The Devil's Light

"Where the hell am I and where is here ?" I mutter to myself as I wander around with what seems to be a party taking full swing. Red lights flash in beat to the assault of music that threatens to burst my ear drums. I escape into a quieter hallway, which is adorned with roman red walls and black panelling, I take in my surroundings, trying to peice together how I came to be here. I find a mirror above a side table. Again, the table is black, and the mirror is encased in black embellishments. I'm definitely noticing a theme to the interior design. I stop and take myself in, peering into the mirror. Running my hands through my golden blonde hair, twirling the platinum streaks, with an outer body awe. Then I noticed my fingernails, polished and shaped to an inch of perfection in a dusky pink and silver glitter, clearly that way to match my outfit of choice. A dress that falls a few inches above my knees, compromising of a silver sequin strappy top meeting a delicate and luxiourious white feather skirt. I peer over my shoulder and raise one foot off the floor to inspect my footware, noticing I'm not barefoot. Small heels that fit and feel like a glove, again, covered in a silver glitter almost identical to my nails, and the heel in a gorgeous glossy white etched into the shape of a wing. The way I'm dressed and pruned, I must be someone of significance. Surely, someone will know who I am and why I'm here, and if not, someone must be looking for me, missing me. My head starts feeling foggy and dizzy, almost like I'm trying to keep my head above water when waves want to do nothing but crash around me, why can't I recall a thing before being here. I perch myself on a convenient placed chaise lounge, and try to gather my wits, basking in a cool breeze that ever so lightly brushes over my skin at odd intervals. Knowing I could do with nothing more than some fresh air, I try to follow the delicious breeze, trapsing down the hallway, I see 2 big black solid oak doors that open and close on occasion, people seem to leave the residence well kept but when the door opens and people re-enter they're disheveled, bloody and bruised, however beaming with joy and satisfaction. I know it shouldn't, I know that I shouldn't, but I'm simply intrigued plagued with curiosity and questions. I rush to the door and try to open it anyway I can, but the blasted thing won't bugde. I stand to the side of the door and hope for it open. As if on cue, silently the door opens barely as I slip through the gap and look behind me to see another dishevelled creature slinking away behind me. I stop and breathe, feeling the cold air leave a trail of goosebumps along my bare skin. All I can do is stand and bask in it. I notice as I take in my scenery the balcony I'm on is a white marble dotted with moss embedded in small cracks and a matching staircase, guarded by set of equally moss covered gargoyles 2 at the head of the stairs and 2 guarding the foot of the stairs and showing the way to endless paths which are twisted by maze like hedges and a grand water fountain in the middle, the garden carries on this way for as far as I can see, being bordered by blackness. I step out further onto the balcony and hear an array of noises, some of pain, some of victory. I step forward again, trying to navigate where these brutal noises are coming from, and I stumble from being nudged by 2 barbarians in tailored suits as they brawl across the balcony eventually spiraling in a twisted case of bodies over the side. To my left, another fight starts out with snarls and the sounds of bones breaking. I don't know what madness has clouded these people, but wherever I seem to look, there are people engaging in violence. I dash to the stairway and see an adonnice of a man standing in a prestigious suit admiring the chaos enveloping us. He walks around the bottom of the staircase, reaching for one of the men who I assume was one of the poor souls who tumbled from the balcony. My feet are moving on their on accord, and I find myself at the bottom of the stairs reaching out for the man walking away from me, I side step a barrage of barrelling bodies, like a woman on a mission at the beaches of Normandy. Just as the mystery man clenches his fist and pulls his arm back ready to land a punch on the poor man's face, I lay my hand on his shoulder blade and plead in no more than a whisper. "Stop this." A crescendo of hands encase my body, holding me utterly captive. As the man I pleaded with, he drops the man he had in his clutches, straightens up, and turns to face me, hand still clenched by his side. I catch my breath as I stare into his captivating eyes. Pools of golden brown with flecks of every shade of green, like a mysterious universe hidden in his soul. I barely think about the words that fall out of my mouth. "Your eyes, their beautiful. My goodness, you're beautiful."