Prologue
"Son of Satan!"
The woman screamed and cried out as the contractions came hard and fierce; her white hand tightly pierced the fingers of the man kneeling by her side. Mentally he thanked himself for removing her rings, which would have ground his flesh to the bone.
"Such language dear! I can assure you it didn't come from me..."
The woman allowed herself a death glare in his direction before a fresh wave of pain made her wail anew. Seconds later, the man was thrilled to see the slimy baby make its way into the world. Amidst his wife's moans and his own aching appendages, of course.
Beaming, he reached out for the child as the doctor finished tending to it, and sat it gently in the crook of his arms. He brought it close to his wife, willing her to look. A beautiful boy...
But she didn't seem finished yet.
"Not...done!"
To the utter disbelief of everyone present, a second child fought its way through the blood of its sibling, trying to fight its way out of the womb. The woman pushed and groaned, trying all in her power to deliver it.
"It's breached! In position, men. We're going to have to help it..."
The husband held to the first child desperately, his eyes a mask of fear as the doctors crowded around his wife, trying to safely deliver the second child.
"Victor, you imbecile!"
The husband jumped as an elder doctor shoved a younger one out of the way. The younger doctor looked stunned, and the momentum from the push shoved him against the wall, which he slowly sank down, his bloody hands held up in front of him.
"Here we are..."
The husband finally breathed as the second child was brought successfully into the world. As it was cared for, the husband noticed the lack of excitement or congratulations that he had met with the first child. Anxious, he glanced over at his wife, who lie in bed, completely exhausted.
"Their hair seems so dark..."
The doctor glanced up quickly, attempting to tend to the young wife as she panted from her exertion.
"It's most common. Parents who are brown-haired often bear children with darker hair, and by the age of five it'll lighten."
The husband looked down to his son once more.
"A young, healthy daughter sir."
The man started as the second infant was placed in the unoccupied crook of his other arm. Smiling, he gazed down at his new children—and twins, at that! Looking first upon his son, his eyes shifted to that of the troublesome one, the daughter.
His heart froze.
"Sir... I am sorry. She was breached, and we did all we could to twist her out–"
A dirty look from the older physician was shot towards the younger, who looked as if he wanted to disappear from the face of the earth.
The husband felt himself begin to cry as his eyes gazed down upon the face of his second born, his daughter...
A face that was twisted and disfigured...
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Memoir Un
"Dammit, fate won't leave me alone."
His hands curled angrily against the edges of the paper, a paper which had just thrown his mood into the worst of tempers.
"The Vicount de Chagney proudly announces the birth of his heir and twin sister Micah and Marie de Chagney. Well wishers would be welcome to show their–"
Erik stopped reading, his voice threatening to break down completely.
So, that was it. Game, set, match. Again.
Of course, he had always held out that she still loved him; her kiss to him that night hardly proved otherwise. And yet... the children completely shattered his illusions and hopes. Didn't they? Hadn't they...
No. Of course not.
How pathetic, really. It's been thirteen years since the yellowed article had first been read by his eye, and what had he done about it? A great load of rotting in the lair, that's what... Why did he continue to torture himself with his doubts and fears?
"More brandy, that's the ticket..."
His mask lay on the chair next to him, innocent enough. Growling, he grabbed it and hastily threw it onto his face. He whisked his cloak about his shoulders, and made sure the wig was properly in place.
What he was doing was madness; she obviously wanted nothing to do with him if she's had children with Raoul, and twins at that! Though they'd be teenagers now...
He needed some brandy... strong. And fast, if he was to do this properly.
"Time to pay Madame de Chagney a visit."
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Christine was morbid; not even the antics of Marie were able to sway her mood, and that was saying something.
The young girl was lively and vivacious; curious about the world her and wanting to know everything about it. Though of course, her parents were reluctant to let her outside the house very often. Usually it was Micah who saw the sights of the town; off capering with Raoul in the city, as he was proudly shown off as the heir to the de Chagney household.
Marie, however, stayed inside.
It wasn't that she had no freedom to travel into the city of Paris itself; in fact, her parents were more than willing to defend her the moment someone commented on her deformity. It was her choice; who wanted strangers gawking at her face anyway?
Sighing, Christine opened the grand doors of the house, and let them open up to the inviting night in front of her. Time to take a walk. A long one. Perhaps with some brandy...
Alone in her room, Marie de Chagney stood in front of her mirror. Her own disfigurement was a source of fascination for her, though she often loathed the negative attention received from it. Leaning close into the glass, she studied the right side of her face.
It actually wasn't too distinguishing from a far away glance, but horrid enough; her right ear was twisted and mangled, the skin sagged down to her jawline, and most of her right face was a pink-red, with a large star-burst birthmark accenting the deformity. Almost mocking it.
Scowling, she let her long black hair slide over her face, effectively covering any traces of abnormality.
Most thought she was shy and quiet for the way she covered her face, but her parents knew better. Though lately, it seemed as though she'd grown distant from them. Mother spent most of her time away, on trips visiting people in the city. When she was home, she seemed despondent and depressed. Father, on the other hand, was always working, and always taking Micah with him. Between the two, Marie rarely had time to be fussed over.
Succeeding in upsetting herself once more, Marie raced over to her mother's room. There was always something there to capture her attention.
Immediately Marie went for the heavy, iron-wrought chest that sat in the very back of her mother's closet. The child had long ago learned to pick the lock, and contented herself to digging through the items in it when she was in a weird mood. Like now.
Carefully she began to take items out and set them reverently on the floor; her hands were familiar with the old artifacts underneath, and she began where she had left off last time; a hand-crafted jewelry box.
A noise at her mother's window made her jump. She turned, but saw nothing but the darkness outside.
Her attention returned once more to the box. She opened it slowly, taking in the smell of chestnut as the hinges squeaked in protest. She was surprised at what she found inside, and she quickly grew excited.
A simple, elegant, white half-mask laid inside the box, perfect in condition.
Marie jumped up, and eagerly pressed the mask to her face. Clearly it was too big, and not meant for her, but what a treasure none the less! Maybe she could get one for her, to hide her ugly face... Her thoughts turned to how Raoul would be coming home soon. She really needed to clean up before then.
Then the sound at the window resurfaced.
Marie spun around, and was shocked to find someone staring back at her. He was in the tree branches, curiously gazing at her through the window. Then he realized she was staring at him, and his gaze turned to shock and... fear? It was a man! A man with a white mask identical to the one that she held pressed to her own face.
Before she could say or do anything, he had crawled cat-like through the window, and snatched her around the waist. He covered her mouth quickly so she couldn't scream, and before either of them knew it, they were spriting away from the house.
The mask had dropped from Marie's hands, and lay conspicuously on the floor.