Act 1 - The Falling

A harsh, inhuman screech sounded through the wall, and I widened my eyes, fingers digging into my face.

My neighbour was a temperamental violinist, who was in the habit of torturing instruments in her dark moods. Which meant I was being tortured all the time. Sighing, I tried to force myself to concentrate on my paper.

The violin bayed and whined, making my fingers freeze on the keyboard. I muffled a scream into my pillow, then sat up when the violin stopped. Instantly, I started typing.

Only for angry words to bleed through our unfortunately thin walls this time. I heard snatches of a fierce argument and resisted the urge to blast music.

"-can't believe this!"

"I can't either," I muttered, typing out the essay, one petty jab at the keyboard at a time.

Right as I was struggling to cite everything, the one-sided argument swelled in volume. Every coherent memory fled out of my mind, chased away by shouting.

"That's it." I breathed out, standing to knock at the wall. Just as I raised my hand, I heard sobbing.

I sat on the edge of my desk, my shoulders sinking. That was almost worse than the violin.

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The next time I saw my violinist neighbour, there was a cat there too. I smiled at it, struggling with the bags of groceries in my arms. The cat glared at me in response.

Fayetta was crouching, her kohl-lined eyes fixed on the purring, dingy cat she was petting. Animals were strictly forbidden in our building, but I knew even our psychotic manager was terrified of Fayetta.

I was also terrified of Fayetta, which meant I normally dashed indoors whenever she was out prowling. But I'd never seen her this happy or kind.

Was it inappropriate to take a picture of the only smile I'd ever seen on my neighbour's face? "Aw, he's cute. Should I get him some milk?" I asked with a grin, trying to get in her good books somehow.

Fayetta narrowed her eyes at me, not pausing once in her petting. "Are you insane? Cats are lactose intolerant."

And the delightful moment was spoiled.

"Oh." I swallowed nervously. "That's my bad, sorry." I fumbled with the keys to my flat and dropped them.

The cat yowled at the clang and ran off.

"Sorry." I grimaced, and my neighbour huffed, standing up and storming into her flat.

I hit my head against the door, knowing my dreams would be haunted by the heavy-metal-worthy shrieks of a violin.

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Fayetta, I noticed, dressed like a renaissance goth. Each look was dramatic and sharp, the colours deep and rich like wine red corsets over dark jeans. Or a short, olive green dress with heavy makeup. The drama changed, and the style changed.

But I'd yet to see her without her full face of dark and bold makeup. So when we bumped into each other on the stairs, it took a few looks for me to recognize my neighbour.

The stunning, pale blue dress was different enough. But it was her soft eyes and pink lips that shocked me.

"Hi. Wow, you look nice." I smiled at her glower, then continued going upstairs. Internally, I was dying over how soft and pretty her face looked.

"Wait," My neighbour said, and I turned, forcing my face into something normal.

The frown was in its usual place between her finely well eyebrows. "Are you free for the rest of the day?"

No. "Yeah, why?" I tried to play it cool and lean on the railing. It creaked ominously, and I jumped away from it.

"Will you. Go. To. A wedding. With me." My neighbour asked, saying each word painfully. Was it a question or an order?

"Yeah, for sure." I blinked at her, then glanced down at my neon flannel and jeans combo. "I should probably change."

She made a go on motion. And started following me back up.

"I'll go do that," I mumbled, feeling her eyes bore holes into my neck.

Once we were in my flat, which was ridiculously messy due to my lack of friends and school work, I got the impression that I was hosting royalty.

"Tea? Sorry, do you want tea?" I asked, shutting the door behind her.

"No." Fayetta sat on my secondhand couch with the imperiousness of a fairy queen, her hooded eyes peering at everything.

"So, what do you think?" I asked, returning minutes later in my typical surprise wedding look.

Fayetta inclined her head, narrowing her impossibly deep eyes at the blazer and colourfully patterned trousers. "It's a look, alright." She stated at last after I'd died inside.

Eclectic was how I would've described it. "Thank you?" I smiled, which was my default expression.

"May I?" Fayetta was already digging through my closet before I nodded.

Ignoring all my graphic and colourful clothes, she'd managed to find the short black dress my mother had gifted me. After I'd put it on, she shoved a pair of her boots into my arms.

I blushed under her heavy gaze, mumbling thanks. Even without her usual makeup, the imposing demeanour was in-built into her beautiful face.

"You're missing something. You look too... lost."

I reminded myself that the burst of hurt I felt at her words was entirely my own fault.

I felt Fayetta's warm hand on my chin. "Stay still," She ordered, and I decided to stare at her warm ochre hands instead of her eyes. 

Her fingers went to my hair next, messing with my curls.

"There." Fayetta looked pleased, moving away. "Now you look appropriately wicked and dangerous."

Is that what you like? "Thanks." I grinned. "How come you're taking me? Instead of your...?" I trailed off, waving a hand.

"Girlfriend, and we broke up." Fayetta whirled away, elegant and dangerous-looking herself. "Are you coming?" She raised an eyebrow at me, hand on the door.

The wedding was surreal. I clapped for a good-looking Asian couple I'd never met before and met some of Fayetta's family.

If her smiling shocked me, her laughter killed me. Weirdly soft and goofy, especially with her new, more open face? 

Fayetta's hard work making me look dangerous and wicked was ruined when I couldn't stop smiling. 

My irritable neighbour was beloved amongst her younger cousins. Her aunt informed me that Fayetta was a rebel as a teen.

"That's insane." I gasped, shooting Fayetta a conspiratorial look. My neighbour rolled her eyes, arms crossed characteristically.

Her parents, two soft-spoken accountants, gave no indication that they'd raised a vampire queen who dominated her building with wild music and stares sharper than the expert wing of her eyeliner.

"Come on, you know you want to." I teased Fayetta when people started dancing. 

She glared at me haughtily. Which was when I used her little cousins to bully her onto the dance floor. 

When we finally got back, I was exhausted in the best way. Reluctantly, I trudged up the shadowy stairs of our block of flats.

"Why is the lift always broken?" Fayetta griped, and I grimaced with pity at her skyscraper heels.

I had no witty or funny response, so I shut up, wordlessly stabilizing when she tripped a little in the darkness.

"Thank you for coming with me." Fayetta blurted when we got upstairs, and I felt my face split into a smile.

I would go to the Red Wedding with you. "No, I had so much fun. Thank you for taking me and for the boots."

"Keep them. They look good on you." Then her door closed, and I stared at it.

Once I got into my own place, I quietly celebrated a successful outing. I wished I had friends I could spill everything to, but I settled for gleefully leaping onto my bed. And staring at her shiny, dark boots between all my cartoon-patterned vans.

Maybe I should get a cat, I mused, squeezing a pillow. Con, getting murdered by my building manager. Pro, seeing Fayetta coo over it.

Melodious violin music emanated through the wall, and I rolled over, hanging onto the edge of my bed to hear it.

If music be the food of love, play on.

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"I got you," I said, grabbing the rapidly sliding box out of Fayetta's hands.

She sighed, resting her hands on her knees as I carried it up. I go to the gym thrice a week, and I can bench press (the bar), but I panted under the weight of the box.

Inexplicably, Fayetta had been carrying it while wearing her heels. She quickly caught up to me, her face painted in its usual bold strokes.

"What?" She snapped at my staring, and I ducked my head.

"Nothing. New desk?" I touched my chin to the box.

"Shelf." Fayetta tossed her dyed blonde hair over her shoulder and grabbed the other end.

"Thanks." I breathed a little easier. "You like to read?"

The dumbest question of all time, but Fayetta hummed in response.

"Everything." She raised an eyebrow at me. "You?"

"Anything I can; school's keeping me busy." Awkward.

I noticed she was staring at me over the box. "Are you busy the night of the 29th?" Fayetta demanded suddenly. 

"Is there another wedding?" The laugh died under her brooding glare. "Uh, no."

"Good, I'm having a party at my place. I want you to come." Fayetta let the box down to open her door.

"Yeah, sure, thank you." I stammered, pulling the box inside. "Do you need any help with the shelf-"

"Leave."

"Yup." I fled to the safety of my flat, confused and surprised.

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Fayetta didn't have friends. She had a Faerie court of tattooed, intricately pierced, and charming artists. 

Blinking past a wave of neon blue light, I waved at a crowd of them. "Hi," I'd expected them to be the same, unsmiling type as my neighbour, but they were pleasantly warm and snarky.

"I'd say my art is surreal, mostly. It's a little political, but I find politics so repetitve, I try to explore other themes." A girl named Kamsi was telling me, pausing to sip from a red cup. "What did you say you were into?"

"Biomedical engineering," I shouted over the music, "How long have you and Fayetta been friends?"

"Ettie," Kamsi started, and I grinned at the nickname. "Has been friends with me since grade school. We used to learn violin together. I sucked, and she was phenomenal." 

"Did she beat it up when she got mad back then too?" I chuckled, and Kamsi smiled knowingly.

"Come on, she'll want to show off in front of you," Kamsi declared, pulling me by the elbow after a moving stream of people. We entered the sitting room, where Ettie and some random guy were seated. Someone mercifully turned the music off.

Fayetta had her trusty, surprisingly intact violin cradled in her arms. The guy had what looked like a broken violin on his shoulder.

"Electric." Kamsi corrected me when I brought it up.

Recalling my neighbour's love for rounded, heartbreakingly deep songs, I rolled my eyes. "I bet she hates electric violins."

Kamsi grinned. And they started playing.

The music swept me up immediately, shades of blue and rich golds slashing around the room, vibrating and swirling as the electric and traditional violins built on each other.

Fayetta moved like a poetic automaton, her arm slicing and weaving through the air as she almost danced with the violin. The light turned a soft pink over her, as the music rose and rose.

Now I saw undercurrents of a rich red, but I focused on her. She looked calm and absorbed. Unusually lost.

Then it ended, and she lowered the violin into her lap, glancing into the crowd. I joined everyone in applause, beaming at her.

And to my great surprise, Fayetta fully smiled back.