"Can't believe we've 'ad to shell out five bleedin' sovereigns fer tickets," one audience member griped. "Money's gone up 'is arse. Knocked 'im silly."

Aubrey half-listened to the gossip surrounding her as she surveyed the scene from behind the curtain. The crowd was already a mix of upper-crust nobles and rich patrons as she suspected. It appeared that Blackwell was even charging by class and social status as there were roped-off sections reserved for only nobles and aristocrats. The rest of the seats were relegated to the middle-class citizens and the workers.

Despite the bumptiousness of the audience members, there was a palpable air of excitement as well—it seemed that word about Aubrey's death had spread, and now everyone was eager to see the new face of Blackwell's entertainment empire.

The orchestra onstage tuned their instruments with soft arpeggios and scales while the audience chatted among themselves.

Disguised as an usher, Aubrey headed backstage to seek out the songstress Lucille. Between the Facsimile mask and her Veil of the Hidden Stretto passive skill, no one gave her a second glance. She walked through the throng of performers and stagehands, most of them lost in their own little world. She caught snippets of their conversations.

"... I told him I was busy tonight..."

"... do you think the new singer's any good..."

"... he had the nerve to complain that he had to stand all the way in the back..."

It wasn't long before she found Lucille alone in her dressing room, muttering lines under her breath as she stared into the mirror, checking her makeup. The girl was dressed in an elaborate crimson dress that accentuated her figure nicely, a striking contrast to Aubrey's tattered work uniform and disguise.

"...and my heart—I cannot live, I cannot live without your—no, wait, your—I cannot live without your love..." Lucille practiced her lines softly. "Crimson like blood—"

"Your line's a little off," Aubrey spoke.

Lucille jumped, startled at her appearance.

Slowly, Aubrey peeled away her mask and unveiled her identity. Lucille stared wide-eyed as Aubrey approached and placed her Facsimile mask on the counter in front of her.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you," Aubrey said, assuming a softer tone of voice. "I'm here to help you. I can see that you're struggling."

Lucille took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "You—you're—" she stuttered.

The simmering rage swelled again inside Aubrey. Just by looking at the girl—even without touching her—she could see how utterly inexperienced and naive she was. Everything about her just screamed 'I'm just an ordinary girl trying to make it in a cruel world,' and Aubrey had no doubt that that was what had caught Blackwell's attention.

Aubrey bit her tongue to stifle the vitriol threatening to spill from her lips.

Had it been anyone else... anyone who wasn't a fucking noble... anyone who actually had to work for it... anyone who understood... who knew... then maybe she'd feel a little sympathy. A little empathy.

But as it stood—all nobles were cunts. This one would be no different.

Lucille composed herself and drew a shaky breath. "Lady Aubrey?" she asked with uncertainty. "I've heard the tales. Are you—?"

Aubrey strode forward, closing the gap between them with one step. Her gaze held Lucille's, her blue eyes sparkling with something close to fear, but also closer to something else...

"Yes," Aubrey breathed, feeling herself drifting into a strange half-daze as she regarded the girl before her.

Part of her wanted to give encouraging advice. Lucille had talent, certainly... and the crowd would eat her up... but Blackwell's vision for her as a star... it would only take away her edge... take away her individuality... turn her into a commodity...

Yet, another part of her wanted to wrap her hands around the girl's neck... to squeeze until she'd squeezed out her last breath... or maybe snap her neck and tear her head off, then toss it on Julian Blackwell's lap.

Something in Aubrey stirred at that thought... something she hadn't felt since she'd clawed her way out of her own grave...

For a moment she could imagine it... the scene unfolding in front of her as if in a trance... her fingers closed around the girl's neck... she leaned in... and...

But before her fingers could reach her, they seemed to stall and twitch uselessly in mid-air... as if an invisible force was stopping her from committing to her actions.

Aubrey blinked... her vision slowly focusing as the dreamy trance she had fallen under seemed to evaporate almost as suddenly as it had appeared.

Lucille stood there still... trembling... looking both terrified and utterly confused.

What the hell was I about to do to her?

"L—Lady Aubrey... please..." the girl stammered.

Aubrey swallowed her anger... or maybe it had simply subsided... either way... the rage she'd felt a second ago had now fizzled to a mere dull ember.

She smiled thinly at the girl. "So... Lucille," Aubrey said with an exaggerated sigh. "It seems my good friend Julian Blackwell has decided to... how do I put it... replace me so soon?"

Lucille looked down at her feet. "I'm... sorry Lady Aubrey... it's just... you're—well... you were supposedly... d-dead... and Mister Blackwell—I—I only found out recently..." she stammered, trying to explain herself. "He... he offered me a... an opportunity, and..."

Aubrey placed a finger against the girl's lips to silence her.

"Shh... shh... it's alright... you don't have to apologize for anything," Aubrey cooed. "In fact... I think you have what it takes to make it as a star... there's just... one little issue..."

"I—I do?" the girl replied meekly.

Aubrey's grip on Lucille's jaw tightened... causing her to cry out softly in surprise as she guided her face closer to her own. "Yes... but... your voice..." she breathed. "It needs some work. It's good... but... it could be better... here... let me show you..."

And with that, Aubrey closed her eyes... and she sang.

She sang the same song she'd just heard Lucille practicing—the song Blackwell had chosen to open the performance with—except her rendition had changed something within the song itself. It had transfigured it... transformed it somehow, and when she finished... Aubrey let her breath linger and whispered the final lines: "... and the blood shall flow, black like your heart..."

Her words resonated in the silence as a small shudder rippled through Lucille's body. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped open with a little gasp. She seemed almost shocked by Aubrey's singing.

"You see? It's all about the emotions... the delivery..." Aubrey explained, trying not to chuckle at how incredibly ridiculous it seemed. She felt the sudden urge to roll her eyes... she felt like an adult giving an improvisation lesson to a child...

Lucille stared at her with an awed expression on her face.

Aubrey released her grip on the girl's chin and let her hand fall away. "The song is good... the lyrics... they're not bad either... but the performance?... that's what matters... and the performance is what needs work..." she explained.

Lucille's eyes remained fixed upon Aubrey as if transfixed... completely under her spell.

[Skill: "Shove of the Heartbeat's Force" Activated! Cooldown: 8 seconds]

Aubrey grinned—and in a flash—she slammed Lucille against the wall. Her body crumpled into a heap.

Aubrey stalked over and crouched beside the prone songstress, tilting her head to look at her unconscious face. Her hair lay in tangles, half-covering her eyes.

"Sorry... I think it's better if I take your place tonight," she apologized with mock sincerity. "It'll only be for one show. After that, you're welcome to work for Julian Blackwell all you want. I just... have some unfinished business with him."

----------------------------------------

With her mask donned and the veil of illusion activated to render her appearance to Lucille's, Aubrey waltzed onto the stage confidently, in her costume of Lucille's crimson dress.

Applause filled the hall and greeted her. The sounds seemed distant... far-off... almost hollow... almost unreal. As she ascended the stage and stepped into the spotlight, her focus honed in on her goal and nothing else seemed to matter.

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Bodies of faceless audience members blurred. She blocked them out. Only Julian Blackwell mattered.

Only he mattered.

And there he sat—a smug smile plastered on his stupid fucking face—seated in his private box reserved for nobility and the high class. His black hair slicked back perfectly, and his dark suit hugging his frame tightly.

Julian's attention was fixed on her—Lucille's form—his crystal glass of fine wine dangled precariously in his manicured fingers as he raised it towards her with a slight nod.

In her mind, one of the silhouettes of her four murderers began to resolve itself into Blackwell's features. A vague sense of déjà vu settled upon her—like a scene from a memory half-recalled or an event half-glimpsed out of the corner of the eye.

Her breath hitched and she found herself unable to move as she stood frozen on the spot.

That feeling of anger returned—the rage bubbling up within her. It boiled beneath her skin, threatening to break free with each step forward she took. She had to hold herself back from launching off the stage right then and there—tearing through the crowd like a deranged animal... just to reach him and rip that smirk off his face.

But no... she couldn't... not yet. Not yet. She still had a part to play. So instead she drew in a deep breath... closed her eyes... and sang.

As the first note left her lips—a piercing E6—something rippled out from her—almost tangible—and the entire audience fell silent. No applause. No clapping. Just total silence. It felt almost unnerving... like a vacuum of sound.

The orchestra played their parts as she continued her song—her voice soaring and diving with each melodic phrase... and Aubrey let the music flow through her—let it guide her movements... her gestures... even her facial expressions. It enveloped her, surrounded her... suffused her being as she gave herself over completely to its embrace.

Julian's gaze remained locked upon hers, unwavering, unblinking—as if hypnotized by the spell she wove.

Aubrey continued to sing, letting the lyrics pour out of her. They came easily—instinctively—almost like they belonged there all along. And with every word uttered, with every note sung, she could feel her voice growing stronger... more confident... more powerful... until it seemed almost beyond her control.

And then finally, after what seemed an eternity, Aubrey reached the climactic final refrain—and it burst forth from her lips in one huge crescendo—a thunderous wave of sound that resonated throughout the entire auditorium.

"And the blood shall flow... black as your heart..." she finished.

Dead silence descended upon the hall once more... it seemed almost eerie how quiet it was now—not a single cough or murmur coming from the crowd.

Aubrey's performance hung in the air like a physical presence—so thick and tangible she could practically touch it. No one dared move or breathe. Even Julian's expression had changed—his usual smirk replaced by a look of utter disbelief. His mouth hung open slightly.

But as soon as it came, that moment of stillness broke.

The first applause started from somewhere in the crowd and erupted into a frenzied roar, accompanied by shouts of approval and cheers.

Julian remained seated—motionless and speechless—his eyes wide. The wine glass still held limply in his hand.

Aubrey stood perfectly still upon the stage, basking in the crowd's adoration, drinking in their admiration. Her eyes never left Julian's—even as she smiled and bowed.

Something inside her thrilled at seeing him so awestruck and stunned by her singing—but another part of her knew it wasn't enough. No. It wasn't nearly enough. He deserved so much worse. She had so much more planned for him.

As the applause subsided and the audience's cheers died down—the orchestra began to play a soft introductory melody for the next song. It started slow and gentle—building gradually up to the first verse—a stark contrast to the powerful opening number that had preceded it.

The first verse left her lips in a mournful melody. It was an old song—one of her favorites—a story about lost love and broken promises. As Aubrey sang—her voice tinged with melancholy and longing—she noticed some of the audience members wiping tears away from their faces... some even openly weeping at her performance.

Julian hadn't moved. His eyes were still locked onto hers as she continued to sing. One would expect to see him in full composure but he just sat there staring... dumbfounded and bewildered. The crystal wine glass was still held tightly in his hand—though it seemed poised to shatter with the slightest touch.

The sight was so comical that Aubrey felt a sudden urge to giggle uncontrollably. She resisted—barely—and composed herself.

Her voice carried throughout the hall—sorrowful yet strong—like an invocation or incantation... casting its spell over everyone there.

After several verses and multiple repeated refrains, she delivered her final notes with heartrending effect—drawing them out long and plaintive—her voice growing steadily louder until it reached its crescendo in one final sustained note that resonated throughout the hall, filling every space within.

Once more silence followed, broken only by the sound of people sniffling and sobbing softly in their seats.

Aubrey stood motionless—letting the moment linger as she soaked up all their emotions... savoring them. The anger that simmered deep within her receded slightly—it felt like a distant memory now... something that belonged to another person entirely.

Her gaze focused upon Julian again.

He had finally regained his composure somewhat, his expression was no longer one of utter shock and astonishment but rather a mixture of curiosity and intrigue. He stared back at her with narrowed eyes—as if trying to figure something out.

It made Aubrey want to laugh again. It would have been quite amusing to see what was going on inside his head. What sort of thoughts and feelings could possibly occupy such a small brain? Surely nothing too interesting or important.

The orchestra played another soft introductory melody as Aubrey prepared for her next number. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she braced herself for another performance.

----------------------------------------

After an hour-long show of singing, dancing, and theatrics—Aubrey stood centre stage and took a bow. The audience applauded and cheered once more. She held a hand up to acknowledge the praise. The auditorium's spotlight illuminated her.

Julian Blackwell smiled from his private box seat and raised his glass to Aubrey.

When the applause died down, he rose to his feet and clapped with gusto before throwing two bouquets of roses at the stage. They landed with a thud right in front of Aubrey.

"Bravo!" Julian shouted in jubilation. "That was astounding! Magnificent!" He turned to address the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "We give you... Lucille! The newest star of our esteemed theatre!"

The crowd erupted in rapturous applause and cheers once more.

Aubrey resisted the urge to laugh or smirk, keeping a neutral face instead, and bowed graciously before picking up the bouquet closest to her foot. She held it aloft for all to see as she curtsied again.

From her peripheral vision, she spotted a dozen security guards idly lining the walls and corners of the music hall. Some wore suits; some wore uniforms bearing the logo of Blackwell Enterprises. They all carried truncheons and batons tucked away behind them—hands hovering close to their sides where they could reach the weapons at a moment's notice.

Hmm…

Although opera houses and music halls were cultural venues emphasizing decorum and propriety among their patrons, Blackwell clearly intended to ensure no one would dare interfere with his plans tonight. Or worse yet, stage some form of protest or protest song.

Fortunately for Aubrey—and unfortunately for them—their efforts would be futile.

The final act of her show was about to begin.

Throughout her performances, she thought of how to get to Blackwell's private box and what she would do once she got there. A part of her wanted to go full out—throw caution to the wind—tear through the crowd like a bull in a china shop—use every skill in her arsenal to eviscerate his whole guard detail while making a big production number out of it.

However, that would create way too much unnecessary chaos and damage. After all, Aubrey still needed to stay under the radar as much as possible, keep a low profile so she wouldn't attract attention.

Still... She was donning Lucille's visage. Any witnesses would see this as Lucille going insane and running amok.

No.

Aubrey wanted Julian to see her—the real her. Wanted him to know exactly who the last face he saw before he died. Wanted him to look her in the eyes as he perished.

Maybe he was the type of guy to go to Lucille's dressing room to congratulate her personally afterwards? No doubt he'd be all smiles and fake compliments... maybe even have the nerve to hit on her inappropriately... offer her some "deal" involving sex in exchange for fame... something he'd undoubtedly done plenty of times before...

She could wait until then. Once the guards had left his side... once he was alone... that would be when she'd strike.

No! Fuck being subtle and covert! This bastard deserved nothing less than to be put on display—a lesson to all those who tried to use her or cross her!

Besides... there'd be no guarantee that it would happen. It could all end up just being wishful thinking. He might not come to Lucille's dressing room at all. Maybe he'd leave the building right away after the show and go straight home instead—leaving his guards behind to escort Lucille. Or maybe he'd head into another venue for a nightcap at some exclusive gentlemen's club where he could boast about his accomplishments.

All of which meant Aubrey only had one shot. One opportunity.

Rather than going on a complete rampage here and now, she settled on another idea.

Aubrey gazed at the orchestra below her. Their instruments rested silently by their chairs—some had already vacated their seats to chat among themselves—others were busy packing up their instruments to depart.

Oh no you don't. I've got one more song for you all to play.

She tossed the bouquet of roses aside as she strode to the curtain and reached down behind it, grabbing Hellion's Cry off the floor.

The instrument glinted brightly under the auditorium lights—reflecting flashes of red and orange onto Aubrey's face. As she held it out to her side and brushed its strings with her free hand, the orchestra and the audience went silent at once.

Julian Blackwell stood at the edge of his private box seat—a confused look on his face as he looked down at her.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." She gestured to the band as she raised her guitar to her chest. "One more number. If you will."

[Ability: Mood-Inducing Cantata activated! Duration: 240 seconds; Cooldown: 480 seconds]

The first note Aubrey sang was sharp, a piercing cry that cut through the silence of the hall. It was a sound that seemed to come from deep within her soul—something primal... something almost animalistic. It poured out of her mouth like venom, laced with bitterness and hate.

Aubrey's fingers flew across the fretboard of her guitar, picking out notes as she belted out another stanza—letting it flow freely—making no effort to hide her feelings from anyone present. Her eyes locked on Julian's as she sang out.

The orchestra, under the influence of her cantata, found their fingers moving of their own accord, playing a song they had never rehearsed and without a single sheet of music before them—but now knew intimately. Notes soared and dipped, perfectly complementing Aubrey's vocal range. It was as though an invisible conductor guided their every movement—almost as if they too shared the same sentiment as her.

Her voice rose steadily in volume as she finished the first verse—the intensity of her delivery building with each word until she hit a powerful high note that pierced through the air like a gunshot. Her cantata reached out to the crowd—pulling their emotions towards her, shifting the mood to reflect hers.

Julian stared transfixed at the stage—his eyes wide with disbelief, his hands gripping the railing of his private box tightly.

Slowly—ever so slowly—Aubrey walked toward the edge of the stage and lifted the Facsimile mask off her face... and the illusion of Lucille's appearance dissolved.

Gasps echoed throughout the audience as she unveiled herself.

Aubrey's crimson eyes pierced through Julian's with all the coldness and malice they could muster.

"Remember me?" she sang between stanzas. "Or have you forgotten my face already?"