HI everyone! hope you all are doing amazing! so wow my first POTO fanfiction! :D so excited i finally managed to introduce my friend to the workd of POTO and i converted her ;D "a whole new worrrrrrrld..." haha anways! :) hope you peeps enjoy!

I own nothing! If i did, then you would get free pies on Wednesdays

Scrrrrrtch. Scrrrrtch, scrrrrtch, scrrrrtch...Shff, shff. Scrrrrtch...

Long lines were sketched in a lazy, haphazard way across the parchment's yellowed surface. Heavy strokes were drawn with a blunt quill in no apparent pattern, lacking consistency and precision as an aimless mind struggled to create an understandable form. Papers lay scattered about the worn mahogany desk, not used for many years. A single candle flickered, on the edge of dissipating. The orange flamed illuminated only a pathetic portion of the room, allowing little viewing capacity to untrained eyes.

Scrrrrrtch...

The candle's feeble flame gave faint accentuation to an ivory feather, settled loosely in five slender fingers. The yellow cast showed the detail of the man's marred digits. Scars compiled over a lifetime decorated the hands of this man, hinting at a life of hardship and pain. Some scars were faded with time, others recent. Despite this, the fingers flowed with smoothness and agility, capable of sharp and sudden actions if provoked. These hands evidently appeared that they were gifted with hidden talents, unusual traits. These hands were experienced masters of creating beauty or complete annihilation within a blink of an eye.

These were the hands of an artist.

The hands, that were currently scribbling down nothings, flowed smoothly into a well-defined forearm that was covered in black linen. The arm completed itself into a compactly muscled bicep, finishing into a broad shoulder. The lines of the neck were strong and looked to possess fierce vocal capacity. The chiseled outline of the jaw started off exquisite bone structure in the cheeks and nose. The features were most definitely masculine, though the dark, faintly arched eyebrows and smooth skin was a cause for question. A thick mass of raven hair was neatly slicked back off the face and glistened in the faint light.

All of these features combined created a breathing Adonis. The complete perfection and balance of the features appeared to be sculpted by Michelangelo in the purest of marble.

However, upon closer inspection, one would come to realize that the eyes were slightly unusual. The slender shape tilted upward to give a menacing look as the thick lashes provided a veil of mystique. The shocking yellow, however made the entire face take on a new light.

Vibrant amber, flecked with black and honey, shimmered with a deep hidden intellect. Years of disturbing knowledge lurked within those glassy orbs, observing every detail of his surroundings with quick accuracy. The slightest of movement, faintest flicker of light, or even the almost invisible jilting of the door handle all appeared sloppy and obvious to him. Especially the door handle.

The man slid his gaze to the direction of the entry with distaste. With an unhurried arrogance, he arched his cramped back, wincing at the stiff cracks that filled his ears. As he rolled his weary head to the left, then to the other side, his lungs stretched, allowing in new air. With an exasperated sigh, he acknowledged the doorway again.

"I had hoped if I ignored you, you'd leave me in peace...," he called out to his uninvited visitor.

He heard the person behind the door gasp then gulp in a deep breath. He also heard the hushed tinkling of a hastily-opened flask and the sloshing as some of its' contents fell onto the hall floor. The person then coughed from the consequence of nervous chugging as he hesitantly tried for the door again, as his other hand knocked.

"If you are here about the rent, then you may as well leave. I've no money to give you. So, if you will be so kind as to STOP BANGING ON MY DOOR!"

The man behind the door stumbled back from the sudden outburst on the other side and frantically scrambled down the hallway. A few seconds later, the sound of a crashing glass bottle could be heard a little ways out the door of the complex.

Drunken idiot, the man concluded.

With that, he dropped his head into his hands and let loose a throaty groan. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb as he furrowed his brow. His eyes ached from hours of "intense work." He peered at the scattered papers on his desk from between his fingers. It was a mess, not a creation. He glanced around his dank, dreary apartment and frowned.

Papers were thrown everywhere from outbursts of frustration or utter apathy of where they fell. A large ink spot decorated the middle of the room and blotched the walls black from careless activities. Not a painting adorned the room and the carpet, faded. To finish it off, everything was coated in a thick layer of dust.

There was a bed over in the corner. It was the only semi-fixed thing in the room, for it was hardly slept in. If I ever did sleep...He looked away from the chaos and turned his attention back to the desk.

Something caught his eye. To the left, a small white object was stuffed under his door, apparently in a hurry. So, he did not come nagging me for my rent, after all.

Choking back a sharp cry, he slowly arose from his chair. With rigid legs, he staggered over to the door and as he bent down, grumbling, to retrieve the letter, he and felt a sharp crack in his lower back.

Grimacing, he shuffled over back to his desk and reached for his letter opener. The envelope had no return address, he noted. He carefully look at the scribbled writing on the front, by someone who was in a rush or had never learned right properly. English, that is. His face hardened as it dawned upon him who the message was from.

Impossible...impossible...his mind kept saying as he tore open the ivory surface and quickly opened the note inside.

My friend,

I have heard that this is your current address, by who I am not at liberty to say.

Where have you been? How are you supporting yourself? By the time this letter reaches, will you still be at this address? I have read the papers. I know the police are baffled. They have no clue that it was you. But I know, I can tell. You forget that I know you too well. I have not informed anyone of my knowledge, but I swear to you I will if necessary. How? How could you have committed such a heinous act?

By Allah, what have you done?

Please respond to me. Don't force me to reveal all that I know. Remember I am your friend.

~Daroga

The man reread the letter over and over as he slowly lowered himself into the chair. The words didn't seem to sink in. How? How could he have found me HERE? He glanced at the words again with utmost confusion,...then paused.

As he studied the reading again, he began to comprehend what it was saying. It was there, an underlying impression. As faint as it was, one might mistake it as concern or even fear, but the way the words were phrased, it was obvious. Anger. That is what it was. Is he... threatening me?

Then, the man started to give off a noise. A deep rumbling arose from his chest, only just restricted by the tightly closed mouth. He could not contain it any longer.

Furious laughter poured forth from the man's lips, a laughter that rattled his very diaphragm. The cackling increased in velocity at the mere thought of his friend tracking him down. He could hear the people above his apartment opening doors and the apprehensive chatter of them in the hall, which only caused him to laugh harder.

When his laughter was contained enough for him to stand properly, he grabbed the small trunk from under the bed. With his shoulders still shuddering, he grabbed his few possessions; his violin, two extra bottles of specialty-made ink, a few slips of paper, a quill. He looked about the dirty living space. Overlooking the mess, (there was somebody who is supposed to clean that so it wasn't his problem) he ran through anything he might be forgetting.

Kicking a few books and papers out of the way, he yanked his jacket from underneath a pile blankets. Brushing it off, he shrugged on the black article of clothing and slid on his gloves. He was immune to the cold. It never bothered him, but he always preferred to blend into the shadows, so the jacket was a necessity. As he placed his hat on his head, he reached for his porcelain protection.

He took a moment to study it. In his hand, a blank half-mask judgingly glimmered back at him. It was uncomfortable. If he had his own choice, he would go without it. With a sneer, he applied it to his face. Ah, but it never was my choice, was it?

He had own a mask no matter what age he was. For as long as he could remember, from the moment he was introduced into this world, a mask served as his only identity. It was all people seemed to see. It was all he wanted them to. He grimaced as the harsh accusations of his mother returned to haunt his recollection.

"Oh...my God! What...what is that? Get it away from me!" his mother cried in horror as she looked upon the newborn's face. Such a monstrosity could not have come from her!

"But, Milady! This is your child!" the frantic nursemaid countered as she offered the infant to his mother.

She just turned from the abomination and silently began to shudder with tears.

"That," she spoke with bitter disgust, "is not my child. Why did God curse me to bear such a hideous creature?...Take it away. I don't want it."

What a pleasant way to be greeted into the world, he mused. He was once told that his was like the face of a demon that had taken on some human aspect. How accurate. Others had said that he simply had no face, just a skull staring back at them. Few had seen it, but all had left some sort of description. He himself had never really studied his face. He didn't want to look at it, so he didn't. He had never seen it long enough to fully take in the apparition that was him. He was told that it was ugly, so naturally who would want to confirm the matter?

Ignorance is bliss.

He then quickly grabbed his suitcase and swung open the door into the main hallway. Few would be up at this time of night. One man was slumped against the wall, surrounded by many bottles of vodka. Paying him no mind, he slipped out into the cold night air. Unfazed by the frigid atmosphere, he focused his attention on the dark, vacant streets before him.

A faint rustling then caught his attention. To his left, a small boy stood warily a few feet away, staring at him. He stared right back at the boy. He appeared no more than seven, it seemed as his eyes held wondrous curiosity that only a child could possess. The child's face was smeared with dirt and his hair dirtied, but his gaze held infinite interest of the mask concealing the grown-up's face.

Ignoring the boy's rude inspection, the man motioned him closer. The boy was hesitant at first, then consented to the man's request. Turning his head ever so slightly, the man pulled out two coins from his pocket. The boy's interest was no longer focused on getting a gander at his mask, but was now inspecting the money with greed. How sad it it, that a child's mind had been corrupted at such a young age...Whispering his command into the imp's ear, he slid one coin into his hand. With a quick nod, the little urchin vanished into the darkness.

Rising into a fully standing pose, he re-positioned his hat upon his head and waited for his carriage. As he began to hear the faint rumbling of horses in the distance, the lights in the inn flicked on. He sighed. He hoped to avoid an altercation. Just as the transport pulled to a stop, a grossly overweight, slightly intoxicated fellow stumbled out from the door and onto the lane.

"It appears that you are leaving us, my good man. Thank you for your stay here, as we always do our best to welcome travelers. However, sir, it seems that you are behind on your rent," The man paused to eye his customer up and down. "and that's hardly a just thing to do, sir."

The beefy male sauntered closer to his shadowy opponent, oblivious. The masked man held his breath, for the Russian in front of him reeked of vodka, harlot perfume, and who knew what else. It looked like he hadn't bathed in four days. He glared at the inn keeper's outstretched, expecting hand, then peered over his shoulder to glance at his bony wife and two children that looked like two sucklings about to burst forth from their filthy clothing. He grinned.

"Of course, my dear friend. I have not forgotten the...hospitable accommodations I have experienced here. Allow me to reward you for your troubles...," He reached into his pocket. "Here. A small token of my gratitude."

The man screeched and flung the spider from his hand. Shouting swears, he danced on the poor creature, throwing up a cloud of dust from the dirt street. He screamed at his wife to help him, as she quickly tried to do so. In the midst of the incredibly entertaining episode, the amber-eyed man tossed the little boy his extra coin, and with a wave of his hand, he disappeared into the blackness of midnight.

All was still inside the mansion. Not one sound nor sight disturbed the peace. Those who rested inside lay soundly in their beds, quietly dreaming without care. No one could be awake at this indecent hour of morning...No one should be.

BANG BANG BANG!

Three loud knockings echoed with marvelous noise capacity throughout the entire house, shattering the calm atmosphere and violently yanking them all from their slumber.

With hurried movements, one elderly maid rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked around in dazed confusion. Three more strokes the door and it became apparent that someone was wanting to be acknowledged. She pulled back the warmly inviting coverlet and struck a match to light a candle. Quickly stumbling down two flights of steps and struggling to put on her robe at the same time, she made in downstairs right as another chorus of cracks sounded once more. Grumbling, she cracked open the main door and cast a menacing stare.

"What do you mean by banging on someone's door so late, sir? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Last I checked, this was not your house and therefore, you have no say on how it is to be run. Now, open this door at once; it's rude to keep a visitor out in the cold."

The women was not used to being spoken to in such a disrespectful tone, and was at loss for words. During her recovery from the insults, the man wasted no time in pushing open the door and inviting himself in. She angrily slammed the door shut and was about to hurl accusations, when her mouth was met with his coat and hat that he had taken off and was now offering her. When she refused to take them, he merely raised an eyebrow.

"I insist in knowing who you are, sir. You must understand that one must not expect a guest at such an hour. What is your business here, and whatever it is, can it please wait until morning?"

The man across from her handed her his jacket again, and when she took it, he replied to her inquisition.

"I request an audience with your master, and no, I do not care what time it is. It can't wait."

A simple hardening of the eyes did enough to send the women rushing upstairs to her lord's chambers. She hesitantly knocked on the door and earned a muffled question as a reply. She knocked once more, and quietly cracked open the mahogany door.

"My lord, a gentleman has arrived to see you. He did not state his name, but mentioned that it is most urgent that he speak with you immediately."

A tuft of hair poked its' way out from underneath a mountain of silken pillows. The exhausted man murmured that he would be down in a few moments. With tired groan, Nadir slid out of bed and ran his fingers through his graying hair to look somewhat presentable. It was odd to have someone calling on him, for he was not expecting any guests. After trudging his way downstairs, he paused right outside the den's doors. Taking a deep breath, he gently opened them.

Inside he saw a man sitting comfortably in a wingback chair across from him. A fire blazed behind him, giving illumination to only his long legs and curled fingers in the armrests. The rest of his face was hidden in shadow. The icy atmosphere was not only from the January night air...

Rubbing his eyes and providing his unknown guest with a plastered smile, the Persian politely inquired as to why this man was here.

"Well, I would, of course, be gracious enough to cordially invite you to my home if I knew who were, Mr.,...?"

The shadow across made no reply. Nadir began to wonder if what he was seeing was real until he saw the man begin to shift positions. With slow movements, like the unfurling of a spider, a face materialized from the darkness. The false pretense dissipated on Nadir's tongue as the smile fell away. Utter horror was imprinted in his dark eyes and his mouth hung opened, unable to speak. He wanted to scream. He wanted to clutch his head in agony and release one loud, long scream of despair. To shake his head in disbelief and point a finger right in the demon's face and cry that he couldn't be here!

Oh Allah, no...

"Erik...?"

SOOOO? ;D haha how was it? lol I hope it was ok! c: tried! lol Please leave a review! Ill give you the triforce of courage and a ticket to Hogwarts if you do! :D

-SHROOMS