(
What Liz was playing earlier)
Liz kept ambling slowly through the hallway, pushing past people who barely seemed to notice her, or rather they did and just didn't wish to acknowledge her gloomy presence. There were a few who said the usual,
"Watch where you're going, you creep!" when they were checked by Liz's scrawny shoulder, but other than that, there were mostly sharp glares and piercing eyes of disgust and distaste towards the Nephilim, none that Liz even seemed to acknowledge as she moved towards the east exit of the hall and once again emerged squinting her eyes into the bright, blaring sun of a late August afternoon. She stretched her hood over her face the instant those damning rays struck her, causing her to grimace and growl under her teeth, "Dammit.... Maybe there's some shade somewhere..." Perhaps the other side of the school, the place where so many tall trees and thick brush obscured most of the campus in deep shadows, shadows that were mostly home to the werewolves who loved to frolic amidst the towering pines and larches, but they even gave safe refuge to the other creatures who....in their time of need....sought out the comfort of darkness, of shadows and the absence of infernal, cheerful light. So quietly and keeping to herself, Liz strolled behind the school, noticing that to her left stood the stained glass window of the music room.
"Huh?" She could hear....music....coming from beyond the window, dark, beautiful, haunting, every note sending a cascade of chills through her body as her ears perked up to the wails and cries of a Gothic organ melody emanating through the dense air and flowing so elegantly through Liz. The sound....it was as though it transported her away....away from this forsaken realm....into a realm of infinite shadows, where not a ray of light existed, darkness....it covered everything.... While she listened, she sat down, resting her back against the thick trunk of a nearby tree. Liz then fished from her bag her sketchbook and a stick of charcoal. Softly, her eyes closed while she flipped open the leather-bound hardcover to a vanilla colored leaf of paper, a blank canvas. Her charcoal was pressed to the paper and her hand began to move as if urged by some sentient force that possessed it, or rather possessed all of her. Twas the music that moved her hand, created every broad stroke and every intricate scribbling, and merely Liz let it carry her, unaware of what she crafted beyond her closed eyes. The music soon faded, drifting away unto the wind, and with it ceased Liz's hand, the stick of charcoal meticulously balanced between her fore and middle fingers. Her eyes gently fluttered open, but instantly they snapped wide when she witnessed....
what she had drawn. It was.....it was him! But....but no! She didn't mean to draw him! How did this even occur? Also.....could it have been him......Sealameet? Could it have been the Fallen who composed such a captivating arrangement, played such wonderful music? How was Liz to even know? Like others....she too had never given the chance to speak to him, instead of a few stray parting words. Had she have stayed, she might have known the Fallen was also a lover of music....just as she was. Quickly, Liz shut her sketchbook and stuffed it back into her bag, her hands fidgeting as with the rest of herself in an anxious tantrum. Under no circumstances did she want anyone, even Sealameet to see the drawing. Maybe she should burn it....no...that's too drastic. Plus, it was against Liz's artistic nature to torch a masterpiece, just because it gave her ill feelings.
