Author's Note: This is my first planned multi-chapter fic. Thank you to agapecentauri for the initial idea!
"Get in here, freak!"
Erik groaned and stood from the flower bed he was weeding. His knees screamed in protest. How was it possible to be so sore at twenty-two years of age?
He wiped his hands and followed the shrill sound of his stepmother's voice. He swore she had the worst timing.
This was the tenth summer living as a servant in his own house, the tenth summer since his father had died. In the time since, his stepmother had done her best to strip away his title, his dignity, and any chance he might have had at happiness. He had no option but to stay. He was trapped here by his own deformed flesh.
He entered the dining room and tried his best not to gag at the sight of her.
"You called, madame?"
"Where do you get masks from?"
"I make them, madame."
"Then you must have too much time on your hands. I will require three, for myself and my sons."
"I don't understand."
"How could you? You are such an imbecile." She pointed to a piece of parchment in front of her. "There is to be a masked ball at the palace. The princess is looking for a suitor before she ascends the throne. Naturally, she will choose one of my sons. They are the fairest in the land."
Privately, Erik agreed with the assessment. Raoul and Philippe were handsome, especially compared to the horror of his face. At this point, he suspected that Philippe had wooed every girl in the surrounding towns. That was the pattern for him: court a girl and then drop her like trash the following week. Raoul was more reserved, but equally as handsome. He had no doubts that they would charm the princess.
"What sort of masks do you need?"
"I will, of course, be the goddess of beauty. Philippe will be a lion for his bravery and nobility. Raoul will be the rising sun of a new kingdom. The princess will not be able to resist." Her gaze turned cold as her attention returned to him. "You have a week, and don't you dare think of sabotaging this. If you do, there will be no new clothing for you this year."
"Understood, madame." Erik looked down at the patchwork of his clothes. Everything he owned was threadbare at this point. He was once again grateful that his mother had taught him to sew. Still, he needed something sturdy to patch. Even discarded clothes from Raoul and Philippe were an improvement over clothing that was little better than rags.
"You are dismissed. Get out of my sight."
That night, Erik sat alone in the tiny cellar that doubled as his bedroom, doing his best to stifle the bubble of hope in his chest.
It was impossible for him to go to the ball. He had no clothes to wear to a palace. Even if he did, he didn't have the face to charm a lady. He certainly didn't have the coffers to impress her family.
But still, the idea of being among people was appealing. For a few nights he could pretend he was the man his bloodline said he should be. He could dance with the women and joke with the men. He could wear clothes with no patching and a shirt as white as snow. He could be one mask in a sea of many.
The dream was as intoxicating as it was impossible.
He delivered the masks on the morning of the ball. To his relief, his stepmother seemed pleased.
"Very well. You may spend the rest of the day cleaning the chimneys."
Erik's heart sank. Chimney cleaning was an all day affair. Any hope he had of raiding the attic for one of his father's old suits vanished. By the time the carriage came to collect the others, he was covered head to toe in soot.
He was headed back toward his room when he almost ran into Raoul and Philippe.
"Nice costume, freak. What are you? A lump of coal?"
Erik bit back a retort as Philippe circled him.
"Do you wish were going?" Raoul asked.
"It's the only way someone like him could get a girl. Who would want to look at that face?"
Erik had a sudden urge to wrap his soot-covered arms around their pristine evening suits, an impulse to drag them down to his level.
He watched them go on their way, faces concealed behind masks they didn't need to wear. Outside, he heard the carriage pull away. He was alone.
He changed course for the bathroom that had once been his, but now belonged to Philippe. This was his act of rebellion, however small.
He barely recognized the man in the mirror, and it had nothing to do with the mask or the grime coating his skin.
Did he really consider himself beneath them? The thought had come so easily. His father would have laughed at the idea of inferiority. Then again, his father hadn't spent ten years of his life being treated like a halfwit who was only good for manual labor.
He turned toward the porcelain tub, so much grander than his simple washbasin. He'd never appreciated it when it was his, but that changed tonight. For once, he was going to do something for himself. Let his stepmother shriek all she liked. She couldn't change the past.
It took three refills of the tub before all of the soot was gone. He didn't know how long it had been since the last time he felt clean, since the last time he felt human. It came with an odd sense of relief. Just for that moment, it seemed possible for his life to change.
Philippe would be too drunk to notice that one of his razors was missing and Erik took full advantage of that fact. For the first time in his life, he actually managed a decent shave. The new blade was heavenly compared to his old, battered razor. And, as much as he hated to admit it, the mirror was a big help.
He paused before the glass. Time had not softened the strange bands of flesh that rippled across his face. They were as hideous as ever. But something in his jawline spoke of his father, and his mother shone from the amber of his eyes. He turned away before the pain of their absence got a grip on him. So much for his little dream. It was time for him to return to his dungeon.
His mother's eyes haunted him. He soon found himself on the path to the cemetery.
All was still beneath the darkening sky as he sat beneath the tree that shaded her grave. "Hello, Maman."
As expected, there was no response.
"Do you like the haircut? I daresay I look a little less wild than the last time you saw me." He removed the mask as he spoke. There was no need to hide. Not from her.
"Raoul and Philippe are at the ball tonight. They're trying to court the princess. Can you imagine? If I have to call one of them 'Your Highness', I might vomit." He laughed a little at his own joke.
"Of course, I wouldn't mind going to the ball myself. The whole thing is a masquerade. It'd be the perfect setting to meet someone without them seeing my face at first. I know, I know. You don't think I have to hide, but it's for the best. It'd be my first time outside the grounds or the cemetery in years. I might run back inside if someone screams. Best not to chance it." He sighed. "Who am I fooling? The ball is beyond my reach."
He knew these monologues were fruitless, but he always left with a sense of clarity. He couldn't say whether it was the idea of his mother's presence or just the chance to speak more than a few words at a time.
"I am tired, Maman. So tired." He leaned back against the tree. "What is the point of any of this? Is it some lesson in humility? Isn't my face enough to puncture my ego?"
He felt tears prick his eyes and made no attempt to stop them. "I know life isn't fair. I know it better than most. Just...it would be nice for something to go my way." He bit his lip. "There's no use moping about it, I suppose. But is this all my life is going to be? Chimneys to clean and masks to make and insults to bear. Is that it? No adventure? No love?"
"Maybe that's what I need." He laughed bitterly. "Maman, I don't know what I need. I don't even know what I want. Perhaps I should run away, put myself on display in some freak show."
This time, the silence felt reproachful. He quickly amended his statement. "Not that I'd ever actually do that. I'm too much of a coward. And anyway, I couldn't leave your house. I couldn't leave your memory."
"Enough of that for tonight," he sighed. "Shall I sing for you?"
He never knew where the songs came from. They came as easily as breathing and filled his mind in his worst moments. In another life, perhaps he would have been a composer.
Passerby probably thought the cemetery was haunted. Surely they would have noticed the voice aging from a crystalline boy soprano into the cracked cacophony of adolescence. It had mostly settled now, forming a silky tenor that Erik considered his one beauty.
Every time he sang here, the tune became a little less hopeful. Tonight, it was practically a dirge. As fitting as it was for his silent audience, it made Erik's heart ache.
He released the final note and closed his eyes.
"Erik."
A female voice spoke his name and his eyes snapped open. A woman stood before him, her pearly white form surrounded by an ethereal glow.
"How do you know my name?"
"I have guarded you in your grief these many years."
"Who are you?" He instinctively backed up against the tree trunk.
"It is strange," she said, "that you run toward me even as you try to escape. I, dear boy, am the spirit of the tree you cling to."
He stared at her in baffled silence.
She chuckled. "I have loved hearing you all these years, even if you did not know I was listening. Now, at last, you have a problem I can solve."
Erik was suddenly very aware of his exposed face. His ugliness was on full display before her otherworldly eyes. His hand sought the mask beside him and set it in place. Satisfied, he turned to face her. "What do you mean?"
"Child, I cannot change your face or your circumstances. But a few nights of frivolity? That is well within my power."
"I don't understand."
She smiled at him. "You are going to the ball. I shall see to it."
A bundle of cloth fell from the branches above and landed at Erik's feet. He looked up at her smiling face. When was the last time someone had smiled at him?
He found his voice. "Thank you."
"No need to thank me, child. Your song has been a gift for so many years. A few nights of magic is the least I could do." She knelt beside him. "Go and have a wonderful time. But, and this is crucial, you must leave by midnight."
"Midnight?"
"Yes. I shall send a coach to your estate in half an hour. If you are not back inside when the clock strikes midnight, its magic will be undone. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. Now, go."
He turned to thank her once more, only to find the graveyard quite deserted.
"Well, Maman. Wish me luck."