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In the hustle and bustle of the outskirts of London, people were everywhere. Aristocrats walked around, enjoying an evening stroll before dark, children running around in the streets, enjoying the childhood that would only last for only a couple more years. Orphans, beggars, prostitutes, the whole sorts, gathered in the alley ways of the city, waiting either for their next customer, or for helping hand.
The streets were covered in filth, the odor reaching everyone's own nostrils. The stench was foul, the noise was deafening, mostly because of the whole sorts tried to talk above everyone, even if it was only to the person next to them.
There, standing in the middle of the stone paths that were everywhere, stood a child about the age of fifteen, holding a bag around one of her shoulders. One hand held out a newspaper that had came from the bag. "Hear about the recent murders! No suspects found! All around the area of London!" she yelled as she cupped a hand around the side of her mouth to direct her voice more. She quickly handed a newspaper to a group of aristocrats, probably from some rich area, and received the amount needed, including a nice tip. "Thank you very much," she said, bidding the man a farewell. She smiled when she turned away. That's why she aimed at the rich people. They usually gave tips, but only if they were in a good mood to give. She sighed as she put the tip she was given inside her pants as she continued to sell away the last of the newspapers.

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She handed the man what she owed to him, and soon ran off, not wanting to be there anymore. It was much too boring, waving around newspapers in people's faces to get money, but she was luckier than the others. She was very fortunate to have a job that she could buy things that she needed, while the others sat on the street, waiting for help. She sighed as she buttoned up her jacket that she had found just days earlier and began to walk down the street.
Her luscious curly locks that hung down to somewhere in the middle of her back swayed in the wind, her hat trying to keep her head warm. Her shirt did nothing to keep her warm, her fingerless gloves that had begun to harbor moth holes had started to freeze her fingers. She was looking down until she bumped into something large. She fell back, thinking that she had walked into a wall of some sort, but when she looked up slowly, she eyes widened.
There, standing right in front of her, stood a man that resembled something like a bear. He was muscular and well-built, considering he wasn't wearing a shirt to hide anything. In fact, he didn't seem cold one little bit. The slight tan that the figure held seemed to compliment the unkept white blonde hair that he had, though the hair did seem unnatural for such a man. Now the face, the face seemed like he was a complete villain. No eye brows whatsoever, and had a square face to match it. The crooked nose seemed to point down straight at her, which was quite strange since nose's didn't move. At least, she didn't know if they could move. The thin lips and the almost black -like pupils that stood in the doorways of his eyes made him seem more like he was stern and cold hearted, kind of like some name she had heard, along with a story here and there. What was that name anyways? Jack Frost. Indeed, that seem to fit that expression he held on his face, and that frozen gaze he had on her.
"Move yerself away, or I'da snap sumthin'," the figure said, looming over the girl that was laying on the ground. She gulped as she quickly gathered herself up from the ground. "Tha-" but before she could finish anything, the man was walking, speaking some kind of gibberish from what her ears could hear. Without a thought, she began to follow him, wherever that place might be.

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A certain amount of time had past before she noticed where she was, and in that, how late it was. Just as she was going to ask, she notice the man going inside a building. A theatre to say the least.
"A theatre? I've heard a lot about theatre's, but I haven't bother to see the inside of one. Maybe...." she said to herself, soon beginning to conjure herself a plan to get inside.
As she sat to to far away, she noticed that when someone came inside the theatre, anyone could get in. Well, maybe, since there were no children to be seen. She rested her arm on her crossed legs, tapping her nose as she sat on a crate. She soon noticed a window on the side of the building, and lots of crates. A grin soon appeared on her face as the new plan was set in motion.
Swiftly, she ran towards the window, and began to grab the empty crates that were laying around. She stacked them one on top of the other, with some more on the outside for a more firm structure. She shook it the structure slightly, and as she saw it was good, she looked around before climbing up to see through the window.
As she sat, she looked through the dingy window that was filled with cobwebs in each corner. She could see the faint light of candle and new type of lights hanging around the room. The slight sound of music could be heard from the outside. Without even noticing, she pushed on the window slightly, and it opened to see the performance being ready to preform.
And there she stood.
A woman sat at the side of the stage, the spotlight on the woman, her features were easily recognizable. The lovely Evangeline, or Angeline from what she had heard from some of her fans. Her luscious locks that feel down to her hips, the summer sky-colored blue eyes mesmerizing her audience. Besides the moles that she had, she was completely beautiful. A young and natural beauty, she thought. As she continued to watch the performance, her singing began to mesmerize her, her dancing making her tap light to the beat. Before she had noticed, she fell off the crates, and landed on her side, and the crates soon began to topple on top of her.
She crawled out of the crates, and brushed herself off from the snow that had gotten on herself. She sighed as she looked up to the window. Too high.... Why did I fall off in the first place? She shook her head as she walked away from the window, but not before bumping into someone.
"I'm terribly sorry, I-"
"Why are you 'terribly' sorry?" he said staring down at her. She looked up to him to see the face that the man had. The dark blonde, curly hair that was parted to the side, the light brown, with some resemblance of caramel in her mind, fair skin color, as if he hadn't been in sunlight for some time, and the prominent straight nose and the diamond shaped eyes. When the man smiled, deep dimples appeared on his face, and she stepped back slightly. She wasn't expecting the man to smile.
"I-I didn't m-mean to bump into y-you, sir," she said, not looking straight into the mans face. No matter how much he looked normal, something was hidden behind those eyes, an intent maybe, but for now she wasn't so sure.
"I understand that now," he said a bit sarcastically. "Sadly, a girl like you shouldn't be wearing boys clothing. Haven't your parents told you what to wear?" he said, intertwining his own fingers as he looked down at her.
She waited a moment before saying anything. "I don't have parents sir, and I'm sorry that I don't meet your expectations of what a girl should wear." Polite, yet straightforward, she thought as she finished. That should be clear enough for him to understand. Her head was still down, yet she slowly pulled her head upwards to see the man.
He gave a bit of a smirk. "Should have known from a child dressed in rags," he said, pulling at her jacket. She swiftly pulled it away, releasing it from his grip. "Interesting. Not many try to do that, yet you did."
"Is it a bad thing?"
"Not at all. It means you have the guts and the means to get your point out." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Wouldn't you say the same?"
Before she had the chance to respond, a voice came from behind her. "Indeed so, though she is completely filthy," it said, going through her curls. Her eyes were widened, yet her hat had covered them. "Please let go of hair, I don't like people touching me," she said, standing straight with her knees facing each other.
He soon let go of her hair, and moved to the side of her. "I didn't mean to make you flustered in any sorts, though your hair is unusual, considering it has dirt matted in some of the strands." When she looked up, she had to blink again to see what she was seeing. He appeared to look like a child with the innocent looking eyes, though those eyes that resembled coal did have some other color inside to make them seem not as dense. The hair resembled a somewhat of a skunk, considering that it was completely black with one strand of white hair. He wore a white, buttoned-up blouse, with a scarlet or red vest, with a matching set of a black jacket and pants. He held by his side a sketch pad and a pencil which rested between his fingers.
Without even thinking before speaking, she spoke. "You must enjoy drawing, sir," she said, looking up from her position.
He glanced down at his what she was talking about, and looked back. "Sharp senses. Impressive. I don't find many people noticing things like that. Well done on your part."
She wasn't expecting someone, let alone two, compliment her on what she did correctly. Most people would have just yelled at her to get to of their way, or go and do something useful. She was smart, and she understood that, yet no one bothered to even notice is she was. Bravo was all she could hear inside her head. "Thank you," she replied with a nod.
"You are very much obliged," one of them had said. Suddenly, someone had come and pulled an arm straight out, wrapping another around her waist. She became slightly confused by this motion, and looked up. It was the childish looking one. "Hey, let go of me!" she said, trying to get herself released from his grasp. He soon kissed her hand, but then another voice had come from behind them.
"Bravo," a woman had said in flirty tone. "You haven't even introduced yourselves, and yet you're trying to get her to do something she doesn't want to do." Just then, he released her from his grasp, and she sprang a distance away from them, taking a precautionary measure. She quickly turned her glance at the woman who had come. She had straight black hair that reached down to her hips. She looked even closer and noticed they were completely straight, no split ends or anything. Her hair even fell into place on its own, not even a out-of-place. Her hourglass figure seemed to suit her very well, especially with the light tan skin tone that she had. Her bust seemed small, though one should never judge that, along with ones feet. A twinkle in her eyes returned her glance upwards to see a strange color. Purple eyes with a beauty mark under her left eye. Quite usual to see something like that, along with someone wearing all purple.
"Well, hello there Wilhelmina," said the man with slight curls in his hair.
"Hello there Nicholas and John," Wilhelmina said, walking towards them. They both smiled as they bowed to her, and each planted a kiss on her hand which rested a ring that resembled a purple spider. "It's nice to see you again, though I didn't imagine it would be in a situation like this-," she said, gently pointing to Victoria. Victoria looked down, trying not to feel their stares upon her. "You should be ashamed-."
"What did you think we were doing?" replied John, the one with white stripe in his hair.
Wilhelmina looked at them as she spoke, her purple eyed gaze on only them. "Looks like you were giving a girl too many compliments, and had plans to do something with her." She pulled hair back to keep her focus on them more clear.
"So what? She's an orphan, like anyone would care if she was gone," Nicholas responded.
She rested a finger on his lips, followed by a smile on her own. "So? Does that just give you a reason to as you want?"
He moved her hand away, and grinned as he spoke. "Yes, I do think it does."
She chuckled lightly as she still had still looked at them. "Well, I'm sorry to spoil your enjoyment, but I'm hungry, and wouldn't want it to get worse, though," she said looking at Victoria. "She is quite adorable and unusual with the long hair and green eyes." She soon walked over to her and bent over to her, bringer her face up to see it better. "So, you live on the streets?"
She wasn't expecting her to grabbed her face, but she nodded to Wilhelmina as she stood in her spot.
She smiled as she looked at her, and then took something out of her pocket. It was a locket that she had gotten recently. She didn't know why she liked it in the first place, much less why she bought it. She threw it around the girls neck. "You can keep it if you come with me," she said, holding one of her hands.
Victoria still didn't know how to respond to a situation like this. Now, she had given her a silver locket with engraving on it. Oh how she wanted to keep the locket, yet she would feel guilty about keeping it. She sighed as she looked up to her. "Why do you want me?"
"Well," she said, raising a finger up to the corner of her mouth. "I need someone to help me in my business, and to keep those two in line. Plus, with a little help from me, you could, and will, look much better than you do in these rags-" She said, tugging on her coat. Hm.... Same coat from that one man a couple of days ago that I ate. He was much too salty. She soon released her grasp on her coat, and looked back at her with her hand on the child's face. "Well, is it a deal?"
Victoria thought for a moment before speaking. Sure, she would be off the streets, and whatever she earner she could help others with and do stuff for herself. But on the other hand, she still doesn't even know where she will be going, much less all the touching from her and everyone. "Will I have to be touched as much I am right now?" ash asked. She didn't like people touching her. Why didn't anyone understand that?
She sighed. "Well , I wouldn't doubt that you wouldn't, especially from me, but much less I think it's going to be quite fun to have someone to dress up," she said.
After a moment, she nodded, and then something happened. She was being hugged and flung, and then suddenly kissed on the cheek. Once she was standing on the ground, she brought her hand up to her where she got kisses. Her face was very flushed as she remembered the kiss. She hoped she didn't get another one anytime soon.
"Well then, let's go," she said, poking at her to follow. She nodded as she began to follow her.
"Wilhelmina," Nicholas and John spoke. " Are you sure you want someone like her?"
She smiled as she nodded. "Why wouldn't I be happy with my own decision?"
Nicholas brought his up to his face as he began to rub his forehead. He sighed as he looked back up at her. "Then enjoy your decision," he replied with a fake smile.
Victoria looked back as they began to walk away from the two. How often would I have to be seeing those two people? She sighed as she continued walking with Wilhelmina to wherever she was going.
"So, how long do you think she'll last with Wilhelmina at her brothel?" said Nicholas, whispering into John's ear.
John pondered on the thought quickly, and responded just as fast. "A couple months, I believe. She's a bit small to start working fully as an employee of hers, but she might be making her into a maid until she's old enough."
"I doubt that. She probably picked her up because she was bored."
"Maybe she needed something to eat?"
He thought for a moment before responded to his response. "That is quite possible, though I doubt she would fill her up all that much since she is.... Well," he paused." Small, and dirty none the less."
John gave him a quick pat on the back. "Yes, but that could all change sometime in the future, especially her being dirty. " He began to walk towards the entrance of the theatre, but stopped and turned towards Nicholas. "Coming?"
He grinned. "Why wouldn't I be coming to my own show?"
They both walked inside, but before he goes in, his hand resting on the door. He looks out like there is someone there. "And thus the real fun begins," he whispers with a grin, and a finger on his lips. And soon, he leaves though the doors, closing behind him.

Theater is never what it seems. From their chairs, they watch as men and women perform roles and parts not knowing how many levels and layers lay and lie between them and the real people. They assume that only the single part is played and those are from the liars upon stage, but they are all false themselves. Masks are worn for men to men, men to women, women to women, actors to directors, lowers to superiors, lowers to their lowers, and so on. Lies and honey dancing about the performances, but it is natural. The theater is a social event and what better place to play a part than that of the theater itself?

The Daimon Theater stands as the resolute castle of falseness and entertainment, a place where those of class and privileged can shrug off the shackles of reality and become the watchers instead of the watched; the sun slowly sets, the rays of the light slowly being pulled down until they are no more and night in London is only known. The theater takes no notice of the dying light as its performers are not only tasked from the director, but tasked themselves. None want to be the first to leave as that is a submission only taken by the most talented or lazy and none would take the chance to be seen as the former.

Nicholas Smith sat, watching two actors, Evangeline Benton and Bernard Jackson, try to recreate the immortal love scene of Romeo and Juliet, though Bernard seemed to have some troubles throwing him at the beauty that was Evangeline. Nicholas did not give a thought as to what this meant on his sexuality, but more on how it was ruining his damn scene. The sets were nearly complete and he had a hard time manhandling Angeline, who most males in the theater would gladly take Bernard’s spot for.

The spoken cues were well enough, even good when it came to Angeline’s time. Bernard wasn’t as quick or as sincere with his emotions, but there was times that Nicholas offered a nod in approval, brushing his blond hair from his eyes to get a better sight of the scene. Things were escalating, their emotion was nearly palatable as Nicholas leaned from his chair as the two met and…

Bernard lightly grabbed her elbow weakly.

“GRAB HER, BERNIE!” Nicholas’ voice rang out, the acoustics of the large theater only adding to his voice, “Grab her like you want her. This is supposed to be a scene of passion of love not a gentle reminder that “this is the part we kiss”.” Nicholas said, imitated Bernie at the point with a somewhat nasal tone, “This isn’t a brothel, but people came to see emotion and passion. Show it!” It was such a harsh reality for Nicholas as he couldn’t just throw Bernie out. He looked the part with a strong body that Michelangelo would have sculpted. He looked the part and his past performances had brought a certain female allure, not to mention Nicholas was sure Bernie got a certain Duchess all flustered. He couldn’t accept such weakness.

Nicholas had jumped out of his seat with his hollering, but found it again peacefully as Eva only winced a smile at Bernie. His touch was so gentle and unconfident. Something conflicted inside the young man and only a woman could see that. Men had different forms of inspection, but women looked in the eyes. Eva could see something in the young man that made her heart ache for him and gave Bernard an encouraging smile.

“Come on, Bernie. Just like we practiced…” Her words were soft and evocative. Something about her tone stirred something in others, men or women. Perhaps it was the softness or kindness. Either way, it was enough for Bernard to steel himself as he grabbed onto Eva with a strength that was sure to leave bruises on her and forced himself a kiss, forgoing the dialog before it. Nicholas grunted, letting his foot tap as he thought on if he liked the scene or not.

“You could always just go with Othello.” A voice piped in behind him, a smug John looking at Nicholas that only brought a further snarl out of the theater owner. John’s smile was always so… enraging. It wasn’t because he looked annoying, but because he was always so handsome. Nicholas had never felt less than John other when the cad dared to give him a smile, which only brought memories of that same smile when they met their “associate”. Chills ran down Nicholas’ spine and he pushed away regret and emotion as he always did, killing emotions was easy for Nicholas.

“We tried. Bernard is terrible at the part. Romeo is easier.” Nicholas said gruffly. It had been a tough year with the buzz being about industrialization. Most of the ones that were worth rubbing elbows with had gone to Victoria for the World’s Fair and the hype was still focused on the idea of inventions and the future rather than plays of the past. Nicholas had started writing a few plays of his own, but he wouldn’t be able to get the draw unless he had three things: big names, famous plays, and sex. Sex was easy to push out as was the plays, but the cast he had were all blossoming stars. As such, he couldn’t slouch with the usual and had to make a show that would draw them across the country. Shakespeare had that effect on the upper-class as long as there was promise of sensuality.

“Bernard isn’t a n****r. I could get you a few.” John said simply, always wanting to help out Nicholas, if only so the determined man would “owe him one” so he’d be able to dip his fingers into one of the younger girls.

“I will not have a negro on my stage. Are you insane?” Nicholas said incredulously, “I get enough talk as it is.” Nicholas motioned for the two to depart as he motioned for Sergei to approach, no words needed between the cast as they were well informed of one another’s quirks.

“Oh, but Nicholas, I had thought you were a “yank” at heart.” John snickered; his body sprawled out along the chair as he gave passing smiles to the young women that walked by.

“Don’t be stupid. I have nothing against those people, but they will not be found on my stage as prominent actors. People will think I’ve gone mad and are some sort of extremist. No, Bernard will do if only because he will give something to the women to look at. Get him a tight pair of pants that will be passable as accurate.” Nicholas said that only lured a guttural laugh from the handsome John.

Backstage was a different animal entirely as Eva and Bernie quietly walked backstage together, “T-thank you, Eva. I… am sorry. My mind is not with me today.” Bernie’s words were sincere and expected as Eva had gathered as much rather easily with the young man’s confliction on grabbing on to her. Most times he did so with rather ease, but ever since Nicholas had announced Romeo and Juliet, he had been slowly getting less and less weak with his gusto.

“It is fine, Bernard. Get some rest and we will try again later tonight.” She sighed, watching the man walk away in a daze as another female approached: Isabella. Eva’s face lit up as the two came to hold hands civilly, an act Isabella did often to distinguish her friends.

“I was watching from the wings, Eva. You were amazing! Bernard really grabbed on to you, didn’t he.” Isabella squealed through her light accent, which Eva only found to increase her charm. The poor girl found Bernard ruggedly handsome though was unable to see that the man had different “tastes”.

“I fear he left some marks.” Eva said in a soft tone, if only for Isabella’s dark, brown eyes to light up in giggles. Isabella was a young woman with features that weren’t well known in London. There was an exoticness about her that caught the eye of many English gentlemen; Philip be damned. Eva found herself even admiring Isabella’s looks and there was some jealousy in her, as though the brunette was considered a beauty to her own, hers was not as exotic as her dear friend’s. Whatever resentment she might have had for the girl was washed away by her friend’s sweet demeanor that only lured further smiles from her gentle features.

“Did you hear about Jack Thornton’s play? Lucy Caldwell was said to be the favorite and she’s going to be invited to a party at the palace by someone of “great importance”!” Isabella meant no harm, but harm she wrought with her words that only turned Eva’s face with redness from anger.

“Oh? I hadn’t heard about that.” She lied, always being on top of such information, “Good for her.” Eva had a proper voice most times, but as she spoke through her teeth, it only made her squeak lightly that was often a problem for her when she got worked up. Isabella’s words were drawn out as Eva could only feel the tension of jealousy take her breast. She was just as pretty as Lucy Caldwell! Nicholas was even quick to add that her skin was far nicer while Lucy suffered from a small scarring which many whispered on being “pox-marks” on her left shoulder. It was barely seen and while such scarring was a want for many employers, the idea that such a mark would be favorable to look at was just insanity in Eva’s mind.

“Well, I have to go! A certain gentleman near the new gallery has given some rather… stimulating discussion.” The Spanish woman squealed as she danced off. Eva only let a soft smile come to her lips as she watched her nearly dance out of the theater. Backstage was usually so full of life, but with the coming of night, the usual bustle died down as the girl slowly walked to the dressing room, deciding she had enough being Juliet today and wanted to be Eva, if only for a little while.

Slipping into something simple, a soft blue dress that went well with the night. A simple jacket of sorts covered her body well. Keeping her elegance, class, and modesty all contained under the feeling of the cloth, or as John liked to say “keeping them caged”. Her way out was met with the very man’s leering eyes. She thought that John was a good looking man, but he was a rascal at best, a scoundrel at worst. Either way, he loved such insults as it only added to his ego in mind. She offered him nothing but a neutral nod, but gave Sergei, who looked on at her with such keen and focused eyes, a smile befit for a gentleman, even if the term “gentle” was far from the man’s personality.

London was a sight at night. It was a place of art and music most nights, the lights from celebrations in defiance of the French’s claim on the arts was harsh. Sometimes the celebrations felt forced as if drinking yourself into a stupor was the only weapon against such egotism, but Evangeline was never one to succumb to such weakness. She was a proper young lady and would never do something so… fun? Eva’s hand started to rub onto her earrings softly as she saw a couple drinking on top of one another. This was a secular time, yes, but the smell of sex and booze started to affect Evangeline as she tried to push past it all, her shoes tapping lightly from the celebration which only dipped into a wondrous curiosity for the girl. She had drunk, but the idea to lose yourself in the drink and passion was something she had only pretended on the stage. It made her question if she ought to know it, if she was less of an actress or a woman for not knowing such things. She had pushed the thoughts out of her head as a new idea came to her.

“Isabella. She said something about a new gallery. I’m sure she would not mind showing me around. Yes, I’m sure it will be fine. With friend or not!” She piped, as she walked now with purpose toward the gallery that Isabella had often pointed to when the two walked past. Each time they did, she would speak on a young gentleman that she ever so liked and who spoke with such a handsome tone. Oddly enough, Isabella fell silent when Eva asked what he looked like. Isabella was not the sort to be embarrassed on detail and though she was a little scatterbrained, the idea she would always forget what he looked like caught Eva more than a little curious. Half of the trip was motivated at finally meeting the man so that she had a face to picture with the squeals of Isabella.

The gallery was a single building built only to house art. Such displays were not rare thanks to the movement from classical art. It was a time of change and art was always the first to replicate what was in the air. Most times it was simplistic things like the romanticism art that cast a glare on industry, but something else was changing. Eva was not the type to know what was happening, but galleries at the time were filled with an energy that pushed Eva into inspiration. It created a feeling she wanted to portray and most of her best work was after she had strolled through the galleries. John was better suited at telling you what were surrealist and realist and whatever else there was, but there was a spirit Eva looked to.

Her first walk through the gallery was strangely devoid of this feeling as something felt off. Something didn’t feel right and Eva just felt… wrong. The people in the gallery were few, which wasn’t odd, but it gave a feeling of seclusion to Eva that brought out an instinct in her. Something that made her want to run away. Her thoughts went to Isabella and she started to hunt for the girl. The gallery was so small and sparse that she easily could tell she wasn’t present. A coy smile came to her lips as the alleys were her next guess. Perhaps Isabella was becoming intimate with the handsome stranger? A lady shouldn’t have looked, but Eva couldn’t help herself, blushing at the thought of seeing Isabella entwined in such a way.

To Eva’s credit, she did not burst in, but peaked in softly. Two figures lay on the ground. Eva giggled as she had been correct. She continued to watch, but saw neither moved. Perhaps they had… finished? Eva approached quietly and the more she observed, the more she felt that terrible feeling. It wasn’t two; she had only thought it was because she wanted it to be such. A small, petite figure lay in the alley with a recognizable complexion that Eva knew all too well. Something else: blood. Blood was smeared all across the alley as if someone had taken buckets of paint and splashed it about then rolled around in it. Hand marks and… claw marks, it seemed, were spread around the body. Evangeline started to realize that it wasn’t just Isabella’s corpse in whole, but her body and a pile of organs accompanied her.

“Angel.”

Eva let herself gasp as she heard her alias spoken by a voice she knew all too well. She spun around to see Sergei… and a woman, Wilhelmina. Eva looked at the two in shock as questions started to pull at her.

“Angel. We have to go get help.” Sergei said through his accent, something that Eva found more than a little attractive, but now… she only felt confused and frightened. What was going on?

***


Nicholas awoke from his bed in a cold sweat. His hand coming to his face as he felt the ice in his stomach melt and the numbing started to fade. It was always the same dream. It was always at the Daimon. He stood with John, Eva, Bernie, and the others. They drank some sort of wine. He was sure it was something intoxicating. They were celebrating something; maybe an event or perhaps just life in general, though it was far from the norm. A knock to the door was heard. Nicholas looked around, none had noticed. He mumbled to himself something in good nature, a type of feeling he had not felt in years. He was always so jaded, but in his dream… he was happy. He opened, knowing it was Victoria. There was nothing that gave the girl’s name away, but Nicholas only knew.

He rushed to the door to open it, but as he opened it, only night came. Outside had turned dark, though the theater inside was daylight. No lights were lit, but the night crept in, battling back the sunlight. Laughter escalated and drowned out his screams as he was frozen. Something in him making him unable to move or act. He watched as the laughter from his cast and workers heightened until it wasn’t anything but the shrill of screams of suffering and agony. They all turned to look at him one by one, screaming as if they were in the very fires of hell. Nicholas felt tears come to him as each gave him the very look that Victoria had given him; the look of confusion, pain, and death. Life drifted away from each, but only one stood and kept laughing. That was of his friend, John. The darkness touched him unaffected as the laughter, his laughter, mirrored that of the night of the sacrifice. Nicholas could only watch as Eva’s scream became especially intolerable for him and with her death, he awoke.

He did not know what the dream would be, but he understood it from the small pits of his sub-consciousness: something was coming. Something was going to happen that Nicholas’ cold demeanor could not protect himself from and he had “opened the door” for it to come.