I remember everything that ever happened in my pitiful life, unfortunately. From a childhood of abuse to that of a hunted, wanted, and murderous adult. I could and never can escape my annoyingly good memory. It is a curse I cannot seem to escape no matter how hard I try. And to think, if I had only been the perfect little son that my mother had wished for! Sigh. That's all I have of my past (besides my jaded memories), basically, these "If only…" thoughts, wishes, and hopes. The most horrific, or pitiful you could say, aspect of all this was the seemingly limitless expanse of knowledge, talents, and genius that I possessed. But people don't see that, do they? No! They only saw (and still see) this mockery of a face!

I was born in a small town in northern France, and it is just as well you do not know what town it was exactly, for I am pretty sure that it no longer exists. My mother wanted nothing, and I mean, nothing to do with me. When I was little, I believe it was about my fifth birthday, she decided to allow me to celebrate my birthday for once and the first time in my life. Sure she gave me a lot of nice presents for my developing mind and talents (She always insisted that, despite her dislike of my countenance, that I should be as educated to the best of her ability and beyond.), but when she asked if there was anything truly special that I wanted for my birthday, I answered, "A kiss, maman. A simple kiss. You don't have to kiss me on my lips like you do with papa… Just a kiss on the cheek…" Of course, she refused. Who wouldn't, especially if they knew what I looked like under the child mask that I wore constantly? No, I don't think anyone would have. Of course, at the time, I already knew what I looked like, as my insatiable curiosity and quest for knowledge pushed me towards looking for and finding out the reason for the mask that I was forced to wear. I was not weak, I did not scream when I saw the "monster" in that mirror's cold, unfeeling glass. No, I didn't scream, but I did have many, many nightmares for weeks afterwards, many sleepless nights caused by those vivid nightmares.

I long ago accepted my fate: The fate that I would never be loved by another of the human race, accepted by the people to whom I belonged by birth, or be a normal person ever. No, my difference was far too great. And not just physically or mentally. I was born, oh, about two hundred or so years ago… and after I hit about twenty-five years, I for some reason, stopped growing. I think that might have been a result of one or a combination of the many tests they performed on me at the "resettlement camp" named "Larkhill", which I have come to call "the Hell Hole Camp".

I was, I suppose, about thirteen or fourteen years old that summer of my capture, imprisonment, torture, and experimentations, and I was performing my infamous "Living Corpse" act in a circus that was traveling through England (secretly, of course, seeing as actual sideshows that showcase human abnormalities were banned long ago) that year. What with the war and all that, people wanted to take their minds off of the events happening—the carnival and I were making incredible amounts of money at every stop, many coming just to see me. Although the fact that they came to see me and at the finale, when I removed my mask, screamed and would retch, it was a living—and probably the best I could ever entertain the thought of gaining.

When the dictatorship started, the circuses and other such carnivals were quickly disbanded (even the hidden and secretive sideshows were diligently hunted down and put out of business) and many of the performers that were, in their eyes, not normal (which even, in their eyes, included clowns, musicians, magicians, and other such performers with unique or odd talents) and therefore inhuman, were shipped off to camps. I was one of those unlucky people, of course. Did you really think I would be able to get away with a sense of normalcy with my body that has been said to be built upon death from head to foot? Who would think that I was human with my death's head and freezing touch? Worse yet, because of my "condition" I was sent to Larkhill Resettlement Camp to become a lab rat and studied for my peculiarities. Since they did not want to have the other "inmates" frightened by appearance as I was not allowed a mask (I also think that they had something different in store for me), I was not placed in the "normal" so called "rooms". Instead, I was placed in a cell in a wing separated from the rest of the complex. It was because of this reason, mainly, that I survived the explosions and the inferno that night. In the chaos it caused, I escaped into the wilderness, but not far away—yet. I was still around long enough to see the man who would become known as "V". This was the last I saw of him for a long time, but by no means would it be the last.