A/N: I am a horrible person and have got to stop this constant influx of story ideas. Inspired by this song: Imagniaerum by Nightwish. I literally listened to this song on loop while I wrote in one sitting. It could be a oneshot but I'll probably continue it.

Imaginarium

1: Prologue

She remembered the anticipation of sitting in the darkness, the silence. It was as if the entire audience had been holding their collective breaths, waiting, hoping, for the story to unfold. Then the music started and the watchers released their pent up tension in favor of the tingle of excitement. The in-house band and micro-orchestra filled the atmosphere with a melody that set the stage for the tale to be told.

The Downworlders Company was a local phenomenon that was steadily gaining popularity outside of her hometown. They combined characteristics of the cirque with music by local artists which gave the community a much appreciated boost in tourism. They were known for their clever and creative adaptations of fairy tales, old and new, popular and little known. That night, they were presenting a version of the Twelve Dancing Princesses by the Brothers Grimm, one of her favorite fairtales of all time.

Her childish eyes were focused firmly on the elegant figure wrapped securely in two long strands of blood red silk descending gracefully from the ceiling. The curtain lining the far wall was backlit by the same garnet light which steadily faded to orange and yellow mimicking a sunrise. The silk aerialist's form was dark, a living shadow sliding between the silk strands like water flowing over moss. The movements oozed a sensuality that she, at her then young age, was just beginning to understand.

The false sunrise began to illuminate the aerialist's lithe body, revealing him to the audience of voyeurs. His sun-kissed skin gleamed in the warm glow sparkling with the faintest hint of glitter on his skin and dusted in his hair. Streaks of golden blonde peaked out from his short, ebony locks which was gelled up and soft in appearance like the feathers of a raven's wing. His eyes were an inhuman gold, the pupils slited like a cat's. They were emphasized by heavy kohl and eyeshadow, giving him a mystical feel. A single, oval jewel the same shade of red as the false sunrise burned at the center of his forehead surrounded by gold leaf on his skin that created the illusion of a circlet disappearing into his dark hairline.

She recognized him from the show's program she'd borrowed from her mother before the lights went down. He was The Warlock, the sorcerer whom the princesses beg to allow them to dance forever. Little did they know such a spell was twofold. The princesses could dance every night in his enchanted realm from sundown to sunrise, but only as long as they kept their nightly escapades a secret from the world. Anyone who tried to follow them and break the spell were captured by The Warlock's magical web and ensorcelled to remain behind in his hidden realm, never to see the outside world or speak of what they had seen.

"Nothing is without its price," she breathed.

The character description of The Warlock in the program reverberating in her mind. The princesses kept their vow to The Warlock in a twisted fashion. Any man who came seeking to solve the mystery of the princesses' worn out dance shoes in an effort to receive the hand of one of them in marriage as reward was taken with them to The Warlock's enchanted realm and bespelled by him to prevent them from escaping and revealing the princesses' secret. This secret they shared with The Warlock, this mutual reliance, this contract was signed and sealed in blood.

Most little girls who watched the performance probably thought the Warlock was the enemy, but she didn't. She didn't feel anger or the desire to see The Warlock defeated. When she watched The Warlock's performance that night, she saw a lover like the ones she read about in books or saw in numerous paintings in museums. She had watched him and felt, not sad just melancholy. She had felt like there was something missing, but she couldn't put her finger on what.

The false sunrise became daylight and The Warlock's glittering outfit of garnet and black hugged his form like fire. It followed his movements like flames licking his body. She knew now it was a foreshadowing of his death in the finale. The Warlock hailed the start of the tale in a burning sunrise and would end it in the blaze of devouring flames with a corresponding sunset. His story was tragic and held her attention much more than the love story between the Eldest Princess and The Hunter turned 'rescuer' and prince.

At the time, she could almost sense a budding love story between The Warlock and the Eldest Princess. The way his golden cat-eyes followed the Eldest Princess as she flew delicately through the air after being tossed up by The Hunter on the trapeze hinted at something more than just a captor observing his prey. She found herself watching The Warlock closely and detected a hint of anger, sadness, pain... Betrayal. She had seen betrayal in his eyes.

It was then she realized The Warlock had been in love with the Eldest Princess and she had either never known or simply refused to requite his feelings. A heavy pain settled on her shoulders then as The Warlock tangled himself in his lonely silk embrace and danced to the music. She swire later she had seen a tear fall from his eyes as the character observed the princesses flee the crumbling realm he'd made especially for them at their wish, all because they broke the one rule he gave them. She had watched his heart crumble to dust with his realm and still he danced in silk until sunrise, alone.

Only then had he stepped into the light of day. It struck her then that this was the first time she had ever seen The Warlock in the false daylight of the stage lights. Until now, he had always appeared from dusk till dawn. Yet there he was. Finally, she could see him fully. He was beautiful.

She remembered watching him glide down the two blood red silk strands until his feet brushed the raised platform that served as the princesses home where their father The King lived for the first time during the entire show. She had wanted to scream, to beg him to get back on the silk, back into the sky where he was free. But her voice never could come. It had caught in her throat, too entangled with a sob to form actual words.

She remembered watching, heart aching, as The Warlock approached The Hunter and The King, demanding reparations for the broken contract that had been signed freely by both sides. He would receive none. The King had The Hunter arrest him. The Warlock fought but she could see in her memory how every movement was The Warlock made had been slow, weighed down by betrayal and a broken heart. With little resistance, The Hunter had taken The Warlock by the throat and tossed him into an abyss that glowed red from the all too real flames flickering over the rim.

Only then did she remember a tear slipping silently down her cheek. She knew now what The Warlock had been missing during his first performance, during all of his performances: a partner. He was always alone. He danced around the other characters, never with them.

She remembered the lights begin the darken, heralding an oncoming sunset. The Hunter and the Eldest Princess performed a duet trapeze act together, eventually joined by the rest of the cast minus The Warlock celebrating their love. She could not remembering feeling the love. Her heart had been too busy drowning in pain for one who had only wanted love and gotten death instead. The lights went dark, reflecting her heart.

She had refused to clap until The Warlock stepped onto the platform for his turn to bow. Then she stood and clapped and screamed. She would always love the story, she would always love the show, but her heart would always love the character of The Warlock the best. She never forgot that performance.

The scandal broke a few months later. It turned out that the trapeze artist who played the Eldest Princess had been engaged to the silk aerialist who played The Warlock. Without an forewarning, she up and ran off with the performer who played The Hunter taking her considerable share in the Downworlders Company with her. Journalista believed the silk aerialist had suspected his fiancé of having an affair for at least two months prior to when she left but had not called her on it. He was subsequently left broken hearted and the Downworlders Company becane but destitute without the financial and attendence support the trapeze artist garnered. It struggled to keep its head afloat in the years that followed. The silk aerialist stayed with the Company throughout everything, sinking his money and hard work into the troupe that served as a surrogate family.

That was four years ago. She never forgot that heartfelt performance. In face, she had decided that very day that she would become an acrobat and join the Downworlders Company.

Two years later, the trapeze artist joined an up and coming cirque company that was the Downworlders' direct competitor, The Shadow Hunters. They specialized in death defying stunts, spectacular special effects, holographic imaging, as well as high tech lighting and equipment. They were drawing an ever increasing number of young people to their performances, greatly hindering the still struggling Downworlders Company.

She knew she would have a better chancs with The Shadow Hunters. Maybe she could even have a permanent career with them. But every time she considered joining them, she remembered the betrayed expression on The Warlock's face during that fateful show of the Twelve Dancing Princesses. The memory always served to reaffirm her desire to join the Downworlders. She knew they couldn't afford to pay her much but she wanted the job bad enough that she was willing to volunteer to get it.

When her parents divorced when she was little, she went with her mother and her brother went with her father. She knew the pain of broken love. She saw it every day on her mother's face when her brother was mentioned. She never wanted anyone else to experience that. She would join the Downworlders and do her best to bring it back to the competitive stage.

That was how she found herself standing at the foot of the ticketing office of the Downworlders Company. The Imaginarium, the home stage of the Company, stood just behind the tiny office. This was the big day. Today she would find out whether her dreams of joining the Downworlders would be realized or crushed. She refused to go down in flames. She would burn brightly. This was her dream. It was all she ever wanted.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the office.

"Good afternoon Miss Fray," a kind voice belonging to the Downworlders Company owner said.

This would be her home.