Hey everyone! Thanks for letting me know your honest opinions on my sad little fic. But hey, if you like it, I'll post more. Which is, in fact, what I'm doing now. I haven't had time to write the whole first chapter of the sequel, but I have had time to write one scene, which you will find the sneak preview for right here. Let's just say the passion factor is up a few notches. But the fresh ideas are also in place (more or less) and you should get quite a few surprises as the story goes. But enough meaningless chit chat. Here's the good stuff, just a peek preview of one scene of the first chapter (or second).

If you're interested in the sequel or have any ideas, let me know! If you want more of this scene, you'll be seeing it in the sequel (provided my urges to join the dark side don't take over before I finish..the pull is mighty strong...)

so enjoy the foretaste and lemme know what you want to see in the sequel.

luce

"I ....when did you find out.....oh ...Tristan...God!"

She watched in horrified disbelief as his hand shook on the glass; he was cold, furious, confused, desperately sad, maddened. Numbly, she watched the crystal fly through the air, beams of diamond light slicing through it's rainbow reflection.

The glass crashed against the fireplace with a terrifying sharp scream of slivers slicing the air around the stone; Rory gasped breathless, shrinking back.

He stood still, watching the shattered glass on the carpet, the thin liquid seeping in the expensive white Persian rug as though in a horrible nightmare. Groaning, he fell onto the couch, sinking into it, his face in his hands. He felt a hot liquid burning the back of his eyelids, an unfamiliar feeling.

Rory tried to disappear into the wall, her face pale, watching him with eyes wide as the midday sky; the room was cold and sterile, the leather couches cold and unfeeling, the fireplace dead and cool with the memories of a million unlighted fires.

She silently watched Tristan struggling, desperate for a feeling, for anything; not knowing what to do, she acted on some sort of autopilot, creeping towards the fireplace. Numbly, she picked up the shattered glass, feeling a tiny sliver slice through her finger. Too scared to cry out, she confusedly picked up the pieces in her hand, and stared at the translucent shards. Biting back the tears that pooled on the surface of her eyes, she deposited of the glass quickly, and approached the tortured boy on the couch.

With the flutter of slender muscles, she slid in next to him, her hands reaching out towards him in a dance of reluctance; he did not seem to respond, and she felt very old all of a sudden.

"I'm so sad for you," she said, and the words came out simple and clear.

She was not sorry for him.

The words seemed to drift towards him like clean air, and he breathed them in whole.

"Forgive me," he said through clenched teeth, struggling to hold back the emotion.

"It's not hard to do," her pained voice spoke, and her head rested on his shoulder.

A sudden rush of heat swirled inside him, the hurt welling up in his throat, regret pouring into his eyes, closed to hold her back. Reaching out blindly, he buried himself inside her suddenly, and he shook; his mouth sought to form words that she understood and she rocked him. Holding him close, she crawled into his lap and held his head as he shook, whispering jumbled words into her collarbones.

"Shhhh, it's alright, don't say anything," she sobbed out, and his hands painfully wrapped themselves around her, crushing her. They clung to each other in the cold, empty room full of accusing, expensive reminders; she held him as tight as she could, afraid he would disappear if she didn't hold on hard enough.

"I need you," he groaned, and she felt a single burning drop between his eye and her skin, as her tears mingled into his hair, leaving it damp. She kissed the top of his head like a mother would, comforting him, when his face snapped up violently.

His mouth was hot and tasted the salt from her tears, mingled with the bitterness in his blue diamond eyes; it conquered her, desperate, his lips seeking solace. Gaining entry, he left her weak and helpless to his touch, and his tongue licked her upper lip right before clashing.

"Don't cry Mary don't, I can't watch you, stop," he whispered madly, dizzy from the heat of her mouth. In the cold room, he'd never felt so frozen; she was the only thing keeping him warm.

"I'm bleeding," she said, a shaky, half crazy smile on her face as she held up her finger.

"Don't, Mary, stop...." he whispered, his mouth dry, as he took one look at her tearstained face. Gently, he took her hand, the slender fingers lost in his own, and held it up, placing the finger to his lips and kissing the cut gently. "Look what I did," he said almost to himself, strangely.

She was silent.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I don't know what to do," he said in a frightened whisper, and she felt the chill of it in her bones.

"We'll find our way through this one too," said Rory gently, and kissed his forehead.

He needed to be just held, but would not have admitted it in a thousand years; Rory knew it, and brought him in close. He was hurting, he was slipping away from her, and she clung to him in fear, not knowing what to do rescue him.

She felt the nervous brush of his lashes against her cheek; cradling the angular, chiseled lines of his face in her hands, she brought his face down slowly until she felt his shaky breath brush her lips. She waited for the tiny kiss that never came; with a terrifying need, his mouth crashed against her, teeth knocking, tongues intertwining, fiery kisses planted one after the next. Their breath poured out in desperate gasps. Rory died and awoke inside his mouth, his lips that fiercely caressed hers and left her legs weak and useless. He kissed the tears off her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth, her ears, her forehead; her mouth received him, soft and warm and weakened. She moaned against his lips, sending an electric current through him.

The blind crystal clock on the wall watched in guilty silence; it's hands traveled across it's face until the solemn ring of midnight.

So! There it is! Sucky or good, that's how the sequel will be going. But you won't know the details until I post (suspense, suspense). Look forward to another fresh Trory hot off the grill pretty soon. I'd like to know your opinion on what you'd like to see in it, or if you just want to flame me, or if you have a kind word. Whatever, I live to serve anyway, so watch the boards, it's coming in all it's gory glory.

your humble dedicated author

(and dave matthews fan which is about to get incorporated again into the sequel (diff song))

luce