prologue
His mother had hated and feared him. He spent the first three years of his life knowing only the immense loathing she felt for him, for his abhorred face. On the eve of his third birthday, a traveling circus of gypsies, passed through town. His mother had brought him, her face covered by a shawl, his hat pulled low over his eyes so he couldn't see where he was going. His mother had set him down on a bench and whispered in his ear for him to keep his head down so no one could see his face, and that she would be right back.
The boy sat, waiting, but the person who approached him soon after was not his mother. It was a rough man. He said his name was Abastado. At first, the boy struggled against Abastado's grip as he led the boy away, the cobbled streets racing through his mind beneath his small feet. Abastado's hands were coarse, and he made no effort to be gentle with the boy. All the boy saw was the brown hand covered in black paint and the street, the bumpy, slippery street below him. He had no idea where he was going. He didn't care. Nor did he care that his mother was not there. Perhaps his life was going somewhere new, exciting.
A few of the people visiting the circus bumped into the boy, throwing his shoulder back and knocking the pale hat off his jet black hair. His hands shot from Abastado's grip and covered his face, smothering his scar with trembling hands. Some people nearby gasped and screamed at the fleeting glimpse of the boy's disfigured face. He stood in the middle of the crowded street, a small clearing created around him as he shivered with fright, his hands grasping the right side of his face. His matted black hair was falling in sweaty knots, intertwining with his fingers.
Abastado had stopped walking when he felt the boy's hand slip from his grasp and turned to look at the sobbing creature. He took a few cautious steps forward and knelt down to eye-level with the crying boy. Slowly, he wrapped his spindly fingers around the boy's wrists and pulled gently away from his face. His eyes scanned the distorted face with worried eyes, when his mouth curled into a malicious, evil grin that frightened the boy. Abastado stood up so fast, the boy rocked and would have fallen over was his arm not firmly clasped in the man's hand.
Abastado was laughing maniacally, brandishing the boy's arm in the air.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he had said to the crowd, most of them covering their mouths in horror. "Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you … the Devil's Child."
I know this is short, but it's only a prologue. Chapters will get longer. Anyway, you know the drill. Read and review.
This is the first time writing a non-Harry Potter fic, but I suddenly became inspired to write this story. Here goes. If it doesn't have a good response, I'll just remove it and continue writing for my own enjoyment.