Brilliant cerulean light wept through the towering windows, the magnificent arches with absolutely nothing upon the other side - such lights created only by thousands of candles, which forced the eerie light out and across the chapel. The marble stone seemed to glimmer with the illuminations, causing the floor to appear almost akin to water, an ideal diminished only by the rows of pews that lined the halls, and the massive stone alter raised upon upon a dias at the very front of the church. Only several people were dotted about the place, each of them seeming at peace with their own thoughts, as they stared blankly ahead of them, their hands folded in reverent prayer.

Stood with his back to the rest of the chapel, Lucas Russell released a very soft sigh - the sound barely audible, kept behind his teeth as if fully aware that even the softest of voices would ring out through the marble halls, each word making itself known to unwanted listeners. After all, he had been here for more than long enough to realise that even the slighest hint of discontent would spread throughout The Aristocracy like wildfire - and then, soon enough, he would arrive, him with his blonde curls and cold smile - laughing shrilly and disturbing the peace, cursing and behaving as though he owned even the chapel. The last time Julien had paraded along, Lucas had locked himself away inside the confession box for eighty minutes, praying for his Master to leave him be.

Turning away from the windows, Lucas glanced about the chapel - soft mahogony eyes lingering upon the shadowed doorway at the opposite end of the hall. No one would arrive, he had grown used to this by now - only several people within the coven still truly wanted to come to the chapel, the rest of them avoided it like the plague, eyebrows arching with slight shock and disdain when they passed him in the hall-way. The tip of a slender index finger came to rest upon a deep scarlet lower lip, tracing it idly as he stared off into nothingness.

One of the few people who had gathered in the church rose, nodding to him slightly before quickly making their way to the exit. Their eyes never met his - no one's ever did. Shame, Lucas had decided, forbade this, making it near impossible to look into the eyes of one who still held hope for every being inside The Aristocracy.

Stirring himself from his thoughts, the dark haired priest began to descend the steep dias steps, his shoes ringing slightly with each step. The sound was comforting and almost pleasant to him, as though reminding him that he still lived - as obscure and surreal as his life was. Upon reaching the front row of pews, Lucas bent a little, begining to gather up the hymn books from the seats and resting them in the crook of his arm.

Night was drawing in, and the usual feeling of loneliness had begun to descend upon the chapel, attempting to grip at Lucas' heart. In all of the years spent inside the coven, he had managed to evade it - playing a game of cat-and-mouse with anxiety as soon as dusk drew close. Tonight, undoubtedly, would be no different.

Another day had passed. Another meaningless day in this place, it only felt that way because dear Christelle knew no one, she felt like she couldn't fit in at all, the only place she found peace was the Chapel. Feeling that god was the only friend she had now, she dropped all that heavy clothing, all that heavy makeup, all her heavy jewellry onto the floor next to her bed. Changing into light silks, light makeup, light jewellry...she took her hair down, letting it flow past her shoulders, her head pounded, her emotions stirred, she felt tears stored in her eyes, she also felt in the mood to sing.

Removing her pathetic, lord knows what inch boots, she kicked them under her bed, her fishnet tights following. On her person now was a white chiffon top, a long soft velvet skirt that just tickled the start of her ankles, this was a deep red colour, she left her feet bare but slipped some gentle black leather sandals on, on her wrist she had a charm bracelet and on the other side was a single dark blue ribbon, tied in a little bow.

Leaving the dorm, she fled, fled to the comfort, her friend, a place where no one could judge her, look at her and laugh, a place where she could let her voice be free, the one person who adored her voice and he was high in the blessed skies above. Her sandals padded gently along the velvet carpet, the smell of insense at every turn, the candles now lit, the curtains to the imaginary windows drawn. Her scent of Vanilla and Raspberry flew after her, dancing on the tips of her hair, her skirt and her skin. The light of the candles were drowned in her liquid hazel eyes, at long last, she reached the chapel.

Slipping inside, she closed the door behind her, leaning on it with her back it closed silently and she sighed, her dusted eyes closing for the moment as she strung together a few words in her head, a short song she had been thinking about all day, slipping her sandals off, she began.

I was a fool....to....Believe...a fool, to believe...

She began walking, her eyes opening slowly, the dim light of the candles shining on her untouched skin, her hands brushing her feather like skirt, her nails, shining in the light. She continued, walking past the pews.

It all ends today.....

Reaching the altar, she looked up at it, resting both her angelic hands on the wooden barrier, she dipped a little for the great one, his blessed altar that she forever adored, each pattern carved seemed to tell a story, each statue of an angel, of crosses and flowers, all wooden and shaped to perfection, feeling the need to raise her voice a little more, she did so and finished her song.

..Yes it all ends.......Today

Tears fell as she dragged the last word of her song on in a huge sigh, dipping elegantly down to the floor, she cupped her face in his hands and more tears fell, each one slipping through the gaps between her fingers, some falling onto her skirt, the others onto the well kept marble floor. There she sat.

The distant creak of the church doors stirred Lucas from his silent reverie; chestnut eyes rising from the hymn books placed upon the pews. By now, he was a little too used to this evening routine, finding it dull and somewhat repetitive. Had it been the Venice Cathedral, where the golden evening sun leaked through the windows, and the sound of music was ever present in the balmy air, then perhaps such feelings of confinement would never have taken place. Yet here in the chilled passage-ways of The Aristocracy, where no weather or light or music could possibly reach - the priest found himself to feel a little more than trapped. Yet sense of duty forced him to continue.

With a vague rush of interest, Lucas rested the last hymn book on top of the pile held in the crook of his arm; straightening up slightly as to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. When evening drew near, those few attendants still faithful to their religion would always leave, vanishing off on some macarbe form of hunting and leaving behind all thoughts of God or servitude. This visitor appeared somewhat different.

With a slight feeling of shock, Lucas realised that the visitor was a woman - a rare sight in the chapel, the usual attendants being only men who had been sired late in life, with no hope of pleasure in undeath. Here, however, was a young woman - a flash of colour in the sombre place, with her white blouse and scarlet skirt. As she began to approach the alter, the priest's eyes averted politely, and he made to return to gathering up the hymn books once more, the task seeming to take somewhat longer than usual; the rows of pews appearing almost endless to him.

As he moved between the benches, the slight rustle of the priestly cotton robes the only sound he seemed to make, Lucas found himself slightly aware that the young woman was talking - no, singing to herself. He could not quite catch at the words, the slight echo created by the cavernous walls magnifying the song in an eerie manner which obscured every syllable. However, just as his hand extended to reach for the last book, the woman's voice rose upwards, her words finally becoming clear.

..Yes it all ends.......Today

Straightening himself, Lucas turned about on his heel, carmine lips pressing together in a vague expression of worry. Her voice seemed familiar, although no face sprang to mind when he tried to find an identity. Lightly, he moved around to the other side of the pew as to walk nearer to her, pausing just as he reached her side. That eerie sapphire light created by the stained glass caught his skin, illuminating very lightly bronzed features as he looked down upon her as she knelt before the alter.

"What ends today, if I may ask?" His voice was soft, infringed with light sounds of Ireland, causing rich tones to appear musical as he offered a slight smile to her

Her ears gave a twitch, all movement ceased, who was this?, that accent, where had she heard it before? The question asked seemed so gentle and honey like which meant the person seemed harmless, she didn't feel ready to look upon the persons face as yet. Flicking her remaining tears to the floor, she eventually lifted her face, the tears having left a glittery pattern down the middle of her cheeks.

"Today......my attempts of trying to fit in here are coming to an end. I simply give up."

A pause to think gave her chance to stand with the help of the wooden rail in front of her, her makeup seemed untouched by her tears, like they were glass and not liquid, more tears welled up as she turned to the other, her vision blurred so she couldn't quite see who it was now, she just relied on her ears.

"Inside my heart is breaking, and my makeup may be flaking...but my smile? it still.....It still stays on..."

Giving a heavy hearted smile, the warm tears slid down her face, breaking into a million shards at her feet, she felt silly now , she felt like a small child again, straigtening herself up she took a breath and didn't even have to wipe her face, her eyes were not red nor did she have tear shine on her cheeks, she lifted her eyes to the other's face and studied it at ease.

"Forgive me father. I am silly."

Chocolate shaded eyes widened a little, a slight expression of surprise reaching light coffee-tinted features. Lucas had not quite expected her to be crying; it had been obvious that something was amiss, that was true, although he had expected only a bitter smile, a roll of the eyes and a flourish of a pale hand, before she swept from the chapel. Yet this was quite a seperate case. Carefully, as not to spill the books upon the floor, the priest lay his hand on the very top of the pile, his head tilted to one side very slightly. His complexion was that of one who spent a long time in a warm country; healthy and gently tanned - a glimmer remaining in his eyes that even death had not stolen away.

"Give up? You don't need to give up - you see, you have come to the heart of the problem and accepted it. All you really need to do is find a way of doing something about it."

Offering an unobtrusive little smile, Lucas turned towards the alter, taking a few steps up the dias as to place the books in their rightful place. Delicately, he brushed his hands together in an effort to sweep aside the light layer of dust which had gathered on the surface of the hymn books, his voice barely above a whisper when he spoke, although he did not appear to be trying to be so quiet. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he folded slender hands over one another before him, his expression oddly benevolent as he looked at her.

That voice of hers, it seemed so oddly familiar, yet nothing at all brought about a name that he could assign to it. Perhaps it had been someone he had met once in a market stall in Venice, or inside the confession box. The latter was highly likely, yet still the question hounded in the back of his mind, as to what she had said - for her to remain so very familiar to him, her voice must have uttered something important, or been close at an important time.

"You aren't silly, you shouldn't say such things. You are feeling emotions that we all have felt at some point in our lives, yet the trappings of The Aristocracy are only going to make it seem worse for you." Sighing delicately, he glanced down, a vague air of bitterness almost rising to the surface of that gentle Irish voice. "That us why many people seek refuge in the church, it is empty of such feelings. Even if you are a none-believer it doesn't matter - the building itself is soothing."

Smiling warmly, he extended his hand to her, the black cotton of his priestly robes falling back in the action, revealing a little more of that warmly tanned skin. It seemed odd that he had not lost that Italian sun-tan after all these years - as though he defied Death to turn him to marble.

"My name is Lucas. You may call me Father if you wish, but I am Lucas," one brow arched slightly, vaguely inquiring. "May I ask your name?"

Ears perked again, that name struck her like a dart.

"Lucas?"

Her glassy eyes were as wide as dinner plates, her mouth opening a little in awe, her brain in full function to her memory as that was the last name she had heard, Caramel eyes scanned the other up and down once before melting into the chocolate ones before them, stepping forward she stopped herself before she got too excited, could this have been the one she had met all those years ago? She watched as Lucas stretched out his hand, she slipped her smaller soft version into his.

"My name is Christelle, Christelle Lefèvre"

She gave a little smile, her hand slipped from his like lace and then she began rubbing her elbow slightly shyly and giving the beautiful tiles on the floor a taste of caramel as she lowered her head, nodding gently she lifted her eyes back up to meet his.

"I will call you father, somehow i feel it is more respectful, i wouldn't want to pass myself off as rude under the eyes of God himself"

Gulping silently she hoped and prayed to the owner of this house that he before her was indeed the very same man she had, met in a way, that night she was brought here by the one she didn't like to name, She had always wondered since she was parted from that stranger of what became of him?

Cool fingers tensed against Christelle's slightly, a vague frown furrowing the space between his brows. That name rang a bell somewhere in his mind, although yet again he was not quite certain where. It was as though someone stood before him, dangling information and memories above his head and just out of reach - making him feel like the victim in a game of cat-and-mouse. After so very many years spent in Ireland and then Italy, and then The Aristocacy, Lucas' memories of individuals jumbled horribly before his eyes, intermingling and constantly surrounded by the glorious golden light of a Venetian summer's day.

"Christelle Lefèvre; it's a curious name. I'm quite certain that I've heard a name like that, perhaps a variation - although I'm probably just thinking about things too deeply." A slightly embarrassed smile flashed for a moment, before he merely lowered his hand, smoothing down the creases in the front of his robes carefully. "It is rather a rare name though, not common at all."

It was true - though the name was rare, it could quite easily have reached his ears through a conversation of some kind. Whether it was in an exchange with his mother, or the priests in Ireland - or even at one of the summer fayre's in Florence, with the bunches of ripe grapes furling about the pergolas, the long tables filled with exotic Italian foods..and the music, intoxicating and lulling - it was enough to destroy anyone's memory. The Christelle Lefèvre he had heard of, could be a peasant girl or an artistocrat, and Lucas would probably never know. Surely he would not have heard of the woman before him - although his mind refused to let go of the possibility.

"I will call you father, somehow i feel it is more respectful, i wouldn't want to pass myself off as rude under the eyes of God himself"

Her voice brought him back to reality, and with a blithe little smile, he inclined his head, his hand extending towards the alter just behind her. Pulling his hand away, it became apparent that he had been searching for a key, and with a delicate nod he returned to his before position, turning the piece of metal slowly between his fingers.

"You couldn't be considered rude, I wouldn't worry." Coffee-kissed eyes darted upwards, drifting over her face from the cover of dense lashes. "How long have you been in The Aristocracy, if I may ask? I've never seen you in the chapel before, I don't believe."

Giving a slightly nervous smile, she tipped her head to the side, a somewhat curious grin on her face, she ran her fingers over the palm of her other hand and thought long before she actually began to speak.

"You know, it's funny, I could've sworn we've met before, although i don't remember your face, your name. I've heard it before...."

Feeling the fool she shook her head and gave a slight chuckle, turning on the spot, her bare feet merely tickled the light carpet of wax, her skirts swooping after her ballerina posture

"I come here for peace. I find this is is needed, many here are foolish, i choose not to get along with them, I can't simply see myself to be like them, they are rebellious, they will never step foot in here, because in their eyes there is no reason to. I have been at the aristocracy for 6 years now....I come in here every day, but i chose not to be seen or heard because of the fact i thought everyone in this building was the same, the same as....him...I just saw an image, little servants to he who captured me six years ago, he was beautiful but had a streak of poison in him."

Pausing to erase the growing memory of her capturers face, she sharply took in breath and held the same wrist she was pressed against the wall with, she looked at her silky skin and had a light vision of his hand clamping it to those rough bricks, Letting her wrist drop, she sat herself down at the first Pew and turned to Lucas and said strongly

"My days of clowning around.....are no more."

One brow rose a little, and he simply smiled, begining to move towards the tall rows of candles which lined the alter. Coffee-laced eyes remained fixed upon her, although his hands deftly rose and lifed one of the candles from its perch - offering the fluttering flame to the other unlit candles, which had gone out during that night's mass.

"It is the same with you - your name is familiar, although I cannot place it. Unless you have travelled to Ireland or Italy, however, I can't understand how I could have met you before." He paused for a few moments, slender fingers sheltering the dimming flame. "Unless of course, I happened upon you briefly inside here. That is a possibility, although a very rare one. I prefer the shelter of the chapel."

It was true enough - Lucas barely wandered outside the walls of the chapel, unless he absolutely had to. Once or twice he had been tempted to wander the cold streets of the town up above; drinking black coffee and indulging in an almond croissant in a dimly lit café. The dream had been shattered by a violet haired man's lulling words, however - the odd creature weaving tales of godless lands and science, as he sat sipping flagrant tea and eating toffees. He appeared sweet and delightful, wise and warm - yet his choice of life and thoughts worried Lucas, and sent him back to the chapel for long weeks afterwards. The second time around, the journey had been destroyed by him; the blonde haired narcissus with all of the emerald foppery, the high voice and inappropriate comments and touches. After that, the priest had decided that the only place he was safe was the church, and had not wandered outside since.

The flame had begun to burn the tips of his fingers, and with a slight grimace of pain, Lucas lowered it back to the stand. The lights shimmered dully, drowned out and insignificant when overshadowed by the brilliant cerulean light emerging from the stained glass windows. A dark red lower lip caught between his teeth, and he paused for a few seconds, as if mulling over her words inside his head. When he finally spoke, that soft Irish accent held a somewhat reminiscent edge - chestnut optics catching the light of the candles as he looked towards Christelle.

"Beautiful with a streak of poison. Oh, I understand your meaning quite well - though I am quite sure this little Adonis is not quite as poisonous as the man who brought me here." A slight laugh escaped him and he shook his head. "The metallic voice, bursts of laughter, and oh - the patronising pats on the head, and stiffled giggles. No, you will never meet one quite as bad as Ju-- as him."

A poisoned rose; the snake in Paradise - the worm at the core of the apple...that little devil had been Satan with the face of a china-doll, stealing him away from the balmy Italian summers, and offering a life-time of constant torture and perpetual coldness. All without even the question; "Do you want it?".

Sighing gently, Lucas descended the dias, and came to sit near Christelle on the pew, his hands folding together lightly in his lap.

"Clowning around? What do you intend to do?"

A sigh left Christelle's lips.
Her head lowered, honey melted on the tiles below, raspberry lips parted again but this time remained quiet while words were being strung together, iced fingertips played over one another in the pause, until the words slipped out.

"I plan to start again, live as if nothing in my past ever happened. I don't want it to weigh me down anymore, I want to be a better person that what i am now."

Her eyes drifted to the lit candles. The ever melting honey over powering the flames, a cold chill ran over her body, she didn't mind as this was cooling and it felt nice on her skin. Turning to the other, she gave a watered down smile.

"I will be sure to visit everyday, as long as i know i have a friend here..or two. What i'd give to be a person of the chapel, even if the job were as simple as to clean, i'd do it..."

Christelle's mind burnt at the memory of him. The violent snake with the beauty that could charm thousands. She as it seemed, was one of those thousands, although her seduction could not be helped, He had taken her and held her in his trap, all the way until they came to the aristocracy. At that moment her ears twitched.

"You were brought here...? By a man you said..?"

This caught her attention as Lucas sat down, she had been listening of course to every word he had said to her, she took note when Lucas said he had been brought here by a man, This had to be the one she met before!! she was building up in a mild but panicy manner.

"The one you speak of, I will not say his name as i fear it will soil the hearing of the great lord, but i will say this, his image, deadly but beautiful as i have said before, as much as you wanted to get away, something there stopped you from moving? as if, as if your feet were nailed to the ground by evil lead nails? His hands, like feathers they looked but in truth they were steel bounds forbidding all movement?!"

That image she saw ran a sudden panic through her, her back was pressed against the pew and she drew her hand to her chest to calm herself down, breathing heavily she closed her eyes, how silly she felt now.

Bronzed fingers rose a little, curling about the crucifix that lay at the base of his throat. To hear one speak words so similar to one-time thoughts of his own, was oddly unnerving. After all, had he not once longed for something else? To escape the confines of normality and the pressures of the world outside, taking solace in the cool silence of the church. How had a life of chastity led to an eternity of unending sin and self loathing? The world in which he had been unwillingly bound to was the polar opposite of all he had worked for - his entire childhood spent pouring over only holy books, while his adult years were destined to be spent in a miserable chapel, governed by a man with the heart of Satan.

Sighing delicately, Lucas stirred himself from his reverie, warm brown eyes fluttering from the candles and resting upon Christelle. She seemed world weary, to him; yet the honesty with which she spoke gave him more than enough reasons not to doubt her sincerity.

"You are always welcome here. I'm quite certain that I could find some place for you; a proper place. You sing with such passion, I see no reason why you could not become a part of the choir." Smiling faintly, he averted his gaze to his lap, fingers interlacing once more. "It has been too long since the walls of the chapel were alive with song."

It was true, barely anyone would come to sing in the choir. Occasionally, the halls rang with the haunting soprano of Seral Amanae, her proud figure obscured by the crystalline blue lights that shimmered about the marble palace. Yet her songs were never saintly, each word that poured forth would speak only of undying love for one lost forever to the fires of Hell. Sinful and iniquitous, her shattered past would spring to life amongst the candles, dancing amongst the pews like demons. Once, he had requested a holy song, and her Ave Maria had stabbed him to the heart, so filled with bitterness and sorrow she was that those comdemned lips of hers offered only sadness.

"You were brought here...? By a man you said..?"

Blinking back the depression that threatened to ensnare him at the memory of that song, the young priest found himself caught off guard at her question, and for a few moments he remained silent, listening to her words.

"The one you speak of, I will not say his name as i fear it will soil the hearing of the great lord, but i will say this, his image, deadly but beautiful as i have said before, as much as you wanted to get away, something there stopped you from moving? as if, as if your feet were nailed to the ground by evil lead nails? His hands, like feathers they looked but in truth they were steel bounds forbidding all movement?!"

"Curls as golden as the Italian sun, his eyes reminiscent of a lake in the very depths of winter?" His voice whispered silently, quaking and wavering with each word. "With porcelain skin enveloped in emerald velvet, and a voice so intoxicating that one could lose themselves in its waves...yes, I believe you and I think of the same man. He is the embodiment of sin, throwing away God and Christ, and giving himself over to a life of uncaring, for he must never face them. Oh, yes. I know Julien D`Lorve."

Christelle could do nothing more than nod dumbly towards Lucas. His words dropped to the floor like lead balloons as they left his feathery lips, Christelle closed her mouth after listening in complete awe, the one Lucas described was the very same man that had abducted her that night and brought her to this, this that could only be described as beauty behind thick velvet curtains that dressed not windows, but paintings.

"Then you must be the man i met that night...you spoke such calm words, words to stop my tears, words that banished all sense of fear, you told me everything was going to be alright...and i believed you, i calmed...We exchanged names....I remember...yes...You are Lucas Russell!!"

Heart pounding at this sudden excitement, she could do nothing more than wait for Lucas' reply, she did not want to jump into anything as she saw nothing of the mans image that night she was bound. The honey in her eyes solidified as they became fixed upon Lucas' person, a nervous gulp ran down Christelle's throat, her tone shortened to a whisper, the sound weaving it's way through the tiny specks of dust in the air.

"Tell me i am right, tell me you were him that protected me from all fear and sin....my lord?......Lucas?

Her lips were pursed.