A/N: Ok, so this whole chapter's gonna be in italics because it's a story telling.

4

The hour was late, and a woman's screaming could be heard throughout the small, two story house. Her husband, Charles, was pacing the floor rapidly in front of the closed door of his wife's bedroom. She was in labor, and he was as nervous as all get out. She had been in there for eighteen whole hours. If she was in there for one more god-forsaken minute—then there was the sound of a baby crying. His baby, a son, hopefully, if fortune smiled upon him. He was already picturing himself teaching his son how to form intricate woodwork, when his wife screamed in terror.

"Get that—that THING away from me! I won't touch it! No!" she was sobbing now, shrieking at whatever it was. Charles burst into the room, ready for whatever was going on. He expected to see his wife, Marianna, clutching the baby to her bosom to protect it from… whatever. What he didn't expect to see was his wife pressed up against the headboard, her face turned away from a small, bundle swathed in white cloth that was lying on the floor.

Charles was angry at his wife for neglecting the child for whatever reason. He scooped it up off the floor, removing the scrap of cloth that was covering the infant's face.

He very nearly dropped the child. The midwife, whom he hadn't noticed until now, said, "He's very healthy otherwise, sir. I best take my leave now. Your wife will be fine after a few days recovery."With that, she left that house as fast as she could.

Charles returned his gaze to his son. His son's face was horrible, so much so that Charles felt he might be sick. There were horrible raises and indentations in the flesh on the right side of his face. It was red, but Charles hoped that it might go away in time, because as far as he could see, the whole baby was red and wrinkly. Perhaps as the babe grew less pink, his distortion would become bearable. But for now, he was as horrible as ever. His right eye was bloodshot but his eyes were a gorgeous hazel. His one beauty, as far as Charles could tell. His nose was completely gone, Charles noticed. Perhaps it would be better to kill the child. More merciful. But Charles couldn't bring himself to do that. He couldn't just end something's life that had just begun.

"H—how can you bear to touch that thing, Charles?" Marianna asked timidly. Charles glared at her so viciously that she let out a whimper.

"Because he happens to be our son, Mari!"

"Then you name him!" she snapped. "I refuse to have anything to do with him because I can't even bear to look at his face!"

Charles looked at the infant again, thinking. He settled on a name rather quickly. He had seen it once in a book he read. It had belonged to a villain, and he thought it suited the poor boy. He certainly couldn't name him anything Christian because no one, not even the church would accept him. "Erik," he said. "He shall be Erik… You should go to sleep, Marianna. You need your rest after the delivery." Marianna nodded meekly.

"But put him in another room, Charles. Please. I won't be able to sleep."

Charles sighed resignedly and took Erik to the guest bedroom, cradling him, but careful to avoid looking at his face. He loved his son to a certain extent, but how could he love him if he couldn't look at him? It was all so screwed up, Charles thought darkly. What had they done to deserve this? How would they raise Erik? How could they raise Erik? Marianna would throw a fit and probably refuse to see the child, let alone feed it. What could he do? Almost nothing. He couldn't give him to an orphanage, no, he'd never survive there. The only real option was to keep him. Charles sighed, and Erik opened his eyes. Never had the man seen eyes so deep. The hazel color seemed to draw him in. They were like Marianna's, only they held… intelligence? At so young it seemed improbable, yet the infant was very aware of his , he couldn't be intelligent, could he? Surely, with such a disfigured face, his mind would also be askew? But no, the child was indeed smart. That would make raising him all the harder, because he would eventually start to ask questions: Why is my face like this? Why doesn't Mommy like me? Why can't I play with the other kids? And eventually, as he grew older, "what did I ever do to deserve this?"

Charles' heart was breaking as he realized the kind of future his child would have. He was a compassionate man, and to know that he was the cause of so much future misery, it was almost unbearable. Charles set the child down in the intricate cradle, and went out to his workshop. He would craft the child a mask—as many as he needed as he grew older. Perhaps, without seeing his face, Marianna could learn to love the poor child, as a mother ought to.

But, even with the mask, Marianna could not love the child, Erik. She tried her best, but the memory of the face was just too much for her. She avoided Erik to the best of her ability, but somehow she managed to nurse him. After he was weaned, though, Marianna avoided him completely, and she refused to have any more children, for fear that they would all come out like Erik. She spent most of her time either looking out the window or reading. She would only go out on Sunday's for church, wherein Charles would stay home with his son. Usually Erik would stay up in his room, not coming down until Mother came home, but one day, that changed.

Erik was only two at the time, and he went down the stairs, not looking for anyone in particular. He was bored, and so, he decided to go and look at the great big thing with the odd shape that Papa called a piano. He struggled to pull the bench out, but got it in due time. He crawled up on the bench and poked one of the keys experimentally. He could talk and walk well by now, and it was clear that he was beyond normal intelligence. Erik itched his mask absent-mindedly. He didn't like to wear the leather covering, he complained that it was hot and itchy sometimes. Therefore, his father went out of his way to make him this mask, one that was of the softest and most breathable leathers around.

Erik now recalled a melody that his Daddy would play on the piano sometimes, and Mommy would sing along to. If she was in a good mood, she would let Erik listen. Erik always listened anyway. It was just so pretty! Now, the two year old picked out pieces of the melody filling in spots he couldn't quite piece together.

Undoubtedly, this caught his father's attention from another room, and Charles crept into the room to watch. When Erik paused, Charles smiled slightly and said, "That's very good, son." Erik leapt off the piano bench, crying and begging for forgiveness. Charles was confused. Why would Erik think that he wasn't allowed to touch the piano? Then it hit him—Marianna. But why wouldn't she let him touch the piano? Charles crouched down, his knees cracking. "Erik, I'd like to teach you a song," he said softly. Erik sniffled and looked up and his father, tears threatening to spill over again.

"You would teach me?"

"Yes, Erik, I would." Charles stood up and went to the piano. It took Erik a minute to follow him. Charles didn't object to Erik's company, but he never invited his son to come with him, either. Erik wasn't used to favored treatment. He hesitantly sat on the piano bench next to his father. Charles patiently showed him which keys to press, and when. But Erik was a quick learner, and soon had the song down before Marianna was even home from church.

"Papa, don't you usually have paper in front of you when you play?" Erik asked, swiveling his head towards Charles.

"Yes, I do, son," Charles said,pulling out the appropriate sheet music and setting it on the piano.

"Wow," Erik said, peering at the notes and not really comprehending. "Is that the song? It looks a lot more complicated written down," he remarked. Charles laughed then, and the next few days Charles spent with Erik, who soon knew how to read music before he could even read books.

By the time Erik was ten, he was fluent in the language of music, and was writing his own songs. He was also excelling in every lesson his mother put before him, whether it be reading, writing; it didn't really matter what Erik did, he was good at everything. He was even starting to have small conversations with his mother, though she was still immensely disturbed by him, but she enjoyed his company, so long as she didn't have to look at him. Charles spent more and more time making masks for Erik, because the boy was growing rapidly, and he was already as tall as his mother, who was 5'6".

Erik also soon discovered that he could sing and he enjoyed that activity more than any other, besides playing the piano. He would spend most of his time in the drawing room, where the piano sat, composing. Erik was content with his life, even though he knew he must never take his mask off, for fear of scaring mother. He was much more mature than a ten year old should have been, having sneaked a peek in his mother's mirror one night to see why he had to wear a mask. He had to bite his tongue to stop from screaming. It took him mere moments to realize that that was his face, and he grew to be just as afraid of it as his mother was.

It was snowing outside, something which Erik had never particularly cared for; he found it too cold and wet. He had gone up to his room to be alone, when he heard shouts outside. He pulled back the curtain on his window a tad, to find his father arguing with a group of about fifty men, Marianna beside him. Erik decided to go downstairs and stand by his Papa—he was scared that something bad would happen. Erik had hardly reached the front door when the volume of the strangers' voices increased, and blows began to be struck. Marianna screamed, and Erik rushed outside. "Erik! Get back in the house!" she shouted. Erik didn't listen. A gun was drawn, and everything froze for a moment. The assailant hadn't been a very good shot, he was aiming for Charles, but he hit Marianna instead.

Erik tried to reach his mother, but one of the men grabbed him, and Erik, doing something almost every child does at some point in time, but him. The man yelled and let go of Erik. Erik never realized that his mask had fallen off as the man let go. He reached his mother, stroking her face, crying and kneeling beside her. Marianna gasped, the blood pooling around her stomach.

"Marianna!" Charles attempted to get to her too, but was knocked unconscious by the butt of someone's gun.

"Papa!" Erik screamed, wailing only as a child can. One of the men picked Erik up by the collar of his shirt, yelling as he saw the child's face. He cleared his throat.

"Raymundo, we've got another attraction for our little fair," he said devilishly. He turned Erik to face a man, presumably Raymundo, who also let out a cry of horror.

"For God's sakes, man! Cover him up!"

"Please, my mask," Erik begged. "It's just over there." He pointed where the mask lay. One man picked it up and shoved it roughly onto Erik's face. Erik was blindfolded and gagged and thrown into the back of a wagon that started moving almost as soon as he was placed in it. Erik would spend the next 2 years with these people, whom he soon found out were gypsies, and he never learned that his father spent six years looking for him.

After spending two years with the gypsies, Erik escaped, accidentally stumbling into a hidden tunnel in the city that the gypsies were performing in. he stayed there for a few weeks before daring to come out of hiding. He was starving, dehydrated, and completely exhausted. Luckily for Erik, someone with a kind heart found him and took him in, nursing him back to health. Erik grew fond of calling him Daroga.

In his time with Daroga, Erik learned that he was in Persia, and he promptly got a job working for the Sultan. He had observed the gypsies and their tricks, and taken them to a new level. Daroga and some of his Persian acquaintances taught him how to defend himself—Persian style. Erik became a walking weapon, and he was always on edge, fearing that one day the Sultan might have no use for him any longer. After four years in Persia, the Sultan came to the conclusion that Erik knew too much, and should be beheaded immediately.

Erik escaped then, and only because Daroga owed him a favor. So, Erik left Persia, and came to France. He spent a few years building a home, perfecting it to his liking. Erik met a girl in those years he was building, and they became good friends. She had no family, and she was lonely, trying to pursue her dream. Erik helped her, and she fulfilled her dream. During that time, Erik fell in love with the girl. Deeply in love. He knew he could ask her to marry him, for how could she love him when he wore a mask? How could she love him without the mask? He was so hideous underneath, he knew no one could love him. Not even his own mother could do that. No, Erik knew he was unlovable. Until the unthinkable happened. The girl told her she loved him. Erik was so overjoyed he thought he might die, but he didn't. He lived, and they were soon married, living together in peace, and Erik could finally put his past to rest.

A/N: yeah, I know the end is a little vague, but this chapter would have been wayyyy too long if I had continued to go into detail. I just thought it was important that y'all know (my version of) Erik's past. Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading.