Hey guys! Here is the second installment of Ties of the Heart. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 2

"Well, here she is. Just as I said." The master said with a smug smile. "Five, show some respect for your new master."

I kept my head down as I did an awkward curtsy. Apparently, this didn't please the master. "Surely you can do better than that." He said as he kicked me down to the ground, rocks and broken liquor bottles cutting into my hands. He laughed as he pushed my head down.

Then the pressure of his hand on my head suddenly dissipated. I looked up to see Erik holding him by the wrist. "I would prefer you to not lay hands on my property, as she is mine now."

I marveled at his voice. Deep, smooth, almost angelic. Definitely not the voice I last heard from him. But his tone was menacing. It shook me to the core.

It had the same effect on my former master as well as he started trembling. "Y-yes monsieur, my deepest apologies." He quickly moved away. "Now, as we discussed, my payment..." He trailed off, holding out his hand greedily.

Erik sighed as he pulled a pouch out of a pocket in his cape. "The full amount we discussed." He stated as he tossed it carelessly to the other man. As he went to open the pouch, Erik exclaimed forcefully "I assure you, it is the money I owe you for this girl."

He nodded quickly. "Yes monsieur, I apologize for being hasty. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Erik gently took my arm and helped me up, surprising both me and my former master. "No, thank you. We shall be taking our leave now." And with that, we strode out of the tent.

I looked around me, not used to this part of the camp. None of us were allowed in this part unless we were sold and on our way to our new places of torment. It looked as I had imagined it: just as shabby and dirty as the rest of the camp.

Erik led me towards the exit where a carriage was waiting for us. I had no idea what my new life would be like. I didn't think Erik even recognized me. After all, he did refer to me as 'his property'. The Erik I knew would not have done that. He knew how much I despised the concept of being 'owned'.

But all thoughts ceased when he whispered in my ear. "We're almost there, princess."

I gasped. He really did remember me. He was the only one who called me that.

We approached the carriage just as a commotion broke out behind us. There was yelling, but I couldn't understand what was being said. I tried to look back to see what was going on, but Erik turned my head straight. "Best not to look."

He opened the door to the carriage and helped me in, climbing in after me. As we went off, I looked out the window at the fast-disappearing gypsy camp, never to see it again.

As soon as my former prison was out of sight, I turned to Erik, finding he was already looking at me. He had taken his hat off to reveal a strange white mask. We stared at each other in awkward silence for a few moments before I looked down at my hands. I gasped; they were bloody from my fall back in the tent. I knew I was bleeding, but not this bad.

Erik looked at my hands as well and immediately dove into action, grabbing some brandy from under his seat and his scarf from around his neck, tearing it in two. He positioned the bottle over my hands. "This is going to hurt a bit." Then he poured the brandy on my hands.

I hissed in pain; he wasn't lying. He muttered a quick apology as he started to wrap the scarf halves around my hands.

"It's alright," I replied. "I've hurt worse."

As he finished, we sat in another awkward silence. After not seeing each other in years, you would think that we would talk more. Thinking of nothing else better to do, I looked out the window of the carriage to see what sights we were passing by.

My eyes widened. There were buildings galore! I had never seen so many in my life. There were tall ones, short ones, fat ones, skinny ones, ones who desperately needed cleaning. Then I saw it.

The Opera Populaire, burned halfway to the ground.

I had heard the newcomers, as well as spectators, whisper to each other about the great disaster, and how a man known only as the Phantom of the Opera had caused it in a failed attempt to woo the diva, Christine Daae. I didn't know how much of it was true, but I did know one thing: any man who would go through all of that for the love of a woman was a lonely man and needed love.

I saw Erik shift in his seat uncomfortably as we passed the ruined opera house. I wondered if he was there that night, witnessing the whole thing. I decided not to ask, though.

"So, by the way he treated you back there, I can see that the old bag of bones is still as mean as ever?" he suddenly asked me.

I snorted. "You have no idea."