Disclaimer: The foundation for this piece is based off of Gaston Leroux's Fantome De L'Opera. Only a few of the characters are spun from my own imagination.
Rating: M for Mature. Explicit language and content with be evident.
Premise: Set in 19th century Europe. A travelling cirque, the notorious Cirque De Freaks, appears in the romantic city of Paris for all to come and behold the terrors and wonders of mankind. The pinnacle of this wicked place is the man known as The Devil's Child, a hideously disfigured creature who grew from a young boy amongst palm-reading gypsies and bearded ladies. The chorus girls of the Opera are taken on an excursion, to go and witness the wonders of this magical circus, the likes of which had never been seen before. A fifteen-year-old Christine Daae will be thrown into the life of this scorned man, her own world sent ajar as she is forced to come to grips with reality, and commit her first act of insubordination, leaving innocence behind. Come one, come all, to; The Devil's Carnival!
Author's/Note: Ouh hello there! I'm absolutely thrilled to be sharing this piece with you, my first chapter of my own fanphic 'The Devil's Carnival'. This will be an ExC story, though it will be based off an AU. "What if" Erik grew up in the freak show as opposed to in the Opera, freed by Madame Giry? I hope you enjoy. Any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you. :3
LoudNoises0The Devil's Carnival
1] The Nameless Boy
Vienna, Austria; 1847
The travelling Cirque The horrible, horrible music had started again.
Like a broken record, the broken-down music, the sort a jack-in-the-box might play, sounded out through the entirety of the park. The clownish music seemed to rubbed against itself and make a terrible, gritty noise, like someone grinding their teeth together.
That damned music made the boy want to crawl out of his skin.
He sat in his cage laden with thick yellow hay. The once shining silver metal bars that enclosed the boy had since rusted, speckled with dirt and grime.
Placing a bale of hay behind his shoulder blades, the boy settled into the soft brown dirt of the earth. The tethered old sack concealed his features - thank God - and he could only peek at the world through the two identical makeshift holes that had been oh-so kindly made to grant him vision. Beneath the holes, resting in his eye sockets, were strange orbs whose corneas were a strange, sickish yellow color. They were shaped differently too, like a plump olive or some round thing, making them look wide, and keeping blinking scarce.
The scrawny young boy seemed to be no more than eight years old, with a pair of beaten, dirty old trousers that clung to his bony pelvic bones. His ribcage was clearly visible about his exposed chest, poking at his epidermis as though attempting to piece the thin layered of flesh, which was stretched tautly over his set of bones. The otherwise pale flesh was stained with dirt and filth, messed in his shoulder-length hair of a naturally obsidian color, but took now the hue of a dusty grey.
But for such a creature, - and he was no longer referred to as a 'human' but a creature whose origins were unknown - the appearance of his form mattered not. Hygiene had been robbed from him, and he had learned to live without the luxuries of warmth water, or clean satin sheets, or the smell of lavender or vanilla or anything lovely.
No, the only thing that mattered, the only inkling that set this sack of bones off of the spectrum was what lay beneath the old sack, splayed crudely and purposefully to hide to horrible, hideous disfigurement that was his face.
His eyes, those wicked eyes, sickly and maddening, were only the slightest hint at the horror that lay beneath.
"Oi! Devil's boy!"
The call attracted the attention of the child, and with those obscure eyes his gaze settled upon the master of events, the prospector of the thriving cirque.
He went by the name of just that - the Master; and would answer to nothing else. He had a handlebar mustache, that matched his ebony, carefully slicked-back hair, with a pair of wide-set eyes, almost as black as the foulest night. He was a heavier set man, with red-and-white striped pants and a vest of crimson. The sterling silver chain of his pocket watch was seen running down his abdomen, and then disappearing into his front pocket. Attached to the front of the Master's belt was a leather-clad dagger, visible for all to see lest they spite him.
Approaching to cage where the boy with the makeshift mask dwelled, the Master held one of the rusted bars in a grubby hand of his, the other holding a metal tray of some sort of brown-colored porridge, and a grimy cup filled with filthy water. Shoving the tray sidelong through a dip in the bars, - not one big enough for even a creature so tiny as the boy to get slip out; they thought of everything at this place - the Master allowed the tray to land on the dirt of the cage, some of it spilling onto the earth. The water in the cup jostled and exited, dripping into the syrupy porridge.
"Guess y'er hungry, eh? Guess ya want some grub?" The Master reached through the bar to the short distance away where the boy sat, smacking him upside the head. "Whadd'ya say, then? Whadd'ya say tuh be proper?"
"Thank you." This was stated from between gritted teeth, as the abnormally low voice for a boy his age sounded.
A tug at a tuft of his messy hair. "I'd like tuh hear ya mean it, boy," Warned the Master, before removing his arm from the cage to adjust the waistband of his patterned trousers.
"Thank you. Thank you for the food, and the water, and the... bed." This time, the tone was a bit more fervent as the boy's stomach groaned wretchedly in hunger. He leaned over the tray, grabbing up the porridge in his little hands and shoveling it into his mouth like some ravage animal.
The upper lip of the Master curled. "Disgusting," He chastised, turning away from the cage and leaving the creature to his feast.
Within moments, all of the foul-tasting substance had been gobbled up; all of the water swallowed down feverishly. As general procedure, the boy tossed the makeshift tray outside of his cage, before resting his frail form against the cool soil of the soft brow earth, his head contentedly cushioned by bales of hay.
Eyes of a sickly yellow lifted upward, toward the sky. The roofing of his rusted cage obscured his view of it, but still, the boy liked to imagine what kind of a day it was. Despite the fact that the day that bustled around him was glanced with dull gray hues, as his gaze fixated on his imaginary world above, the boy imagined a sky of a translucent sapphire. A boiling sun obscured by cotton-ball clouds, though jagged rays of gold pierced through the billows of cloud, casting down on the blossoming emerald earth, warming his pale flesh that had grown so cold. The nameless boy imagined birds, with great, powerful wings with deep obsidian feathers, flapping mightily to soar through the sky. He could almost hear the caws of the mighty, sky-bound creatures, a symphony of nature filling his mind.
The sound of laughter broke the nameless boy from his illusion. Sickening laughter, coming from a group of the carnies standing by one of the beaten-down caravans. Over-dramatized makeup caked the features of all of them, making them look inhuman.
The nameless boy scowled. Though, this action was concealed by the sack over his gruesome features.
The ceiling, was just a ceiling again. The beautiful sky he had imagined melded into the nothingness of reality.
Keeping his eyes locked on the metal of his cage, he listened carefully to the conversation of the carnies.
"...And ya'd think, here w'are, in Austria of all places! I've heard that it's a beaut..."
"One'd hope that we'd get to seem the damned place!..."
"...But stuck in this damn carnival..."
Austria?
The nameless boy tilted his head to the side. The carnival was in Austria? Where was that? He mouthed the word noiselessly, the gears in his mind turning. Austria, Austria, Austria...
Suddenly, the memory was so clear in his imaginative little mind, as though he were watching it before him.
"Austria," Madame Madeline sighed dreamily, hugging a book close to her bosom. Her ebony tresses were pulled into an elegant braid, a nightdress of white silk clinging to her womanly frame. "Oh, what a wonderful place!"
The boy with tousled, obsidian hair blinked stupidly, peering at the Madame with maddeningly yellow eyes. An uncomfortable mask of porcelain was stung over his facial features, leaving only those wretched eyes revealing... Marred lips opened, to speak, as he asked in a small voice, "What is Austria, mama?"
The pensive gaze left the chestnut colored eyes of the florid woman, and in its' place was a look of disgust etching her lips downward, making her eyes cold. "A country," She replied curtly, shutting her book with indifference to set it on the nightstand. "A very beautiful country, indeed... A place I've always dreamed of visiting."
As if oblivious to her discernable distaste, the malformed lips of the five-year-old boy curled upward in a fond smile. He nodded obediently, his messy hair bobbing. "I'll take you there one day, mama, you and I. And when we go, you can see absolutely every inch of the place!"
"Don't be naive, Erik," Madame Madeline turned her back to the bright-eyed child, lips in a disapproving scowl. "Go and say your prayers, and sleep. You're up far too late."The memory shattered into pieces, and the nameless boy swallowed, purposefully disregarded the rest of the pessimistic chatter of his fellow carnies.
The world was abruptly perturbed back into reality, and the gritty-sounding carnival music flooded the eardrums of the boy, who had once been called Erik. He pulled his bony knees to his exposed chest, his icy flesh practically glowing in the oncoming dusk. He swallowed the bile that etched his throat, his eyes closing tightly. One stem of a thought murmured in his mind, almost on his lips, but words couldn't be formed from his dry throat.
I've made it, mama...