The halls were, for the most part, silent at Keaton University; it was the day after Christmas, after all. Who would want to be in school during Christmas break anyway? Aside from the few who had nowhere else to go, the dorms, and, as a result, the rest of the school, were completely deserted. For the most part. For the most part, Chritmas was the time to get out of school and go home. To Lyra, it was the time to get in. Lyra Evans thought it was the perfect place to be during Christmas break. Why? Because everyone else wanted out.

The only sound Lyra had heard between walking onto the campus, through the halls, and into the auditorium were the sounds of her own boots hitting the pavement, the tile, the carpet. Shed had to jump through what seemed like no end of hoops to get permission from the music department to be allowed in here over Christmas, but it was worth it. The auditorium had excellent acoustics.

She’d already set her things down and ditched her boots, socks, and a good deal of her winter clothing. She preferred light things, and winter was hardly the season for light clothing. She had already hooked up a CD to the sound board, gotten out her violin, tuned it and done all her other preparations. The mundane part of her routine was complete. Now… now was time for her to make magic. That’s what she thought of it as anyway. To Lyra, there was nothing more magical than weaving notes into melodies, making them resonate until the listener forgot that they were sitting smack dab in the middle of industrial steel and brick and mortar and glass, and could almost believe they were in another place and time entirely.

Of course… there was no rule that said Lyra wasn’t allowed to lose herself in her music too. Her latest project, “The Voice” was by far the most beautiful song she’d come across. She hit play on the remote and closed her eyes, just Listening. She’d had one of the other music students help her record this; she couldn’t play drums. As soon as she heard her recorded self begin the first violin note she began her song.

“I hear your voice on the wind
And I hear you call out my name.”

By the end of the fourth line she was beginning to slip into the trance she was creating.

“Be not afraid - come follow me
Answer my call and I'll set you free.”

By “free” she was lost. Her fingers carried themselves over her strings, her hand knew exactly where to guide her bow. All she was thinking about as her haunting notes reverberated through the theater was what she wanted the song to feel like. As if she could sing life into it, make it into a living creature, make people see it, believe it, feel it in the depths of their soul, let it carry them to places they could barely imagine in waking life. This… this was what she lived for. It didn’t matter that she was the only one in the room. All that mattered was the music.

She completely forgot to shut the door.

(("The Voice" - Celtic Woman))

Devin, of course, was one of those few who had nowhere else to go. Following a nasty fight with his parents at the beginning of the previous summer, he was no longer welcome home. Not that he'd ever considered it much a home, anyway. For now, he was one of the handful of students residing in the temporary dorm kept open for the holidays.

He pulled his left hand out of his thick winter coat to peer at the dull green and black screen of his watch. 3:53 PM. Two more hours till he needed to get to work. Too much time to kill. Now what? Devin thought to himself, fiddling with the alarm to beep at him at 5:30. It was a bit of a walk to the Bean from anywhere on campus. Not much of a job, but it paid reasonably well and gave him something to do over the break.

In the mean time, though, he had nothing to do aside from wander around campus. Devin pressed pale hands against the wall and pushed himself away from the closed cafeteria. Maybe there would be something back at the dorm? His mp3 player was dead and he'd forgotten the charger in his normal room, so music was out. Devin closed soft brown eyes and sighed, his breath misting the air in front of him. Not to mention it'll be a bit less cold. He knew the route and knew that no one else was around, so he didn't bother opening his eyes as he began his march back 'home'.

Devin's other senses took over as he let him mind wander. He could taste the acrid exhaust from the light traffic a few blocks away, mixed with pine and snow, the sparse chimney smoke somehow making it all palatable. With the faint exception of the vehicles, the place was eerily silent, until he passed the auditorium. The deep pulsing of drums and the softer lilting of some stringed instrument passed under and through him. Someone is performing or practicing? Strange, didn't think any of the band kids were still here. Eh, might as well go in and listen. Might be worth a listen.

He turned and headed up the three short steps linking the building to the sidewalk, pulled open the thick glasses doors, and followed the music. As it became louder and clearer, Devin began to make out a soft voice blending with the music. The whole was hypnotic; it's call pulled him forward faster with each step. Later, he wouldn't recall whether he opened the wooden doors or if they were already open. Before he knew it, Devin was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the stage, staring up at the singer, as lost as she was in the music. He hardly remembered to breathe, but he would answer that call. He wasn't afraid.

As the last note in her crescendo faded, Lyra slowly allowed herself to come back to her real surroundings. She was pleased with her performance, but decided she needed to work on the transitions between singing and playing. Singing and playing a violin was hardly practical. The song wasn’t intended to be done by one person. She had to be careful to rest the instrument on her shoulder when she started, instead of at her chin, so it wouldn’t interfere with her voice. Between the solos she could relax and not worry about playing, or play and not worry about singing, but that initial transition, especially with the high note that came with it, was difficult to do. She wanted to make sure to have it down well enough there was no chance in messing it up.

As her thoughts came back to the real world, she suddenly became aware of someone sitting at her feet. She stumbled back, startled at not having noticed him coming. Breathing softly, she “looked” him over. About her age, so probably a student here. She cold feel his heartbeat through the soles of her feet, feel the vibrations rippling out through him, telling her what he looked like. She could feel his breath pulsing though the air, through his lungs, back out. She could Hear his Song, quietly humming in her mind. And she knew he was in a trance, much like she had been.

She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed or irritated or flattered. While she was trying to decide what she should be feeling, she heard the click that was her CD moving on the next track. She’d wanted to practice this song too, but with a watcher here, she wasn’t so sure. She started to reach for the control to turn the player off, but changed her mind abruptly. If he was going to watch, let him watch. She wouldn’t let the silly boy interrupt her practice time. She knew she only had a few moments to start of her timing would be off, so she repositioned her fiddle and started the slow, beginning notes of “The Butterfly”.

She wouldn’t lose herself to the music this time. Her motions were sharp and deliberate enough that she almost felt like she was daring the boy to do something.


((”The Butterfly”))

With the fading music, Devin woke slowly, as if from a deep, restful sleep he was reluctant to leave. Whoever this girl was, she was good. he doubted he would be able to get any sleep after shift; her 'voice' would be running through his head for a long time. He was vaguely aware of her becoming vaguely aware of him; she stumbled back, apparently coming out of just as deep a trance.

His lips parted in a quiet, almost embarrassed smile as he slowly stood, silently watching as she reached for the controls of her player. Halfway through the motion her demeanor changed; the purpose and direction he was subconciously aware of from the song prior had returned, and she repositioned her fiddle to continue playing.

The difference was obvious. She wasn't allowing herself to fade into the music this time, not that it made any difference in the quality. Each motion was sharp and deliberate. It was... a challenge? Devin could feel her 'eyes' staring him down and sizing him up. What she wanted was unclear, but he was certain she wanted him to do something.

Devin closed his eyes and let the slow notes move through him. This was her call; he would answer it. Letting his frame relax, he began to dance, matching her pace and letting her lead through the rising tempo of her song.

Lyra really had no idea what she wanted him to do, but she knew as soon as he started doing it that it was right. The song was perfect for this. She felt like she was challenging him to stand against her, and her performance showed it. Every time she drew her bow across the strings for a high note she treated it like a dare. As if she were actually saying “I dare you to cross this line.” After the first few lines she had the mildly amusing idea that he was a puppet, and that with every sudden high note she was tugging the strings. She almost laughed at the idea of her song acting at puppet strings. Almost. No, this was too interesting to waste. She began playing for him, keeping her eyes closed, concentrating on him, “watching” his movement. Each step he took, she felt it through the soles of her feet.

She got into the second part of the song, where the tempo doubled. Let’s see if you can keep up. She was very amused by this, almost excited. This was new. This was... almost like the rush she imagined people got when they went sky diving or bungee jumping, or down a really big roller coaster.

When this boy didn’t seem to be having too much issue keeping up with part two, she grinned inwardly to herself. Surely he can’t keep up with the finale. In her mind she began imagining some epic battle, or some challenge sent to a mortal from the heavens, or even Charlie Daniels “Devil went down to Georgia.” She imagined a band of demons, or angels. She imagined the heat of flames all around, or crashing waves. She imagined so much movement as to be overwhelming. And with those thoughts in mind she started the last part.

The pace doubled again and she played a bit more harshly, as if this was the final dare. I double dog dare you to take another step. Second grade humor. It fit the childish glee she was feeling at this new game.

Devin flew smoothly from one end of the stage to the other, each movement complementing each note; for all intents and purposes, the girl was a masterful puppeteer. He could feel her challenge each time she drew her bow across the strings. Felt it, heard it, had every intention of playing her game to the end, no matter how difficult. His soft brown eyes opened and he stared at her with a feral, aggressive grin. He was as excited as she was; all he wanted was to prolong the dance.

As her tempo doubled, he began to realize just how much his heavy coat was slowing him down. Without the slightest break in the dance, he unzipped it and let his arms go limp for just an instant in the middle of a spin. The coat slid down from his shoulders and he tossed it to the auditorium floor beyond the stage, and returned his gaze to the redhead. It was clear that she was enjoying this beyond the pleasure of the challenge itself. She wasn't merely playing for the challenge, she was singing for him.

Devin's eyes never left her as the tempo increased again. Breathing heavily, he moved in closer, dancing about in a tight circle, challenging her challenge with a challenge of his own. I've taken that step, now don't mess up. Can't slip or stumble now, too close to the end. He breathed against her cheek, ducked under her violin, hissed at the stinging of sweat and her hair in his eyes when he danced behind. He was careful never to actually touch her or physically interrupt her playing, despite how quickly and aggressively they both moved in this game.

Lyra still had her eyes closed. Not that it really made any difference to her, but she felt that she concentrated better when her eyes were closed. She could feel this boys every movement, as he passed inches from her, dancing around her like some possessed creature, or someone hypnotized and lost in the ritual of the dance. Every note she played felt crystal clear, and she could feel the vibrations flowing through the air, telling her exactly where he was and what he was doing. And he was good. She could feel his steps on the air, and his movements through the ground.

As the song came close to an end, she smiled to herself. Unless he knew the song, she was bound for at least a little amusement. As the last few notes flew off her strings, she drew the bow sharply across them in the last note and the room fell silent. The ending was very abrupt and very unexpected, and perhaps she played it a little louder and more harshly than was actually needed, but it gave the song a dramatic flare she rather liked.

She stood perfectly still, facing him, and finally opened her eyes.