A/N: Some of you may find this very similar to another fic I wrote in 2011 (just for a moment). This is the revamped, darker, and more realistic version. Also, Simon has brown hair, in case if no one remembers.
The title is taken from the english translation one of the lyrics from the soundtrack Von from the anime Zankyou no Terror. Ironically, I haven't actually watched the anime, however...
3.1.16 edit: the formatting messed up at one part, fixed it.
Trigger warning: Rape
Tower of Heaven AU.
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Erza doesn't remember anything except for her name. And maybe the few, scattered friends she has made in this decrepit hole. She thinks she used to have another eye, but now there's a filthy bandage sticking to it, sticky from the constant sweat and grime.
They work like dogs, but Erza isn't quite sure how she remembers that expression, when she can't even recall what a dog is.
But it doesn't matter. They work day in and day out, fighting over scraps of food and trying to find the lightest load of stone. There's no end to the building, the whistling snapof the whips, no end to the heavy, monotonous cycle.
She hasn't known anything else outside of these bars, but at the same time, she's sure that she, too, once was outside these walls. There was a word to describe it. She doesn't remember what that word was, either, except that it smelled fresher than the mildew that clung to the ceilings of the room. It had a ring to it.
Another command barks out, and she hurriedly quickens her steps, wincing when another stone cuts into her foot. She'll have Uncle check it later, once the work ends for today. She brings the stone to another barefoot, scrappy looking kid who doesn't even look at her. Behind her, Jellal pulls up with his load and deposits it to the closest Builder. The two meet eyes, and then walk as slowly as possible back to the piles of rocks, where they'll have to start all over again. Erza's limping now because of the wound, and Jellal glances at the small smear of blood that is starting to color her trail.
When they arrive back at the start, he automatically takes the largest stone from her pile and starts towing it toward the Builders again. Erza only manages a grateful smile before tiredly selecting another stone to load onto the small cart.
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Later, once everyone has had their rations, they all huddle into a small circle. There, Uncle carefully takes a strip from an old shift and carefully boils it in what is left of the water. He then bandages and knots it around her small foot, and Erza thanks him for his help, as is customary.
Afterwards, all the children crowd around the elderly Uncle, as he tells them stories of the Outside in a hushed, creaking voice.
"You see, out there, there are things called cities out there", he tells the younger ones – the ones who had been born in the prison. "I once passed through one of the big ones – Magnolia, I think. There were all sorts of vendors there, people who sold everything, from soap to rich skin cream…" Erza listens to these talks with an impatient air, willing for something to jog her memory, to make her remember.
Sometimes she thinks she gets a glimpse of something. Something dry and cool, with a clean scent – or maybe something rough and wet, ticklish under her feet. But these glimpses disappear soon enough, and she can only repeat the words that triggered them – "crinkly stuff, you know, they write things on it and pass the knowledge down to others", "Nothing quite like the feel of fresh overturned earth on a cool morning day" – she's sure that she experienced these things before, what Uncle talks about. But soon she can't remember exactly what the glimpse was about, and it fades from her memory – and she wishes she had that thing called parchment, so she could write it all down before it slips from her fingers.
Parchment. She rolls the word around in her mind, thinking of the sharp ch and the smoother –ment that follows it.
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But sooner or later Erza learns to grow up, and she stops wondering about what she lost when the Master slammed her head against the wall. She remembers how to survive here, and that's enough. The fairy tales the elders mutter about are simply stories to keep the children's eyes sparkling, and one by one they all leave the circle to catch up on more sleep, rather than staying up again to hear the same words leave the man's mouth.
Jellal is the only one who remains in the end, but he had always been peculiar that way.
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One day, she asks about the strange marking that crisscrosses across his right eye. Jellal looks surprised, but then quietly murmurs:
"It…It's something my family used to do. It was something that marked them a Fernandes…so everyone who saw us together knew that we were united, and that we would always stick together."
Ah. His family. Erza wonders if this is one of his old, made-up stories, like the ones he used to tell when they were small enough to tow the carts in pairs. But Jellal is her friend, so she humors him.
"What's a Fernandes?"
"…it's…a sort of second name, I guess. It's a mark of who you're related to – everyone has one. It's called a 'last name'."
"Last name," she echoes out loud. It sounds almost apocalyptic, like some token to be remembered by. Like something she would whisper to Jellal as a goodbye, as a remembrance as he lay dying in a pool of his blood, the Masters laughing and spitting out curses –
She shakes her head to rid herself of the image. Just because she had seen it happen before didn't mean – it didn't mean that it would happen to Jellal. Jellal was strong, Jellal would survive the beating, unlike Wally…
Wally. Her heart aches and a sudden fear coils in her empty stomach.
"I…I don't have one. I don't have a Last Name," Erza inhales, shaking – her world is trembling and she can't stop it - "I…I think I forgot it." Another thought strikes her then, and the fear leaves her body in the next breath – "Or maybe…maybe I never had one." She doesn't know which is worse. Doesn't know what to believe.
"It's okay. I'll think of one."
Jellal gives her one of his thoughtful looks, the one that means that he's considering something important.
"Erza…Erza Scarlet." He suddenly grins, elated. "Scarlet. That way, you won't ever forget it again." He reaches for her hair and holds it up for her to see. "It's the same color as your hair."
"But – but what if it gets dirty again, like last time? I'll forget – and I won't be able to remember..." The fear is real. She's afraid of what forgetting might mean for her. She has already forgotten before (or has she not?) – and what scares her most is that she doesn't even know what she's lost.
"I'll remember for you, then. I won't forget."
"How are you so sure?" How do I know you will remember me?
"How could I forget something as pretty as your hair?"
And with those words, a bit of the darkness in Erza bleeds away.
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"Let's escape."
"What?"
"The guards won't notice if it's just the two of us."
"Jellal…"
"This life is shit! There's a better world out there, Erza, I know it. Just come with me. We can do this."
"What about the others?"
"After we leave, we can help them escape from the Outside. It'll be easier with more resources."
"But…"
"We'll observe the guards for a while, mark out their habits, when they change shifts, that sort of thing – and then we'll bribe one of them with alcohol and boom! We'll befree."
"How are you so sure the Outside is better? How are you so sure that there even is an Outside?"
"I just know it. I can feel it" – he pointed to his chest – "here."
"But, Jellal…
"…I don't know if the Outside even exists."
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"I'll wait until you remember, then," he whispered.
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They're fifteen, now, and life is the same. Well, there are some changes – she starts bleeding every other month, and those few days are the worst, as the smell and thickness of dried blood sticks to her skin like red, crumbly plaster.
Her hair is longer, now, it reaches her shoulders. After wash days, it shines deep, bold, and scarlet – just like her name. She fidgets nervously when her hair turns heads afterwards – she's not sure how to handle this. Simon in particular seems entranced, reaching out to touch it before shying away. Jellal has no such qualms, he regularly reaches out for a trailing lock of hair and twists the ends in his fingers curiously. He strokes her hair reverently, and Erza blushes even though she isn't quite sure why.
One day, though, it all changes. Erza knows it's been long in coming – she knows that she's only been spared by her late development.
"You! You with the red hair - "
"Yeah, girl, c'mere." A low whistle. "Damn, look at her tits! Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Erza continues to walk, ignoring them. Imperceptible shivers rack her frame.
"BITCH, I TOLD YOU TO –"
Erza starts running. At first, it seems like she'll be able to escape unscathed – after all, the men are all carrying heavy whips, and it takes energy to carry them – but then they start to catch up. Erza starts sprinting even though she knows that it'll only increase the punishment when it comes. The faster she runs, the more her vision blurs, and then –
FWAP!
"Bitch! Where the fuck do you think you're going?" The man glares at her.
No. Erza knows this man, knows he's only a step higher than the lackeys tailing her. She starts running the opposite direction, even though it's hopeless. She's running out of time.
Please, no. Let me escape just this once.
I don't want to be here.
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They eventually catch her. They always do. It's the way it works here.
First, they throw her to the ground. Erza already knows it's too late to try struggling. Then they carelessly relieve her of her ugly shift, and proceed to whip her. Halfway through the beating, they notice how the movement makes her breasts bounce, and they forget about the first activity and simply move onto the second.
The first time hurts the most, the other girls have told her. Once that time is over, then it isn't as bad. You just have to endure.
Pressed against a wall, with strange and ugly hands against her skin, breath that smells like alcohol. She doesn't really notice the pain when he enters her – her back burns more from the whip marks. Once he's sated himself, he leaves and lets the men behind him have their turn, as well.
This is a sight that she's seen all her life. She has breathed as its passed through the corners of her eyes. This…this is ordinary. Normal. She shouldn't be affected by this.
She feels useless, used.
But when has that ever changed anything?
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When she gets back to her cell after work, Millianna lets Erza collapse in her arms. She guards Erza the rest of the night, not letting anyone else approach them. When the men come around to bother Erza again, Millianna puts on a steel face and tells them that Erza is sick – and they don't want to catch her demon, do they?
They don't believe her, though, so Millianna takes off her shift and steps into the lamplight with them. She returns a little over an hour later, with hard and glassy eyes, retrieves her clothes and puts them back on.
They don't talk about it.
But Erza flinches anytime someone tries to touch her, and she pulls most of Millianna's load for a couple of days.
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"Damn it, Erza, look at me!"
"I am."
"No, you're not. Why are you avoiding me?"
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"Did I do something?"
"…no."
"Then why?"
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"Is it because of what those men did?"
…
"So it is about that. Get over it already."
"…Fuck off, Jellal. You don't get it."
"No, you don't get it. Get over it already! It's affecting your work and you know that pisses off the Masters – "
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO USED -"
"WE BOTH LIVE IN HELL, ERZA, I THINK I WOULD KNOW."
"THIS IS DIFFERENT! THIS…
"this…"
"Spit it out already!"
…
"…it feels like I'll never be clean again."
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A month later, a different pair of men catch sight of Erza and call her over. She walks over slowly, her body numb. When they touch her, she focuses on the grainy texture of the wall and wonders why it is so hard not to cry when she's experienced pain much worse than this. Her long hair drapes over her dirty face, and it is as if blood is pouring down her skull and dripping onto the ground.
That night, she shears all of her hair off and sets it on fire.
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Slaves don't apologize to slaves. Its unheard of. The only people who ever hear apologies are the guards, supervisors, or the Master – people with whips, people who hold the power to make or break you.
Jellal doesn't apologize. He never will.
But just like long ago, he stands and walks ahead of her. He eliminates the heavier stones from her pile before she can get to them, and takes them upon his own back. She can't stop herself from flinching when he makes a sudden move towards her, but at least now she can tolerate his arm around her when they huddle together for warmth during the cold nights. Surrounded by him and braced against Simon and Millianna, she thinks she'll be okay.
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"Jellal?"
"Hm?"
"Why are you so good to me?"
"…A long time ago, you saved my life."
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Another couple months pass. Erza draws lines in the walls of her cell, in groups of five, slowly, steadily, one every day. She marks them in groups of five because Uncle was only able to teach her that far before he died.
There must be hundreds, thousands of those little marks etched on the wall. Every day, she runs her finger down the first five, saying the numbers in her head –
One, two, three, four, five…
She comes to the next patchwork of lines and hesitates, stroking her thin finger down the jagged mark.
What comes after five?
What comes after this is all over?
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On a rare day when the overseers are drunk and the building process is postponed, she and Jellal sit in the corner with Simon and Millianna. Erza feels the empty gap at her left side, where Sho used to sit, and feels her body ache with old pain. He used to call her "Sister". She misses it, misses him, misses his frail body and wide smile – and wishes that the Drought, as the Masters had called it, had never come. Even though it is now over, they all still feel the hollowness of their bellies.
They are quiet. Sho's phantom laughter echoes between them, and none of them can think of something to say in the fragile respite. After a minute, an hour – Jellal speaks up.
"We should escape to the Outside."
Millianna immediately burst into outrage. How can you bring up Uncle's stories now, of all times? Erza feels ambiguity squeeze her chest as they argue, as she cannot lie and say that the idea does not appeal to her. But she pushes it away – Jellal is desperate. Jellal is lying, Millianna screeches, and then the guards come stumbling into the area, and everyone falls silent.
When the guards leave with little more than a threat, Jellal turns to Erza. His eyes ask her: do you still believe me? Simon is quiet and looks expectantly at her as well. Erza thinks back to that moment, a lifetime ago, when one of the Masters crushed her forehead against the wall, again and again, until all went black and she woke up lost, missing something, and yet alive – and answers honestly:
"I don't know."
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A little while later it is announced that the recent rains have spoiled a good portion of the food, and that there will be a ration. The Head Overseer this time is more clever than the last one – instead of equally depriving all of the slaves of food, he reserves a larger ration for the children and starves the older ones. Two days at a time is a good sacrifice, he had said, the older ones can take it. Long term advantages are important, after all.
A few days later, Erza's muscles tremble from the lack of sustenance. Whip noises beat against the dirt behind her as she lifts beams up to support the new level of the tower. In front, Simon is carrying his own beam. He is worryingly thin. Suddenly, he sways, and the beam ricochets through the other supports, breaking some of them. Cries ring out and Erza can barely hear them, until she realizes that they are her own.
"Simon!"
She shakes him but he moans in pain, his gasps are breathy, he can barely choke out don't do it Erza, don't do it before the Overseers appear like phantom menaces. She hears herself speaking: it is her fault, she stole his rations, that's why he's so weak, punish her, not him, don't touch him, I said don't touch him!
They do not believe her. But they beat her too anyway.
Jellal comes running and they beat him too, for leaving his post.
Afterwards, Erza crawls up to where Simon is. There is so much blood. While she crawls the color seeps into her skin and hair, turning the dull tresses scarlet again. She is delirious with pain and there is a children's song running through her head, reminding her of something long lost, but she cannot place it. It does not matter. She places her mouth next to Simon's ear and whispers something, moments before his chest stops moving.
"I won't forget you, Simon Brown."
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She registers movement and a familiar voice. After a moment, Millianna's face swims into view, sunken and set but relieved. Beside her is Jellal. He looks terrible but alive. Erza slowly shifts her arm so she can touch him. His hand finds hers and squeezes, hard. They all look at each other before Millianna sniffles pitifully.
"You guys are so stupid. So, so stupid. All of you could have died."
Erza and Jellal exchange grim smiles.
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Jellal brings up escaping to the Outside once more on a later date, when they are alone and Millianna isn't around to loudly refute him. He asks if she remembers anything. She can't. She only has the faint memory of a child singing a silly tune, which emerged from her mind during the last minutes of Simon's life. She can't trust something birthed from that delirium.
But can she trust Jellal?
There is a fear in her gut, unlike anything, unlike the fear that grips her when the Masters look her way with a club, stronger than the sickness that grips her after the Masters touch her, and that – that is the fear that the Outside instills.
In her mind's eye, she sees Simon's body superimposed with Jellal's, and wants to scream. The possibility of an Outside is too unsure. Too tantalizing. Its like stealing bread from the guards: ambition leads to death.
But can she trust Jellal?
The answer is clear. She does. She always has. The doubts that plague her wither away when she remembers how he has always helped shoulder the burden. Had followed her to Simon's demise. With trepidation, she realizes that there is no other option.
She walks towards him, shaking, and flings her arms around his frame. She feels him tense up at her actions, but slowly, his arms wind around her. She sobs her acceptance into his embrace.
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Millianna won't go with them. She thinks they're crazy, that Simon's death has finally cracked some deep part of Jellal's psyche, and that Erza is just broken enough to follow him. No matter how she and Jellal beg, Millianna won't listen. Finally, Erza asks Millianna what she is so afraid of.
Millianna's eyes glisten with tears as she looks at them, and finally, with a note of self-loathing, asks:
"How can you two be so brave?"
How could you leave the only world you've ever known?
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Jellal murmurs endlessly to her at night, telling her about all the stories he has stored up about the Outside from listening to Uncle all those past years. It is a lullaby of comfort for Erza, who stores up the stories in her own mind to ward against the doubts that attack her in her dreams.
Against her back, she can feel Millianna's body tremble as she cries.
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It is dark, and they feel their way through the stone corridors, feeling for the little cuts Jellal made earlier during the week, marks meant to show the direction of the exit. Over here, there is nothing but black – they had waited until the torches had burned down into ashes. The guards are drunk from the New Year's Celebration, and all is quiet except for the soft rustle of feet and mice. They've waited eight months for this moment.
There is only the two of them.
She wishes Millianna was here with them – with an ache, she thinks of Wally and Sho and Simon, and for a moment she can't breathe – but there is no time to dwell on the past. They pass the second to last checkmark, and hold their breath.
There is a single guard there, the most diligent one of them all – the only one who has not passed out from the celebrations.
This is the moment. They cannot turn back, not now – and the guard will see them any moment, when his pacing brings the torchlight near enough to shadow their silhouettes. Jellal's hand tightens around her own, and she breathes in, out, and clutches the stolen knife in the other hand. She glances at his face – all pale and dirty and determined – and knows it mirrors her own.
At a silent signal, they suddenly race off, weapons raised and ready.
If the guard manages to catch them, she knows it will be the end. There is nothing else to it.
But now, hand in hand, running as fast as she can, her hair streaming out behind her, hearing the shouts and cacophony raging behind her – all of it should have made her heart pound in fear. But Erza can't find herself to be afraid, because like this -
-she has never felt so free.
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Critique & Feedback greatly appreciated. This was mostly unedited, so there may some grammar issue here or there.