Chapter 32: A Song for No One.
It was cold. Always cold. Even in her dressing room, draped in silks and bathed in golden candlelight, the chill never left her bones.
Twitch.
Her arm jerked. The light flickered—gone. The dark swallowed her again. And the constant remained.
The never-ending.
Her dress needed tailoring. She would remind Pierre tomorrow.
"Pierre?"
He was dead. She knew that. A slow smile crept across her face, stretching lips cracked from too much silence.
Twitch.
"Did you see the reviews?! They love you."
She pushed up from her vanity, her eyes burning.
"I never read them."
Bare feet slapped against plush carpet, she drifted across the room, stopping inches from her mirror. A soft hand brushed against cold stone.
"What's the latest with Betsy? I'm dying to know."
Laughter, light and melodic, but her face remained still. Flat eyes gazed back at her—eyes that burned but never blinked.
Then—sudden, sharp, wrong.
Her throat clenched. A jagged knife of pain sliced down her chest. The light changed, warmth melting into searing brightness.
She grabbed at her throat. She tried to breathe.
But she couldn't see.
Her eyes burned—always burned—but now the color was different, now it was fire. Searing. Blinding. Too bright. Too much.
She felt the knives again, the steel that bound her, the hands that held her still.
Her reflection blinked, but she didn't.
Crimson Song stood inside the cave atop the bluff.
No silks. No warmth. No music.
Just the cold.
Just the red glow.
Just the constant.
She needed time. Time to think. Time to rehearse. There was never enough. It was always running out.
"Busy, b— busy."
Pacing the cave, she suddenly stopped.
The shift of stone. The crumbling, the cracking. The soft thud of leather against rock. The careful placement of hands.
Someone was coming.
"I'm n— ready!"
They couldn't see her, not now.
She wouldn't look. They wouldn't see her if she couldn't see them. She needed more time.
She rushed to her vanity, fumbling with her makeup. Her fingers trembled, smearing powder across her cheek. Steel scraped against flesh, bruising where it pressed too hard.
Then it hit. A scent.
Oranges. Cinnamon.
Her eyes snapped downward. Her breath caught.
It was him. She could smell his cologne.
Michael.
Before she could warn him—before she could tell him she wasn't decent—his voice drifted into the cave, low and careful.
"Thank you for letting me sleep that night."
He remembered.
Her heart pounded. Her throat burned.
That night. That magical night.
How could she forget? The way they danced, the words whispered between them—it had been perfect.
She saw him now, standing in the doorway, golden hair catching the candlelight. His scars meant nothing. He was hers. Hers.
Her body ached, but she managed to reply, her voice soft, broken.
"You're welcome."
She reached for the pillow beside her, clutching it, waiting for his reply.
Waiting, but only silence.
"Michael?"
No answer.
She turned, ignoring the pain, dress billowing as she pressed an ear to the ornate dressing room door.
Nothing.
Inside the cave, she pulled her face away from the cold wall, staggering toward the entrance. Her bare feet scraped against the stone before stepping onto wood.
The shack's porch.
Her bloodshot eyes landed on the offering before her.
A bowl of fruit and jewelry. A neat little bow on top.
'Is he shy?'
She stepped out. But even the dim light of the moon caused her eyes to sting. Waiting a moment, she stepped up, the pain confusing her.
Twitch.
She wanted to close them. To rub them, anything to relieve the burn. But she couldn't.
"They took it."
Tears leaked from her eyes as she stared out into the desert.
"They took everything. But I can win them back. Just have—"
She froze.
Soft, and on the wind.
She heard it.
"She's here!"
An excited voice. Their voice.
They were here. She could see the residual waves of sound.
"Shit."
Now she could see the source.
"Fuck."
"What is it?"
They wouldn't lie to her again. She locked on to their positions. Their voices giving them away.
"Think she can see us."
Never again.
She stepped off the ledge.
"She's gone!"
Just before impact, her arm plunged into the rockface. A jolt rattled her bones as she used it to slow her descent, hitting the ground with a solid slam.
She walked forward. Eyes burning. Breath deep.
And then she sang.
"EEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The scream ripped from her throat like a firestorm, a raw, piercing force that twisted the air.
Waves of sound pulsed outward in a widening circle, rippling through the bluffs like a shockwave. Sand blasted away from her feet. Pebbles lifted from the ground, trembling in the air before launching outward like shrapnel.
The stone walls groaned. Cracks split through the rock like jagged lightning.
The sound reached far—too far.
She had to be sure.
Three seconds. She stopped. Any longer, and it would lock up.
Searing heat tore through her throat, scalding down her chest.
The bluffs trembled. Rocks crumbled. A boulder, massive and inevitable, tumbled straight for her.
She only smiled.
But another smashed into it midair, shattering it before it could reach her. The impact rattled the ground, but she remained untouched as dust and debris rained down.
A deafening roar filled her ears.
Applause.
Her eyes welled with tears. The sound of the crowd. The adoration. Her music. Her talent.
They could take nothing more.
Nothing.
'Nothing.'
"Nothing!"
But then, a whisper in her mind—faint, distant. A cruel echo that crawled into the hollow spaces of her soul.
What else?
"They promised."
'What else?!'
The question screamed through her, louder than the chaos, snapping her back into focus.
Her throat cooled. The pain ebbed.
But not the constant.
If she couldn't look away—
Then they would see what she sees.
With heavy scars where her eyelids should be, Crimson Song saw their voices cutting through the dark, rippling like waves in still water.
She just needed time.
One was closing in, steady and deliberate. The other held back, calculating. She slipped behind a boulder, her throat cooling, breath measured.
She saw him. The demon.
He moved in the dim glow, a jagged saw in one hand, her severed arm in the other. He turned toward her, his face a smear of memory and pain.
She saw it!
DING!
A bolt ripped through the dark. She caught the sound a fraction before impact, jerking her mangled arm up to block.
The demon rushed the stage as she staggered. Her stage.
'Monster!'
She screamed.
Her voice blasted the dark, a raw, searing force tearing first toward the red-eyed evil in the distance—then she swung her head, redirecting it toward the rushing demon.
He leapt away at the last moment, just barely escaping the full force. But not all of it.
More time. Always more time.
She clutched her throat, stepping behind a rock. The velvet curtain was warm against her back. She exhaled, steadying herself.
The chorus was about to swell. The crowd held its breath. She could feel them leaning forward, waiting.
She wanted to see them. To drink in their adoration before she took the stage. She grabbed the curtain—
CRACK!
The light above her flashed. She smiled. They were adjusting her spotlight.
Just one peek.
CRACK!
The first cymbal!
This was it. Her moment.
Her throat was cool, the pain of the past weeks' performances scratching at the edges, whispering doubt. But she was a professional.
SMASH!
The second! It was her cue.
Five seconds.
3... 2... 1...
She stepped out—
CRACK!
Panic.
Had she miscounted? Why was the light flickering? Why another cymbal?
She couldn't remember.
It wasn't her fault.
She stared up at the light, but the stage wasn't there. Only a small, smoking crater in the dust, staring back at her like an open wound.
If they had come to ruin it, she would ruin everything first.
Tonight, she would bring down the house.
She inhaled, deep and unrestrained, no target, no note, only destruction—
"Eliza Darrow! Give this a try, ya out-of-tune, washed-up penny whore!"
Twitch.
Her voice caught.
Then—
BOOOOM!
A fireball streaked toward her, a comet of white-hot fury. A cue she hadn't expected. A spotlight aimed to burn her from the stage.
Her throat clenched. Her body coiled.
And then she sang.
"EEEAAAAAA!"
Her voice split the night, tearing through the air like shattered glass. The wave of sound crashed forward, colliding with the approaching star.
The two forces waged war.
KABOOM!
The world broke apart.
The ground splintered beneath her feet, the very stage trembling. The curtains of dust and smoke billowed, twisting, rising, suffocating.
For a fleeting moment, she felt it—a balance, a perfect note, as if her voice had reached a frequency that could hold the chaos at bay.
Then the note cracked.
WHOOOSH!
The blast surged forward, but she was already moving. A final burst of sound erupted from her throat, not as a weapon, but as a force—a push, a parting of the air. The wave struck the ground beneath her feet, sending her sailing backward.
She landed light behind the safety of the rocks, crouched low, untouched. Heat swept past, licking at the edges of her dress, but it never reached her.
The silence that followed wasn't silence at all.
A low hum. A deep, distorted ringing. Her own voice bouncing back at her, warped and stretched beyond recognition.
The stage had been ruined.
The show was in shambles.
She rose from her crouch, stepping through the smoke, her body poised, effortless, untouched.
The performance wasn't over. No matter the pain.
She stepped forward, untouched by the carnage around her, the corners of her mouth twitching in giddy delight. The thrill of it all, the energy crackling in the air—it was intoxicating.
Laughter bubbled from her lips.
But the next performer had already taken the stage.
He was slumped against a rock, steam venting from his mechanical limb, his eye covered. His presence ruined the opera. He was in her way.
The red-eyed evil.
She stepped toward him, her bare feet silent against the scorched earth. His red eye was gone now, hiding, but she knew he was watching her.
She had given him three seconds of her song.
Did he deserve an encore?
"Don't suppose you'd sing me somethin' soft?"
She tilted her head.
"Lullabies never hurt nobody."
The laughter died in her throat.
Her throat was raw. Her chest ached. Her body burned, but this was nothing compared to what had already been taken from her.
She should've screamed. She should've ended him then. But something stopped her.
Movement.
CLANG! TCHK!
Horrible agony.
A flash of steel. A jolt up her spine.
Her hand—gone.
A scream tore from her throat, but not the kind that shattered worlds. Just searing pain. Just unrelenting rage.
She leapt back, dodging the second strike, but they had seen it.
The light building in her throat.
"RUN!"
She wanted to laugh at the desperation in the demons voice.
A final, glorious note. She had waited all night for this.
She opened her mouth, breathed in.
The finale started.
But then—
Something coming fast.
And from behind.