A/N: This is a companion piece to my other fic, The Edge of Light. You by no means have to read the other to understand this one, it's just some backstory on how Erik met an upcoming character from that fic.

I do want to give you a heads up, this isn't a fluffy story, and some of the themes can be quite dark. I do hope you give it go though, and please let me know what you think! Keep in mind, this is just my personal take on a part of Erik's childhood, as I sort of just created my own backstory for him. He's around nine or ten in this, but of course he's not aware of his exact age hah. Enjoy!

The chill of the night bit at his skin. A shiver ran through his small form. Golden, sunken eyes hidden behind a crude mask squeezed shut in frustration. For several agonizing minutes, the thin boy pried at the mighty lock at the base of the mask with his skeletal fingers. The occasional muffled whimper left him and echoed around the surrounding trees as he struggled in vain to free himself.

It was just his luck to escape that place, but still find himself imprisoned in a lingering piece of that hell. The tips of his fingers ached as they started to bleed, and he fell to his knees in defeat. He was a fool to ever think he could just leave without the key to his mask.

It donned on him that he was a dead man if the mask remained on, as he couldn't even eat when it was locked in place.

That had been their intention of course, to keep him contained by any means necessary. There was no better way to keep someone under control than removing the ability to freely move their mouth. The orphanage masqueraded as a sanctuary for unfortunate, troubled children, but it only took them one look at his monstrous face to demand he never go around without a mask.

There was no lock at first. They merely handed him a plain sack with crooked eyeholes. They quickly learned it wasn't his face that was dangerous, it was his voice. Not even God himself could keep a boy his age from talking, but the Matron of the orphanage was the furthest thing from God next to the devil himself. Often, her beatings were accompanied with fiery sermons about his demonic existence, how his father must have been as wicked as his mother to create sin such as him.

"My mother is mad, and my father is dead," he had shouted at her one day, his eyes stinging and cheeks red. He thought he was brave then, to stand up straight and stare her in the eye, despite the searing pain that burned in his fresh welts. He had gone to bed quite smug after, he felt ten feet tall. He thought this was the part of the story where the evil queen realized the error of her ways and retreated to her kingdom, never to bother him again.

That was the night he learned life was not like the stories in his books.

He remembered seeing the bronze colored material of the mask for the first time and recoiling in horror. It reminded him of the mummified bodies he had once read about during his days with his mother. He would never forget the wicked glimmer of delight in the Matron's eye as he kicked and screamed against the hands condemning him to the mask. The sharp snap of the giant latch brought a hush over the room, and he screamed no more.

It was a brilliant design really, the prison around his head. He gave up trying to move his mouth after only a day, as a thick strap fitted within the mask rested over his mouth. Beneath his chin, a cold wedge of metal jutted out from the interior of the mask. He thought that was the most difficult part to grow accustomed to, the constant sensation of solid metal pressing under your chin. It was often difficult to swallow with such an unyielding pressure against your jaw.

Once a day, for exactly one hour, he was granted a brief relief from the painful hold of his mask to eat. He refused to speak even without the mask preventing him, as he feared they would figure out a new way to take even more from him. He retreated into himself for the months after, silently surviving each day with thoughts of escape and of the one thing the Matron wanted most for him to forget.

Erik. His name was Erik. He kept himself sane by bitterly reciting his name in his head, and he took comfort in the fact the Matron would never know what went on in his head. She had forbidden him from using his own name for whatever senseless reason, but he clung to it like a drowning man held to a rope in the midst of the sea.

It was his only link to humanity, as to have a name was to be human. There was nothing on this Earth Erik wanted more than to be human. It had been his silent plea ever since his mother shoved his face into a shattered mirror and screeched at him to see what he was years ago.

Erik winced as his foot began to throb. Silently, he scooted back until he came to rest against a tree. The only light that touched him in thick of the woods was from the dull glow of the moon, but it was enough for him to see that his foot was bleeding. He had lost his shoes hours ago. To call them shoes was rather generous, as they had been less than a thread away from falling apart even before he made his escape.

His long-awaited opportunity had come out of nowhere, and there had been no time to do anything except run. And that was exactly what he did, many hours ago when the sun was still high. He had thrown himself through the slight gap in the fence without a second thought, with only the tattered clothes on his back and the bulky mask on his face.

A single hand returned to the unbreakable lock at the base of the mask. There was no point in sitting around, waiting for death he supposed. He had gone longer than most without food, which gave him enough time to find some way out of the contraption. He recalled seeing what appeared to be hundreds of lights in the distance before leaving the road and sprinting into the woods. Erik had never seen a big city before, like the many he had read about. He wondered if all those lights were in fact the product of such a city.

His thin legs ached as he stood, his knees almost knocking together as he shivered. He decided if he was to die, it would be nice to see a city first. If he couldn't find help there, at least his death was more likely to be noticed. The thought wasn't all that comforting, but he drove himself in the direction of the lights with it in mind. Erik had few comforts in his life, and he took what he could.

His throat begged for the smallest drop of water. His shoulders drooped as he trudged through an endless maze of alley ways and back streets. It was midday, and he feared his death was creeping closer much faster than he originally thought. He had avoided the main streets of the city from the start, as something inside him knew a creature such as he did not belong with the likes of the public.

He found a dark corner between two brick buildings and planted himself between them. He had managed to find a worn pair of shoes during his search, and a heap of discarded, rotten food. It did him little good, as he had found nothing to free him from the clutches of his mask.

He had attempted a handful of things in desperation, but he gave up after the shard of glass he tried to jimmy the latch with left his fingers torn and bloody. His eyes fell shut and he thought of what his death would bring. Would someone find him and think him worthy of a museum? Would he be on display for the next century, with a small plaque beside him detailing the horrible discovery of a monstrous little boy in a hellish mask? Would normal children point at his preserved corpse and gasp, would they jeer?

His heart stung, and he brought his knees to his chest. If he was to be on display, perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible. He was a curse on every soul that was forced to have him in their life, but at least in death he would prove useful. He would be remembered, at least. That had to count for something. His eyes ached to weep, but his body was so desperate for water that his eyes stayed dry.

"Come look at this!"

His eyes flew open. At the entrance of the alley stood a gangly boy. His heart began to boom in his ears as the boy waved over an entire posse. The look of malicious glee etched into the boy's features was far too familiar, and Erik rose to his wobbly feet.

"We seen you near the docks this morning, been looking all over!"

The head boy called after Erik as his weary legs tried to carry him out of reach. The way ahead of him was nothing but brick, but there to his right was the start of another alley way. Erik stumbled to the turn and froze. It was another dead end, with only a backdoor to some shabby building a few feet ahead. He turned on his heel, but it was too late. The gang had already caught up to him.

"Who are you then?"

To his dismay, two identical looking boys with blonde hair grabbed his arms and jerked him deeper into the shallow dead end. He grunted and kicked, digging his heels into the pavement, but the boys were easily twice his size. The back of his heels grew raw against the ground, and a small trail of blood appeared from his feet.

"We just wanna talk to you is all, don't you wanna talk?"

Erik shook his head, and the head boy smirked. He had dark hair and a face full of freckles, and his devious smile showed off the chip in his front tooth. A look passed between him and the twin boys that held his arm, before they shoved him back onto the pavement.

"What you got that mask for?"

The remaining boys formed a circle around him. One of the braver of the group, a pudgy boy with greasy hair, prodded at him with a stick. Erik snatched the stick away with a growl. He leapt to his feet and managed to get in a few well-placed swings with before he was tackled into the ground.

They piled onto him, bringing down a painful array of fists and unforgiving kicks. Even if he hadn't been dying of thirst and exhaustion, he knew he would have had little chance against so many stronger opponents. His hands went to cover his sides as he tucked into a ball, he thought his face safe as no one in their right mind would strike their fist against metal.

One of them seemed more than willing to stomp on metal however, and the blow to his mask left his ears ringing and head spinning. He heard shouts and the rush of scattering footsteps, but his stomach churned so violently he worried he would choke on his own vomit.

The stream of fists and kicks had stopped, but he stayed curled in a ball as he wanted to do nothing more than cease to exist. A soft set of footsteps drew close to him, and he instinctively tensed up. His eyes squeezed painfully tight as he braced for a final blow.

"Are you alright?"

It was a soft voice, and not at all the painful strike he was expecting. He cracked his eyes open enough to make out a blurry form kneeling in front of him. The sunlight beamed from behind her, and he wondered if she was an angel. Perhaps his mother and the Matron had been wrong, and even monsters could go to heaven.

"Did they knock the voice out of you?"

He shook his head, and gingerly propped up onto his side. With the sun out of his eyes, the girl lost her heavenly glow. He still thought her quite beautiful, with her black hair and gray eyes. She looked him over in silence, and he wish he had the strength to scamper away like the animal he was. She frowned.

"Can you not speak?"

At this, he motioned to his mask and shook his head. There was a still an air of confusion about her, so he craned his neck and pointed at the heavy latch. He heard her gasp, and knew she understood.

"Well, that's…. that's quite cruel, don't you think?"

He nodded. Her hand suddenly came near him, and he threw himself out of the way. Like a feral cat, he backed himself into a wall and glared.

"Alright, alright! I guess I won't help you then."

His glare fell immediately. He watched her stand and turn, as if to leave, but he whimpered and limped towards her. He frantically pointed at the lock and then held his hands out in a plea. He looked like a deranged imp beside her, waving about like a madman.

"Well, if you insist." She smirked, but he strangely didn't feel the need to hide. He had seen other children play together before, and there were times he noticed a sort of teasing grin pass between them. He wondered if this was one of those times. She wasn't exactly a child but didn't quite have the look of a grown woman either.

The entire thing was rather odd to him, and he wondered if he could one day find a book that explained things of such nature to him.

"Come along then, I haven't got all day."

She led him to the lone door at the end of the alley. His head still spun, less so, but he forced himself to follow behind her as she stepped inside. It was the oddest home he had ever seen, with shades of red on nearly every wall and plush rugs lining every hall. He had never seen so many doors in one hallway, and he managed to peek inside a few of the open ones as they passed.

There was nothing terribly exciting hidden within, much to his disappointment, only a plain room with a single bed. He wondered if this was a sort of orphanage as well, as he could think of no other reason to have so many bedrooms.

The girl called for him to keep up, and Erik clumsily spun away from the odd hallway. She was smirking at him again. She said nothing and turned to a flight of spiral stairs. By the time she reached the top, she had to remind him to keep up once again. Erik found the stairs fascinating, as it gave him a full view of the mysterious house. There was a beautiful piano he was dying to get his hands on, but he made sure to keep strictly behind her this time.

"You're a curious little thing, aren't you?" She chuckled, bringing him to another small flight of stairs. "Almost there, promise."

His bones were desperate for rest, but she was true to her word. At the top of the stairs was a single door, and she let him go inside before shutting it behind him.

"Just a second," she said as she started to dig through a vanity in the corner.

Erik gazed around the room in awe. The walls were a deep purple with delicate white trim, and a massive bed sat in the corner of the room beside a small fireplace. He had never seen such a comfortable room before, and he wished he could curl up on the rug before the fire and sleep.

A scrap of paper by his foot caught his attention. He bent to pick it up, noticing a lone word etched in the corner.

Mercy

The girl sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for him, a pair of thin, silver instrument in hand. Erik went to her with the paper still clutched in his small hand. He pointed at the word, and then at her, before cocking his head to the side in question.

"Oh, so you're very curious and you're clever!"

He wasn't sure what she meant, and her smile confused him. He pointed at the word again, and then at her. She laughed.

"Yes, dear. That's my name, Mercy."

Her name is Mercy, he thought. He noted it like one would tuck away a delicate fact. Sheepishly, he handed the paper over to her.

"Thank you, now- do you know what a lock pick is?"

He nodded, pointing at the two small rods in her hand.

"Now, don't tell me you're curious, clever, and smart!"

He wondered if she was patronizing him. Mercy didn't seem to notice his glare, and she twirled her finger for him to turn. Without missing a beat, he stepped back and shook his head.

"If you want that thing off, I need to be able to reach the latch."

His heart skipped a beat. His fists balled up at his sides, but he nodded. Stiff as a board, he turned his back to her. He was terrified the sharp end of the silver rods would be jabbed into his back at any moment, and he flinched when he felt her grasp the latch. His hands trembled, and he let out a quiet whimper, much to his shame.

"Hush dear," she murmured. He heard a series of odd clicks and felt the occasional tug as Mercy silently worked at the unforgiving lock. He stared at the fire, both terrified she would never get it off and horrified of what would happen when she did.

He didn't have to dread either outcome too long, as the latch suddenly gave a slight pop. Mercy gasped in delight behind him, detaching the lock before he could stop her. He heard the smooth metal of the latch skid against the clasp of his mask before the heavy thing fell to his feet with a firm clunk.

He didn't dare take a breath. He wanted to rejoice in his new freedom, in the feeling of air on his face, but felt himself yearning to hide within the metal contraption once more. The mirror of the vanity in the corner was positioned just so, letting him see Mercy's terrified face as she saw his gruesome features reflected back at her.

Erik covered his face with his hands, his stomach churning again. She would go to the police, he was sure of it. She would go screaming that there was a beast in her room, and men with guns needed to come right that very-

"You should wear this."

He hadn't even noticed she moved, but her voice came from right beside him. Cautiously, he peeked through a crack in his fingers. She held a dark scarf before him, and he winced as she came down to kneel by him.

"Sometimes, I have to hide my face when I go downstairs," she explained. She brought the scarf around her neck and then twisted it in a deliberate spiral. "So, I take this, and I tie it like that. See?"

He watched her demonstrate the movement a few times, before she showed him how this let her hide everything from her nose down to her neck. As a finishing touch, she then brought the remaining cloth to rest over her head, where she tucked the loose ends in securely.

"See?"

Only her eyebrows and gray eyes showed, and he nodded. To his surprise, she unwrapped the scarf and left it at his feet before leaving the room. He was still convinced she was going to bring a hunting party back, but hastily brought the scarf around his face and head as she did. At least he wouldn't be so monstrous when they found him.

The mirror beckoned for him to look, and he reluctantly trudged over to take in his appearance. The scarf did a decent job, considering how distorted half of his face was. The sharp ridge of his brow on the deformed side of his face still showed, and he quickly rearranged his hair to hide it as best as he could.

He didn't like to look at mirrors for more than a few seconds, and he gave one final glance at the golden eyes staring back at him before turning away.

The door swung open, and he jumped. Only Mercy stepped inside, there was no mob of men with guns on her heels. She held a glass in one hand, and a plate of cheese and bread in the other.

"Are you hungry?"

He suspected she knew the answer, as she sat the plate and glass down and turned her back. He all but ran to her side, snatching up the water and tugging the bottom half of the scarf down without any regard for how wet the front of his shirt got as he drained almost the entire glass.

He didn't care if she turned at that point. He knew he probably looked like a starved dog, but he was so grateful for food that he didn't particularly care. He reached for the bread and paused, turning the small loaf over in his hand a few times.

"There's no mold," he exclaimed.

Mercy gasped, though it soon morphed into a laugh. "So, you can talk!"

Erik nodded, his cheeks full of honeyed bread and delicious cheese.

"Do you have a name?" She asked.

"'S Erik," he said through mouthful of bread and cheese. He swallowed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Just Erik."

"Well, alright. It's nice to meet you, just Erik."

They fell into silence, but he was content with the quiet as he finished off the last few crumbs of bread and final slice of cheese. An idea popped into his head then, and he cleared his throat.

"Is this an orphanage?"

His cheeks flushed red as Mercy fell into a fit of giggles.

"What makes you think that?" She asked after a moment.

He thought about it for a second, before shrugging. "There were lots and lots of beds downstairs, and a big dining room."

She hummed, but shook her head. "I'm afraid this isn't an orphanage, just Erik."

The disappointment was clear on his face, but he quickly pulled the bottom half of the scarf up to the bridge of his nose as Mercy turned around. She gave him a sad smile, and he tilted his head to the side.

"How old are you, just Erik?"

He shrugged, as his mother never bothered to inform him of his birth date. He had started keeping track of time on his own, but it didn't account for the lost years before he was old enough to know better.

"Ten, I think. Maybe eleven…wait, no- nine. No, wait…. ten…" he trailed off, averting his eyes.

"Well," Mercy sighed. "This isn't a place for children, even smart ones." She added with a wink. "But…. if you promise to stay in here when I say, I think I can convince Pierre to let you stay. You'd have to work though, everyone works here. Are you brave enough to mop, just Erik?"

"Yes, I'm brave enough! I can sweep too," he said proudly.

She grinned, but suddenly dropped to her knees to better meet his eyes. Her face was grim, and he feared he had said the wrong thing.

"Whatever happens," she said gravely, "No matter what, if you stay or go, don't let the promises and temptations of what lurks on the street blind you from what it turns you to."

His eyebrow quirked up, and he shook his head.

"Paris is a beautiful city, just Erik. But it's dangerous, and it's deadly. If you linger in the darker corners of the city, you'll never leave. Don't get trapped."

He nodded, playing her words over in his head again and again. It was a warning, but he was hopeless to its meaning.

"Promise me, you won't go to that dark part of the city."

"I promise."

Mercy grinned, and then held out her hand. He looked from her smile to her hand for a moment before warily extending his own. She shook his hand, sealing his promise.

"Welcome to Paris, just Erik."

A/N: Um so, was it super awful…hah? I hope not, but I totally understand if this isn't your cup of tea. It's not explicitly stated, but in case you were wondering and felt a little lost like Erik, Mercy lives and works in a brothel. *Gasp* Isn't it scandalous? Any who, the Edge of Light will update on Friday if you're coming from over there, and I hope this piece gave you a little more backstory on some things to come. It was definitely great to write, it really helped me nail down some characters and plot points. Lemme know what ya think :D Thanks for reading!