's consuming you. Eating away at you. All the suffering you have experienced, you're letting it take over. I can help, don't be afraid." He crooned softly as he lent over her, his shadow casting away some of her loneliness. "Give your fear to me, let me feel it for you. After all, that's what I'm here for little buttercup. You'll never have to feel this way again. Just give it all to me. Your fear, your loyalty, your love, trust me..." He insisted. Hushed, soft, his honey tinged voice of promised wonder and happiness coaxing her to listen.

And she did. Trust him. Crazier than she could understand, she felt no fear toward him. Detected no lie—and even if he was evil and his motives were bleak and dark, she didn't care. Life was no longer worth living if she had to suffer it all alone.

Forcing her sore eyes open, she blinked them unhurriedly to rid them of the haze her tears had left.

Looking down, her hand was connected with another, very large one with black nails and many silver rings. She was relieved to see skin. Pale and as light as hers.

Trailing her blood shot eyes up from his hand, she couldn't help but to admire the jet black tattoos decorating his skin and forming a sleeve that stopped at the wrist. They depicted gruesome and gnarly scenes of war, but oddly they didn't deter her. They suited him well.

Finally she looked at the rest of him and was surprised...that he looked this way.She'd
never been one to judge others on their appearance—after all, her family had often been the subject of ridicule for their own naturally gothic and macabre looks, but she didn't remember wanting him to look like this—and then she recalled she hadn't actually decided. Maybe...this was how he looked anyway, this was who he was?

She did find his appearance an odd comfort, as well as his smell: rosemary and bonfire smoke, a peculiar combination, and yet one that banished her repugnant thoughts by the second.

He was wearing all black: a black t-shirt, black jeans, black combat boots. The whole works, and there were thick chains on his jeans that jangled pleasantly as he moved closer.

She looked up, tentative, searching, feeling his face might be monstrous and scary—but she was met with striking green eyes clashing into her amber ones. They were framed by thick lashes, dark liner and the purple bags under his eyes made them glow.

They were beautiful...reminding her of two glittering emeralds, captivating her with the swirls of brown around the pupil; for all their warm appearance, there was a coldness in them. A hard edge telling of a worn life, but there was kindness in them too. Kindness she saw reflected on his thin, sly lips that lifted up into a friendly smile. They way he looked at her made her feel warm. He regarded her with reverence, like a father would their child.

His hair was as raven as hers and hung low to his shoulders, framing his handsome face nicely and when when he pushed the messy strands away from his face, his hand brushed against his ear and caused his garish skull earring to swing back and forth.

Yes. He didn't scare her. He looked similar to things she knew, and she wanted to move on, but that made her feel warm in the face of all of his cold.

He shifted closer to her again, this time using his other arm to wrap around her and help her sit up. She winced as her joints and muscles popped and complained as she struggled to sit up.

She...must have been there longer than she thought and when she finally sat up, trembling with the effort it had taken her, her let her just sit, his hands on her shoulders.

Then he spoke, and she found that even his voice had changed. He didn't sound like some harbinger of doom and freedom any longer. He sounded like a friend.

"See? I told you there was nothing to fear, especially not from me." He smiled that inviting smile again and looked at her, almost brimming with affection. "My name is Cassius. What's yours, buttercup?"

While waiting for her to answer, understandably she was in a bit of awe at the hectic events she'd just been part of, he picked up a long black coat that she hadn't even noticed that lay on the floor next to him and placed it around her tense shoulders.

It enveloped her completely and she snuggled into it, seeking warmth her measly brown vest and jean shorts couldn't provide.

"Hesperia. My name is Hesperia." She muttered, low and feeble and with no confidence, before looking up sharply as he tittered to himself.

"Ah, meaning 'evening star' in Greek mythology, correct?"

She nodded.

"I can see why you have the name. You are quite a radiant little thing." He smiled a contagious one that had her smiling back. Instinctually.

She let out a sad chuckle. "Yes, well, my father loved Greek mythology. My brothers were named after Orion and Troy. He'd read us stories every night..." She dropped her head to look at the ground as she mentioned her family and thought about how alone she was again.

Cassius frowned regretfully, placing his hands on her small face and lifting her head up so she was looking into his eyes. "What did I tell you? You're not alone now. You might not understand it yet but I'm here for you. I will be for the rest of your days on this Earth. No getting rid of me I'm afraid." He chastized her through a grin and she chuckled in light happiness before she froze.

She'd grown so unnaturally comfortable around him after being deprived of friendly contact for so long that she'd forgotten how...inhuman he'd been minutes before. Gentle not to cut her cheeks on his rings, she pulled herself away from his hands and looked into his eyes.

"Cassius, what are you? Before, you didn't feel real. It was like you were made of smoke. I could feel your touch but it wasn't...you." She spoke, so meek he had a hard time hearing her. She took a deep breath before continuing, "I feel so comfortable around you like I've known you my whole life and that scares me, because earlier you said that you heard my soul, which means that you're not human, right?" She looked into his eyes again, seeking the comfort they had given her not too long ago.

Forlorn, he sighed, siting back on his heels in contemplation.

"I am a fallen angel, cursed to wander the earth alone for all eternity, invisible to the human eye. When I heard your soul and felt your anguish, it called to me. Led me to you. Finally, there was someone else who knew pain like I did, someone who'd lost everything, someone who would understand. I couldn't help but to search for them. Thats when I found you here, so broken and hopeless. Small. Vulnerable. I knew I was meant to find you. Our souls are joined now. I'll be your protector, and you will never be alone." He finished with an anxious half smile, waiting for her reaction.

Hesperia's eyes were wide in disbelief.

She sat. Silent, ponderous, wondering how she truly felt about all of this.

Again, she felt she wasn't normal anymore. Where was the fear? The heart-in-your-throat feeling? The adrenaline that should be coursing through her, pushing her to run?

Not there.

As crazy as it sounded and was, she wanted to be near him, to comfort him too in all of his obvious misery.

Ever since he'd shown up, her grief had lessened significantly. He made her forget the horror of that night.

If he spoke the truth, if his words were not filled with lies? She didn't have the power to glean that.

So, she smiled at him then with a hopeful curl of her lips, resigned to accept her fate of either gaining a new companion, or leaving this world like she'd wanted to the night her family did.

"I know I should be frightened, but I'm glad we're both not alone anymore." Her eyes welled with tears as she tried not to cry again.

Floundering, Cassius had not been anticipating this.

He had been expecting her to scream and run, not accept him so easily. He was a fallen angel, a monster cast from heaven who knew nothing of love and happiness, but as he looked at her then, watching her grin at him in reassurance and hope, he vowed he would do his best.

To treat her like the sister he never had.

To protect and cherish her until the end.