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Scarred Love	By : Onitsu Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2456 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 1: What was.

Erik came to us three years previous, I was only thirteen at the time and I’ll never forget the scene that unfolded before me. The horses started to whinny and of course that meant only that there was someone or thing unfamiliar bothering them. My father checked on them but came back dragging a frightened boy in a mask. He was apologizing profusely for his intrusion and only wanted a small bit of food and was willing to compensate for it with hard labor. Father and the others only jeered and taunted him, calling him a thief; demanding that he take off the mask, for they wished to see his face. I watched as he shrunk back in absolute terror at the demand. I spoke up and tried to get them to leave him alone, he had done no harm and obviously he didn’t really try to steal a horse.

For my trouble I was slapped across the face. That’s when they ripped off his mask.

I will never forget that face; even to this day it haunts my dreams. He had a pathetically underdeveloped flap of skin that was servicing as a nose, which only emphasized the actual whole itself. His skin across his forehead was so thin and transparent you could see the veins pulsing beneath. His eyes were deeply set, and he had high prominent cheek bones. The right half of his lips were puffy and malformed. The only part of his face that was spared from the deformity was a small patch that included the lower left portion of his chin and the other half of his lips. What followed that unveiling was a sickening crack as he was hit upside the head, as well as a thump as his body crumpled to the ground.
After that, Javert took him, caged him and claimed the boy as his discovery. Despite his visage, I thought it was cruel. I was beat up a lot because I always defended him. I was the one who brought him food at first. After a while he told me his name was Erik, but only after lots of coaxing and by speaking to him like he was an equal. I was smacked by Javert on occasion for being kind; he claimed that I was ruining the training that he was trying to administer to his prize. He said “That I was giving it ‘ideas.’ ”
Poor Erik was beaten if he didn’t obey every word that Javert told him to do. In the beginning he was beaten quite often. Javert, the pig, even tied the poor boy to the bars because all he would do was huddle in the corner of his cage, hiding his face in his arms. I don’t blame him for not wanting to be gawked at, for not wanting to be Javert’s little “living corpse.” But when Javert finished tying him up, all he did was scream. That really upset the paying customers that wanted to see “The corpse boy” and not a screaming lunatic child.
It wasn’t until later that he figured out one of Javert’s greatest weaknesses; money. He exploited that weakness quite well and was able to live comfortable enough because he made Javert a rich man by singing, using ventriloquism then revealing his face at the end of the performance. He learned from our wise-woman which herbs worked best for healing infusions, balms, poultices and various other potions, as well as poisons that could kill swiftly and effectively. He got better then our own healer at that trade. When many of the children caught a disease that was slowly killing them, the handful that took his infusion lived, including myself, all who took hers died. After that many of the tribe preferred his remedies over the old woman’s because his seemed to work better.

Then that terrible night occurred. Erik and I had been collecting firewood for the morning cook fires. Erik went off a ways to cover more ground. After a while Javert came stumbling through the brush, he was obviously drunk because there was a bottle of Absinthe in his hand. I paid him only half a mind because he was known to enjoy his liquor. Until he grabbed me and dragged me back the way he came. I fought, kicked and screamed but I was too far away from the camp for anyone to hear me. He ripped my dress bodice and fondled me with his grubby hands then tried to slip one up my skirt. I got into a position where I kneed him in his swollen groin. He rolled over off of me and I got up to scramble away but he grabbed my ankle, tripping me.
I fell and hit my head hard on a rock and blacked out. I awoke to the smell of burning flesh and absolute pain. He must have thought that I was dead and had doused me from the bottoms of my breasts down in alcohol and used the lamp he'd had to ignite me. I screamed and screamed, I couldn’t move, when like a wraith, Erik appeared from the darkness. He must have heard me screaming and came running to help. He smothered the flames with his cloak, tenderly wrapped me in it and carried me immediately to the healers’ trailer.
I remember though that through most of my healing process, Erik was there. He should have killed me; it would have been a mercy. For almost four months I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember vaguely being wrapped and smeared with many different balms. Some soothed my cracked and bleeding skin. Others stung and burned almost as badly as the fire that was caused by that jackass Javert.
He changed my bandages, and sang while reapplying the balms and poultices. I had never heard Ave Maria before, until he sang it one day while making more medicines for my twisted yet healing body. And for that short time I actually tried my hardest to stay awake. I wanted to hear him so badly, that voice made me forget my pain; it made me forget every thing. If you took all of the most heavenly voices and combined them into one sweet voice like an angels it still wouldn’t compare to his. He stopped only when he realized that I wanted to hear him more than to get the sleep I needed to heal. Tenderly though he lifted me up and made me drink some broth and to take one of his infusions. The infusion made me sleepy but as I was drifting off he started to sing again.
It puzzled me that he was able to apply the balms so easily to my bare body because he usually avoided women like they were a plague. Yet he could look at mine and not blink an eye. I found out later why; my body was no longer recognizable as truly female. The flesh was no longer charred black, instead it was an angry red, pocked, and twisting horribly from around my breasts down to the top of my shins.
Luckily I had been wearing leather riding boots that day otherwise my feet would have been just as ruined as the rest of my body. My back was also mostly spared because I had been lying down when I was set ablaze.
A few days before I was able to really move on my own Erik disappeared. It seems that Javert, no doubt, tried to do something to him for he wound up gutted from his own knife. Every one knew that Javert’s death was Erik’s doing, but none cared. I had been asleep most of the time and was oblivious during all of it. I had wanted to tell them that it was Javert that did this to me, not even Erik knew. Or maybe he did and just couldn’t do anything about it, I truly don’t know.
I was never treated the same by the others again. All I got was looks of pity and false kindness because of my “accident”. When I had told my father what had happened he only shrugged saying “Well he’s dead now and good riddance to him and his devil’s kin.” He was referring to Erik with that last remark. Erik had built up a reputation of being a graduate of the college of sorcery and of riding a dragon. “The devils advocate” they’d say “Rubbish!” I’d say. He was a clever illusionist that’s all. I never believed everything I saw. Erik could do some amazing things with silk thread, ventriloquism and flowers though.
But after he disappeared, I hurt inside. It was like some one had blown a hole in my soul with a cannon. When I had recuperated enough to go out on my own, I did. I tried to follow him, but always arrived just after he disappeared again. He was much respected in the Russian circus, and quite feared in Persia. In my search for him there I was able to meet the Khanum, she was the Shah’s mother, and she took great interest in my “infatuation” as she called it when she found out what brought me there. She tried to kill me as well; someone had drugged my food and she had me put into a room of mirrors that had been designed by Erik. She claimed that my death was going to be her “vengeance unknown” against Erik. I would not give in to someone like her! It seemed that the point of that torture device was that the occupant would go insane from the heat, and then hang themselves from the rope that was connected to an artificial tree contained within the device. I waited in that raging inferno from sunrise until sun set. When she finally let me out she was impressed by my determination. She asked me why I was seeking him out. I plainly if weakly replied that I wanted to know “because”. “Because?” she inquired “Because why?”
I smirked and struck a deal. I would tell her IF she let me recover from the dehydration, then if she thought my story interesting enough she might even help me in reach my goal. She gave me a sly side look but agreed to my recovery.
When I no longer felt like a piece of dried meat, we spoke. I told her of my “accident” and what he did to me. I wanted to know why he saved me. Why he let me live as a twisted thing! I couldn’t even be seen as a woman. I didn’t even know if my reproductive organs still worked! I was a twisted hunk of meat! I wanted to know WHY! Why didn’t he leave me to die? The Khanum stroked her chubby chin with a jewel encrusted finger and looked at me with a scrutinizing gaze. I had gotten into the habit of wrapping my torso in light linen, over that I would wear a loose long sleeved shirt. A sash was tied around my waist which overlapped my black trews and knee high black leather boots. My long raven black hair was normally wrapped in a tight bun at the nape of my neck.
I hate being stared at; I especially hated being stared at by that fat cow. Finally she nodded with a sneer “Strip” She said flatly. That took me aback, “Excuse me? I don’t think so.” She smiled slyly at me “If you strip I will help you find him. I want to see your scars to…Validate your story.” I sneered venomously at her “NO.” I stated, “I’ll not let you gawk at me like some side show freak, Never.” Her look darkened and she said in a matter-of-fact voice “Either you strip down or I have one of my eunuch’s hold you down while another sticks your hand into a basket full of asps, Then where would you be in your search for your ‘beloved’ monster.” I smirked at her but that turned into laughter quickly after that. One thing that I think I had mentioned was that almost every Gypsy learns how to fight in one way or another. I knew quite a bit on how to kill, I had to learn that lesson while on my travels. I knew sword play, hand to hand combat and while I was on a wild lead in the Orient I learned some martial arts. “Listen well woman, your servant would be dead before he could lay one finger on me. So don’t threaten me.” I rolled up my buttoned sleeve and exposed the twisted flesh there “Here is your proof, Khanum. Here is a sample of what the rest of the flesh on my body looks like. Maybe your twisted mind can imagine the rest. But DO NOT dare to tell me to expose myself to you EVER again.”
She frowned but then laughed suddenly and went on with a chuckle “You are dancing with fire child. I could have them swarm you and kill you easily because of your rude manner. But where would the fun be in your death? You’re very amusing I think I’ll keep you alive, for now.” I didn’t like the sound of that, who knows what her twisted, sick mind would come up with. She rewarded my intriguing self with a ring encrusted with huge diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires set in pure gold. It was gaudy at best but I kept it on me on a black satin cord around my neck because it was entirely too big for my thin fingers. Also it might come in handy for money if I needed to make a hasty getaway.
I stayed for two weeks. That was the extent of miss highness’ interest in me. But during that time I obtained quite a horde of gifts from her. It was from the stories of my travels, as well as certain assignments that she gave me. She had found out that I had worked as a freelance assassin from time to time from one of her little palace detectives. I guess it was one of the bitch’s personal jokes but she housed me in the same room that Erik was in. When she tried to give a gift to me of Hashish, I sent it back. She tried opium which I also returned that to her. I told her that I liked art, gems, gold and silver work etc. I think she took slight insult to my return of her previous “gifts” because I found a cobra in my bed one night. Before it could strike I had grabbed it and flung it across the room, it came slithering at me again but I took out one of the leaf shaped throwing knives that are usually tucked into my sash and pinned it to the wall by its hood. I then took out a boot knife and cut off its head. I knew that it had to have been the Sultana that arranged that.
So I left her a present of the snake’s dead body on her bed. I found out later that the cow was testing me. I guess though that when she actually did start to lose interest in me she really would try to kill me. But I didn’t know that the day would come as soon as it did.
I arrived in my room late one night, it was very dark and as soon as I closed the door behind me her lackeys attacked. None survived that night. I caught the first two in the throat with my throwing daggers, the next three I knocked unconscious with various pressure point strikes the last one swung his scimitar at me and I kicked it out of his hand, kicked him in the head, then rolled around him, caught the flying scimitar and promptly hamstringed, then gutted him. I went up to the unconscious ones and cleanly snapped their necks. It was a lot more merciful than what the Khoum would have done to them for their failure to kill me.
That though was the last straw. This woman had to die, and I was leaving. I gathered the treasures that she had bestowed on me during my stay and hid them in the olive tree outside my balcony. Then I went in search for her. I snuck into the harem and found her massive form lounging on a bed of plush pillows smoking from her hookah. She smiled when she saw me “I see you survived, I expected nothing less.” she took a long drag from her the pipe and leisurely let the smoke out to curl and wisp in the air about her head. “So you are the little minx, but what makes you so sure that he would want a twisted slut like you, hmm?” She stared into the distance with a glazed look in her eye’s “He wouldn’t take me, why would he want you? His standards are too high.” I sneered at her, hatred flashed in my deep green eyes. “You knew that you were sending those men to their deaths didn’t you.”
She smiled languidly and nodded “It is of no consequence.” I whirled on her and sneered close to her face “You wanted to see what I looked like at one time. Do you still wish to see my twisted flesh?” I quickly pulled my shirt out of my sash and lifted it high so that she could see the twisted flesh beneath. She gasped in awe of the painful scars that had lain hidden by the soft material of my garments. “I gave you your pound of flesh, now I want my pint of blood.” With that steel flashed through the air and embedded in her throat. She clutched at the knife that was sticking out of her neck. Blood welled out of her mouth as I sneered at her and finished her off by slicing open her throat leaving her with a smile that would never fade. I wiped my knife off on her sheet then proceeded to cut off her fingers. The rings upon them came in handy in my later journeys to find Erik.

But I digress; I have finally tracked him down to Paris. Here I will find out why, here I will see him again and finally know why he let me live....like this.
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Scarred Love