A/N: This is my first work, so try to be kind. I am still learning, and would love any input you may have for it. I must warn that I write in United Kingdom English, so spellings may be a bit different than what you might expect. Enjoy J
The tired, haggard sounds of the Circus floated dully through the thick Paris air, trying to seduce the more lethargic senses of the idle passers-by. The grating voices of those who survived on drink and cigarettes alone pilfered the potentially joyous atmosphere as they vainly tried to force their sick ways upon the unsuspecting bystander. Painted smiles and demented laughs surrounded and consumed the realm in which two particular and peculiar beings found themselves. One being never having dreamed of anything more different for their life, and the other never having thought they would return to such a pantomime world.
'Come, come see the marvel, the face and voice of an angel!' One of the many hecklers beckoned in his gin stained voice, ushering the masses with only the request of a seemingly meaningless recompense.
Beneath the sickening tents people funnelled in to see the aforementioned wonder. In the middle of the insipid gathering sat a young woman upon the straw covered floor. She hid her porcelain face from the onlookers by directing her dejected gaze to the floor. Faded and smudged gossamer sleeves hid from the piercing sight of the onlookers silver scars stretching up and down her arms in snail trail patterns. Long blonde hair hung in mats over her shoulders and further concealed her face. The skirt of her dirty white dress hid a shackle at her ankle.
The crowd gathered round her small form, taking her in with murmurs and hidden words of abuse. As if a single hand could hide their harsh words or cruel laughs. One figure of the crowd stood back from the others, however, his face concealed beneath a dark cloak. He did not laugh or point at the poor girl. He pitied her. No, more than that; he longed for her to find her strength and break free as he had so many years ago.
A minute passed and still the acclaimed angel did nothing. People began to shift restlessly and their words began to turn from mocking to anger.
At last she lifted her face with cold, dead eyes. She looked upon the faces of the crowd with unfathomable despair. She willed with what little hope and strength she had left to each person to save her from this Hell. And then, when her hope finally faded she looked at the floor once more, her thoughts turning once more of the faint longing for the soft embrace of death. Anything to save herself from living in this nightmare.
Something in the cloaked figure stirred at the sight of her face. Soft skin, pointed chin, smooth cheekbones, and round, hazel eyes. Something about this poor wretch set his heart a beating. It had seemed an eternity since it had pulsed. He did not even think it could anymore. Though she could not have seen him, her eyes reached right into his, into his heart to set it going once more. Those eyes saw into his soul and stayed with it without turning away. Just as…hers had.
Just when anger was turning to outrage in the gathered, the heckler came in with a dirty look shining in his black eyes. A nasty grin stretched across his wicked mouth. He stalked in front of her, leaning over her in his clearly preferred role of dominant.
Suddenly he grabbed her hair and yanked it back so that she was forced to look up and at him.
'These people have paid to hear you sing, wretch. So, either you sing for them, or I will make you scream for me.' He said, putting his poisonous breath upon her flawless cheek. Stepping behind her, he continued to hold her hair in his fist. 'Now sing "angel".' He barked with a sneer.
The girl opened her mouth and let forth a truly beautiful note. Upon hearing the note the crowd fell silent. It was as if her voice inhabited every part of the air around them, sucking it dry and simultaneously infusing it all of the sadness of the world. Her pale hands sank from her head to trail gracefully at her legs. One hand disappeared into her skirt and the faint glint of a blade at the shackle on her ankle was seen for so brief an instant that one would question its presence at all. She continued to let forth the most pure and truly angelic notes as she, nearly imperceptibly, worked with the grace of a real angel. Finally her face betrayed the faintest shimmer of hope and happiness.
This pause in music brought a tug at her hair. Her hands flew to it, the blade hidden from view in her hand.
'Who told you to stop?' Her captor spat in her face, leaning over her once more.
'My heart,' she answered with a growing smile of freedom.
In one deft move she brought the blade through her hair, cutting herself free of his grasp. Gasps in the crowd fell silent to her ears as she turned and brought her blade right into his stomach and up to his lungs. His shock still clung with grimy hands to his horrid face.
'And that is something you will never own.' She finished before letting him drop to the floor.
As the crowd ran away in terror with screams only adding to the existing cacophony of the night, she quickly yanked the shackle off of her foot. Standing once more, she was halted by the presence of a cloaked man before her. She had seen him in the vile assembly, but now she grew apprehensive in his lasting company. A once caged bird, playing at being a tiger, now prepared herself for flight.
The figure did not speak, only held out one hand to her.
Considering her options, she gingerly took it and they fled through the inky-black night to the promise of freedom for one, and a most unexpected connexion for the other.
A/N: I hope you liked it. I hope to have the next chapter up soon, and yes, Erik will speak in it.