A/N - Thanks for the review, echo. Could you please explain to me what a Mary-Sue is?

As for the rest of you! There are at least thirty of you who have read all three chapters. Please review. :(


Cold had already begun to seep through her dress, and Emina shuddered against it. The rough hewn floor bit into the exposed, delicate flesh of her shoulders leaving small indentations and bruises. Erik's weight atop her did not help the matter any. He had simply frozen, and fastened a vicious stare upon her face, as though he were searching for something.

"Please," her voice had softened, the panic that had spurred her cry moments before melting away. "Please." Did she plead for her life, for recognition, or something altogether different?

"Who are you?" Erik demanded, his voice hardly more than a hiss. His broad shoulders stooped, until his face was merely inches from her own. She seemed so familiar, and yet his mind could not piece the puzzle together. A gypsy who was obviously comfortable with the language, that knew his name. It made little sense, as the only gypsies he had ever known provided only torture.

"Emina," her voice stammered quickly. The simple emission should explain it all, at least in her mind. She had never forgotten, not for a moment, his name. Or his face. The idea that he may have completely forgotten her had never even crept into her imagination.

Nothing happened. He did not release his grip, which was so tight about fragile wrist that she could no longer feel her fingers. His weight, which pinned her hips uncomfortably to the earth beneath, only seemed to increase if it were possible. He was not convinced to relent.

"Emina," she stated again, more insistently. Again, nothing. She felt the heat of embarassment kiss her cheeks, realization finally settling upon her mind. He had forgotten. Now, genuinely, she feared for her life.

"In the camp. I would bring you things. Food, toys. The man.. you... murdered. He was... he called... my father. We were friends, Erik. Friends."

It had been more than a year since Erik had spoken with another living soul, apart from the vagabond that sometimes found their fateful end within his tunnels. This, his first conversation in so long, was not as he had imagined it. The face, although female, was entirely different.

"Emina?" The melodic voice repeated, which little recognition. Still, as easily as it fell from his lips - Emina felt a delight course through her.

"Yes," she continued, in a very gentle tone. "I would tend to your wounds. We would talk, for hours. We made up games. Do you remember? We would try to see which could finish the others word first. Silly things," she mused quietly, although a smile flirted upon pretty lips. "But things were hard, and we only had each other. You must remember, Erik. You must." The last two words sounded more like a plea.

"Do not call me that," he growled, silencing her for a moment. Still, she found the courage the blunder on.

"Do you remember when I brought you the monkey? With the little cymbals." Emina now felt as though her very existence depended upon convincing this beast atop her that she was not a foe.

"It was the very first time we had spoken. Not long after you arrived. He had beaten you, fiercely. I stayed until he... I was caught."

The first hint of a negativity related to the memories she claimed for both of them. The quiver in her voice triggered a memory.

"He raped you." It was a simple statement, with none of the compassion any normal person would certainly feel for her.

"Yes," she affirmed, gaze averting to the lapel of his jacket. Even now, saying those things aloud humiliated her.

The phantom above her seemed content to let her live, as his grip upon her wrists released. She pulled them downwards possessively and began to nurse the wounds he had inflicted there. Erik glanced upwards toward the dark tunnels ahead. He had an affair to tend to, and now this delay.

What would he do with the girl?

In a quick gesture, his fingers tangled roughly in the silken tresses that crowned her head, and he could almost feel their softness in the moment before he lifted her head from the ground beneath, and then returned it heavily in a blow just severe enough to close her pretty eyes in a dreamless sleep.


Sound was the only sense that seemed to function, at first. Echoes seemed to bounce and reflect off of one another, creating a whole host of sounds that would easily confuse the listener. At the same time, it was eerily quiet - with only the occasional drop of water to cause such a cacophony of noise. Sensation seemed to come next, and she could feel the chill that seemed to surround her. A deep sort of cold that was only found under the earth. Much the same as in her tunnels. And then there was the smell. The scent of raw earth and water, and before Emina had even opened her eyes she realized she was in large concave beneath the ground. Nothing could prepare her for the sight she would find.

Slowly she blinked, and squirmed against bonds she had yet to identify. Before her view unfolded a decadent, sinister lair that had been rebuilt to it's former state. Few things were missing, but Emina would not have known to look for those things. As her head lifted from the stone it rested upon, she could see that the same rope which had nearly taken her life.. was it hours before?... now was fastened securely about already damaged wrist and this time the tender curve of her ankles. She was effectively hog-tied. She groaned aloud, the pain from the knot in the back of her head finally greeting her in searing strokes that went through her mind. This was not at all how she imagined she would be reunited with her friend.

As more of the present became tangible to her, she realized she had been dropped rather unceremoniously upon the smooth stone which led upwards to a dias, and a throne-like chair. Inches from her feet, which were strangely bare, a muted green water licked idly at the landing which a small gondola had claimed as it's resting place. Her inspection continued further, the beaten captive managing to shift into a somewhat upright position. It was obvious that this place belonged to him. His touch was evident everywhere.

Reverie interrupted, Emina's head snapped quickly in the direction of the sound of glass crunching beneath heavy feet. Within a moment, his figure appeared through the empty frame which had once housed a mirror. Emina's heart immediately leaped, and then sank as quickly. Would he kill her? This was all such a mess! She did not dare speak.

He ignored her presence as he entered, striding easily toward his chair. He dropped into it without a sound and gazed off toward the heavy bars which sealed his domain off from the carnage above. It had been quite the night, and Christine's sweet voice still echoed in his mind. The ghost was quite distracted. Emina shifted, causing the tail of her rope to drop into the very edge of the water and a slosh followed. His eyes darted quickly toward the sound.

Curse it, then there was the girl. Memories he had gladly sealed off were being forced to the surface by her mere presence, and he seriously considered whether it would be easier to simply be rid of her and the whole problem.

"You're supposed to be dead," he chided.

Eyes widened, Emina nearly laughed. "Dead?" she repeated, soft interrogative causing her voice to lilt.

"I heard him say, the night before I ..left. That he was finished with you, and that you would never be his worry again. I seen the dagger. He killed you."

Emina struggled to maintain her upright position. Her perch left her most precariously teetering, and she found it rather humbling to be bound before him as he sat so regally upon his high chair.

"No. He sold me. To Orlo. I became a business soon after." Anger tinged the words at the end, and Erik scowled. He remembered the fat man who was called Orlo, and the disgusting way he had carried himself. This was not an enjoyable trip down memory lane.

"A business?"

Had he no mercy? Would he make her say it? "Prostitution. I was 12."

Erik did not seem moved. The months prior had made emotions a distant thing that were difficult for him to tap into, unless he made the conscious decision to try.

"Disgusting," he muttered simply, gaze again dropping to her face. She could not tell to what or whom he referred.

"I had little choice in the matter," she spat. "Seems you've forgotten what it was like."

"Do not lecture me on misfortune," he snapped, leaning forward in his regal seat.

Emina was silenced at last, and she simply pursed her little lips in defeat. Silence surrounded the duo, and as Emina's gaze drifted to the waters threatening to lick at her bare toes, Erik stared at her.

How had this little sprite that had once been his only source of hope found him again? And should he be pleased that she had? He had not a single drop of kindness to offer her, and yet he regretted being so rough. She had once shown him the most true compassion he had ever felt, and he had bound her, very nearly beaten her in all of the scuffle, and now chided her. But what was he to do? He could scarcely focus with such a distraction, and he had things to consider. Like Christine.

Finally, he was moved to return a bit of the gentleness she had offered him when he was only a child. It was a mental decision, with little emotion attached. That part of him was dead. The handsome ghost stood so quietly that Emina, despite her proximity, did not notice. In what seemed to be a single fluid motion, he was crouched at her side. Emina started, and as she turned quickly in his direction, his face hovered so close she could feel the heat of his breath upon her cheek.

His fingers were deft and quick, and as easily as he had appeared at her side, he had freed her from the rope that had left a raw kiss upon her flesh. Her languid form was released of it's awkward position, and she sighed with the relief of it. Slender digits stroked at aching wrist. He had not retreated.

"Thank you," she spoke in a half-whisper.

"You were kind to me once, Emina." The acknowledgement, her name, or both, were so pleasing to hear from his lips that she smiled. It would be short-lived.

"Since you were, I am going to show a kindness to you. There is nothing here but death, hell, and decay. You are full of life, and do not belong. Leave now, mention this to no one, and forget you ever knew me."

Then he was gone. His back was to her now, as he idly toyed with a feathered quill. Emina stared after him.

"You're not a beast, Erik, as much as you may pretend to be." With that, Emina stood, crossing the distance between them. Boldly, she reached to touch him. Her fingertips brushed the strong line of his jaw, opposite the stark mask.

Whatever this creature was, demon or angel, phantom or ghost, he was as much a man as any other. The caress felt splendid, especially to one unaccustomed to receiving it. For a brief moment, he allowed himself this indulgence - even canting his head aside to welcome the touch.

Realizing his mistake, his hand darted up and grasped her wounded wrist - eliciting a wince from the slip of a woman who would dare lecture him.

"You know nothing of me, woman, now leave me."

This time, she did - a mournful glance cast behind as she stepped through the pass betwixt his hovel and the tunnels.

The silence that followed seemed even more thick, and lonely, than usual.