I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.

Or wooden legs.

In the Absence of Light, Darkness Prevails

At the End of the Tunnel


It was raining outside.

She was inside, watching Massimo as he worked to make her new legs.

There were two parts to each prosthetic, the calf section and the foot attachment. Each calf section had a hollow groove in which to fit a healed stump. Each foot section had crafted toes, even nails.

He sculpted with great care, slowly shaping and molding each block of wood into a beautiful, shapely, female leg.

"How do you know how to do that?" she asked, unable to stem her rising curiosity. "Make new limbs out of blocks of wood?"

He leaned closer to the piece, inspecting a flaw apparent only to him. When he spoke, his tone resonated pleasantly within her marrow, as it always did.

"I apprenticed as a carpenter in Italy to a man named Collodi. He taught me patience and dedication for the craft."

Massimo smiled at the distant memory. Elsa watched him, captivated.

"When I was older, World War I's grenades had taken countless soldiers' limbs as recompense for their willingness to serve their country. I traveled my homeland, creating new ones for them so that they may not have to feel less than whole."

He continued his work, blowing gently on a fresh cut in the wood to chase away lingering dust.

"Later, I came here to Germany in the hopes of sculpting movie props for the cinema. I wanted to bring magic to the silver screen."

Pausing, he inspected a foot attachment carefully. Then ghosted a warm smile.

"And here I have found you, cara mia. My greatest challenge. And my greatest light."

Elsa shook her head, looking down and swiping at tears that suddenly swelled unbidden in her eyes.

"No, it is you who are great," she replied quietly. "To see potential and make such wonderful creations out of nothing at all."

Massimo glanced momentarily at her, the corners of his mouth lifted upward again. Then he returned to his work.

"I am only a simple carpenter."

He continued to work slowly, as an artist in love with his craft.

And his muse.

It fascinated her when he worked. He moved his hands with delicacy of a surgeon, never making more than small, tiny cuts in the wood. Content, it seemed, to pore over the most minute details that Elsa herself would never have thought to consider.

He talked to himself occasionally, muttering in concentration on his work with all of devotion of a holy Tibetan monk. Muttered in his native Italian, which she didn't understand, her native German, and American English, which she only understood a few words of from movies.

And she found her voice again.

"And why do you do that?" she asked him, not unkindly. "Speak in different languages when you talk to yourself?"

He smiled at this new inquiry of hers, neither breaking eye contact with the wood nor the rhythm in which he moved to craft it.

She waited, watching. She had learned over the weeks that he often considered his words carefully before speaking and it would do no good to pressure him to speak before he chose to.

The rain pattered gently outside on the balcony. The hands of the man before her and his tools made quiet scraping sounds on the wood that would one day be her new legs.

"Because different words taste better in different tongues."

She tilted her head a little, furrowing her brow at his strange response.

He broke away from his work, looking up mischievously at her from over his glasses.

"And I very much enjoy cursing in American English."

Almost against her will, Elsa's somber countenance broke into an amused smirk.

Then Massimo resumed his work, speaking no more.

And she watched him, wondering at his dedication and constancy.

And the hollowness of her own soul.


He loved her when she was sleeping.

He loved her when she was awake.

He loved her when she cried.

He loved her when she smiled.

He loved her when bleak despondency overwhelmed her and made her listless.

He loved her when the sun lit her face and made it translucent with life.

He loved her when she bathed her ravaged skin. When he carried her to the old claw foot tub draped in a towel and lay her within, choosing not to look when she slipped the wet cloth to the floor and her bare body lay exposed.

She asked him once, why do you do not look upon me? Do you see now that I am an ugly, hideous monster? As I told you I was?

And he, turned half away, stood silent for a moment. And then answered her patiently, no, cara mia, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon. I do not look out of respect for you.

And she did not know what to say. No man in her life had ever treated her with respect and dignity.

Then he simply looked straight into her eyes and nowhere else.

And smiled.

And she did not ask him again.

Massimo Dolcefino simply loved her.

In his waking. In his sleeping. He loved her.

And never spoke a word of it to her at all.


She was asleep when he brought her his finest gift, lost in a dream of walking on her strong, lovely legs.

In the dream, as she walked, they began disintegrate, as sugar on wet pavement. She tried to move faster. Toward the safety of a nearby rotted tree. Only to find herself moving ever more slowly, as though slogging through curdled molasses.

In her dream, she wept and cried, she screamed and she cursed.

And step by step, she lost her legs once more.

Collapsing forward onto the stumps, ragged and bleeding, just below her knees.

Massimo knew nothing of this as he approached her bedside.

He only knew he wished for her to awaken to new and beautiful legs.

And so he worked quickly, quietly, in an effort to attach them before she fully awoke.

So that when she opened her eyes, it would be to a living fairy tale of the wrongly imprisoned queen. Set free from her terrible bondage by a powerful wizard.

Or a beautiful woman with no legs granted the ability to walk once more.

By the simple carpenter who loved her.

Elsa stirred, feeling gentle tugs and movements on her healed stumps.

He was there, Massimo, hovering near her, all his attention focused on attaching the ties and securing her stumps comfortably in the padded grooves of the wooden supports.

His face was set with concentration yet slightly flushed with excitement and pride at the completed masterpiece.

He ran his fingers lightly upon the pieces, double checking everything once over to make sure all was properly in place.

She blinked the sleep away from her mind and rose slowly to see what Massimo Dolcefino had done.

Legs. She had legs.

And they were beautiful.

Made of rich, striated wood which the carpenter had carefully, shaped, sanded, and polished to bring forth the luster and shine and perfection of his newest creation.

She stared at them in shock and disbelief.

Legs. She had legs.

Stunned, she reached out with a numb, shaking hand and felt them. The wood was so smooth, so expertly crafted.

And then he gathered up a pair of pale ladies' stockings and carefully rolled them up on over her new wooden legs.

"Let go of what you know," he murmured reassuringly to her. "And let my legs carry you."

She looked at him then.

His handsome face was alight with joy and anticipation. He looked as giddy as a schoolboy, more youthful and hopeful than she had ever seen him before.

She looked back and forth between her carpenter savior and her new, beautiful, wooden legs.

A smile broke across her face, chasing away the gloom and depression she'd held within for so long, even before the traumatic event.

Decades of misery and grim stoicism fell away from her as she gazed upon what she had been given.

A good, gentle man who selflessly loved her.

And legs with which she could walk.

They both made her feel complete.

"They are yours, cara mia," he whispered. "Though you were beautiful before without them."

And she flung her arms around his neck as the tears of happiness began to stream down her face.


Yes, this last section is actually a part of the episode 'Blood Bath'. Of course I added to it. Just a little. ;)

Carlo Collodi is actually the penname of the creator of Pinocchio. So I stole his last name for Massimo's mentor. And now I've confessed to my crime. ;)

Thanks to brigid1318, Javier Cervantes, GG (oh aren't you even cuter now, Gracious Guest!), YellowBrickQueen, NewGirl25, my mystery guest, MaverickPaxAPunch, and Queen-of-candyland for your encouraging reviews.

Thanks also to Devoured By Solitude (oh gosh, sweetie, do you need a hug or a cuddle or something?!) for adding your support to this tale.