The following is an attempt at a modern setting, so it's a new and exciting area for me; I decided to make it centered around a song called "Nymphetamine (Fix)" by Cradle of Filth, a black metal group. All lyrics in this chapter are from "Nymphetamine (Fix)" and "The Rape and Ruin of Angels (Hosannas in Extremis)."
Special thanks goes to my beta and friend, Erik, for helping me put this together and introducing me to CoF. Please feel free to provide any constructive criticism, if needed. Enjoy!
----------
The angel's voice filled the auditorium, placed in perfect contrast with the screams of the electric guitar. Closing her blue eyes as she sang through the lyrics for what seemed like the millionth time, allowing herself to be swept away in the melodies swirling around her.
"Bared on your tomb, I am a prayer for your loneliness. And would you ever soon come above unto me?"
She did not hear the ocean's roar of voices screaming as she sang.
"For once upon a time, from the binds of your lowliness, I could always find the right slot for your sacred key."
She only heard the music.
Throwing her head back slightly as she went through the lyrics, her long hair swung along with the song, brushing freely at the mid of her back. The gentle motion of golden strands held the gaze of another while she formed the words upon rosy colored lips; even after she had finished singing part of the lyrics and waited for her partner to come in, she swayed to the music, unable to resist the pull it had upon her.
A deep, gravely voice took over. A devil's voice.
"Six feet deep is the incision in my heart, that barless prison," it sang as the flaxen sway kept the attention of the singer. "Discolours all with tunnel vision. Sunsetter. Nymphetamine."
The song continued, passing back and forth between the angel's voice and the devil's voice…she knew this song perfectly, yet at the end she always had cold chills run down her back at the last words in the song:
"My nymphetamine girl."
----------
Safely back in her dressing room, Christine silently brushed her hair slowly and methodically…thinking back to the show, she chastised herself on how she had performed that evening. You know the songs by heart, you dumb bitch. There's no reason that you should've blundered the lyrics after "Nymphetamine!"
Yet, there was a reason. She knew that, but as with everything about her life, she attempted to ignore it.
Putting the brush down, she studied herself in the over-sized mirror.
Long golden blond hair that hung with a slight curl mid-way down her back. Eyes as blue as a summer's sky, framed by perfectly shaped brows. Rosy colored lips that formed a tiny pout of a mouth.
What was it about herself that attracted men to her? She did not view herself as beautiful, only average. Growing angry at the question, she quickly stood and marched over to her closet; angrily yanking a coat of its hanger, she stormed out of the room, a slight scent of her perfume hanging in the air.
One of her band-mates began to speak to her in the hallway, but she cut him off quickly. "Fuck off, all of you!" she yelled, slamming the door behind her before locking it and heading off, leaving the others to glance to one another quizzically.
From somewhere deep in the room, the sweet smell was deeply inhaled and released back as a displeased snort. Absently, two fingers picked up the brush from the vanity and raised it up, once again inhaling the French scent. A set of black eyes raised up to meet their reflection in the mirror.
"Christine. You left. Again. Your sin is deep, my sacred angel."
Twirling the brush in between fingers, a thought began to wind as eyes lowered down to the tiny flowered pattern carved upon the handle.
Lips twisted in disgust.
As the presence left the girl's room, the brush was left quivering in its place of impalement in the center of the now shattered mirror.
----------
"Cold was my soul, untold was the pain I faced when you left me - a rose in the rain. So I swore to the razor that never, enchained would your dark nails of faith be pushed through my veins again."
----------
After wandering the dark streets for close to an hour, Christine decided to head back to her dressing room to collect a few things and head to her apartment.
Pushing the slightly ajar door open, she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, yet she swore that she had locked it. She tossed her coat onto a recliner and walked over to her vanity. Shaking her head and routinely flipping her hair over her right shoulder, she quickly gathered a few belongings and dumped them into a bag.
Looking up to check her hair, Christine saw the brush, now stilled, radiating from the center of the spider web pattern of broken, reflective glass.
As she stared at the shattered mirror in shock, her eyes caught a glimpse of something written in black on the now ruined surface:
"Remember with pride what thou art, lest we forget in awe of our terrible past…"