Folie A Deux - Introduction

      The light flickered, Stirred by a motionless breeze in the grand room. At least, one could assume the room was grand since it stretched off into velvety shadows. Lazy shadows, they were, hanging heavily, dreamily…floating on the air and threatening to crush the small sphere of light cast by a loan candle. And if you stared, just long enough, maybe even held your breath, you could see the shadows glitter. Small gold twinkles like tiny stars drifting to nowhere in the inky darkness leaving little piles of gold sand just inside the sphere of candle light. Despite the heavy atmosphere the stubborn candle forced back the dreamy darkness with vigor.
         The small sphere of vigorous light illuminated more than just a stubborn candle and a few piles of gold sand. There was also an antique writing desk, the kind with a pull down cover. The desk also had several oddly shaped drawers, some of which were so small and outrageously shaped that they could perform no real purpose. Sitting on the desk was a well loved hunk-a-junk type writer, with keys so used the faces were completely faded. Seated at the type writer was a rather odd man. The man was hunched over the typewriter, tip tapping away despite the faded keys.
         His face was mostly covered by inky black hair which hung haphazardly over his eyes, not once bothering his ability to see. Though his eyes and nose were shadowed his lips were visible, and what lips they were! Skeleton lips in place of normal lips, the whiteness of the faux teeth almost glowed in the candle light, their expression twisted into a concentrated frown. He was dressed in what could be mistaken as under-wear: a tight black shirt out lining the muscles below, a pair of gold shorts that hugged his thighs and backside so tight it resembled shrink wrap, a studded belt with a large golden moon-shaped buckle fastened the already secure shorts to his smallish waist, and his feet which were firmly planted on the ground were cloaked in blacker than black stockings that rose all the way up past the bottom of his shrink wrap shorts. There was also a pair of boots
         With a final DING! From the ancient typewriter the man in black gently tugged the crisp sheet from its place. But as soon as the sheet left the safety of the typewriter it sparked and burst into flame. With a startled yelp, which was quite unmasculine, he tossed the burning sheet away from him. It landed on his desk and for a moment he thought it would all go up in flames, cursing himself for throwing something burning on to a wooden desk. Though luckily the fire had no intention of burning the desk, instead it left a small pile of silver sand in place of the page that had just burned up.  The man in black stared at the offending pile of silver sand, his now unshadowed handsome face showing a profound state of confusion.
         In a moment of pure panic the he leapt into action, tearing open drawers of all shapes and sizes looking for something of obvious, immediate, importance. When he found the object of his frenzied search, a small and very tattered black address book not uncommon to the handbags of elder ladies, he flipped it open and skimmed each page tearing some of the fragile pages as he went. Until suddenly, there it was, a burn mark on a nearly blank page, staring up at him with an ugly sneer (well as ugly of a sneer as a burn mark can manage). His skeleton mouth came together in an expression of rage and he chucked the black book into the glittery darkness (looking for it later would suck).
         The man in black reached around and behind the desk, fighting with a snagged coat on an unseen coat rack, jerking a nearly translucent coat with a wild gold, spindly collar and matching cuffs. He pulled it on over his slender form, nearly ripping it in a few places. He slammed a few drawers shut to emphasize his anger. In one last act of anger he blew the lone candle out and was then enveloped in darkness.
         Her eyes snapped open, large gray orbs as empty as the night sky above. They drank in the twinkling stars and full moon, but did not see them. Her eyes looked at the sky but did not, could not, see it. Slowly her other senses began to process information like; the cold hard mattress she rested on, or the sickly sweet smell of flowers drifting on the wind, the wind that gave her goose bumps but didn’t “chill” her to the bone.  With the breeze that unfortunately kept blowing there was a sound, not of the breeze, but of wind chimes. The sounds of the clumsy musical chimes inspired some movement, she sat up.
         She sat there for a moment, still as a statue with a stare just as blank. The breeze blew again and the wind chimes clanged clumsily together. She scooted herself easily off the bed and landed with a very soft thud in to a pile of silver sand. She sank down to her ankles in the soft silvery sand which seemed to be in great abundance around the bed she had been…sleeping in?
         What a sight the young woman must have been, dressed in a black satin night gown (though it looked more like a funeral gown) and standing in a pile of silver sand next to a rusty old bed. She took a few experimental steps, the silver sand falling away from her feet leaving them glittering, the wind chimes continues to sound as if encouraging her to press on. The bed she had until recently been laying on was located in the center of a large circular clearing which contained several curved flowerbeds lined in bright white stones. The flower beds were all barren, only dead bushes and ugly weeds took root in them. Another cold winds made the wind chimes sing.
         There was a path, a clear cut path of harsh white stone cutting through the center of the clearing and its atrocious gardens. This is the path she followed, barefoot and shivering. The path moved through the garden and into the trees, continuing on out of sight and into the darkness of the woods. She still continued walking, knowing no feeling of fear and no worries for the boogey men that could be behind any tree.
         As she passed through the trees the smell of the flowers got stronger and the sounds of the wind chimes grew fainter, the only light was coming from gaps in the trees above. She didn’t know to feel lonely. The smell of flowers grew stronger and started to burn her nose, in an attempt to block out the smell she held her nose firmly, only able to take the edge off the too-strong scent. So she continued on holding her nose and shivering, looking almost completely ridiculous.
         The trees ended abruptly, thrusting her back out into the silvery moonlight once again and towards the source of the over bearing floral smell. A wrought iron fence towered in front of her, it’s gate having been ripped from rusty hinges was a few yards away. The gate’s frame was still intact as was the sign mounted on top of it. The sign was very old fashioned, each first letter of each word was greatly exaggerated in size and out lined in small light bulbs, most were smashed or burned out while others gave off a dim glow. The faded sign read “Fall Out Ville” in plain type, more of a warning sign than a welcoming sign.
         For a moment she hesitated, looking at the sign with blank eyes. The breeze grew even colder and goose bumps rose on her skin as the chilly wind tugged at her gown. As if common sense and a brain had suddenly switched on her hands suddenly snapped to her elbows and her arms hugged her body with a shiver. Nearly overwhelmed by the fresh blast of over powering floral smell she pushed on, into Fall Out Ville a place of mirrors and car crash hearts.