The truth? You want the truth? Ah, but you can't handle the truth if it were ever presented to you!
The truth is, Erik did exist. Correction, does exist.
More to the point, he was my great-grandfather. Why do I say "was"? Because he is dead, but still around. I am Erik fully reincarnate. My name is Aria Amelle Guirre, but I have all of his memories, his talents, even the "curse" of Erik. I have no nose. And I look like a corpse with eyes that can only truly be seen in the dark. I cry myself to sleep most nights, comforted only by my two cats, Scratch and Bixby. For no matter what I do, I receive no acceptance, or equality. I know I am no monster. Especially not just because of my auspicious birth.
Bixby is pregnant, or so Grandpapa says, and very near to giving birth, but still she snuggles with me. I wonder what the kittens will look like. Her tummy is very swollen, but she does not seem to be all that uncomfortable.
I do not know why I just don't commit suicide. God knows I won't be missed. I have two brothers and a sister that I know of. They all have girlfriends, and in the case of my sister, a boyfriend; in fact, my eldest brother, Samuel, is engaged to be wed. They always said that a boy would rather die than go out with me, much less marry. I must always hide or wear a humiliating mask whenever I go there or when they come to visit. But I am no longer at my real parents' house. My grandfather, God save his soul, took me away from that prison when he noticed how they were treating and taking care of me—which was at the bare minimum of effort to take care of me.
Grandpapa showed me the joys of music. He said to me: "You should have at least one thing to bring you happiness in this life, Aria." I pour my soul into my music with a passion and fervor not unknown to my ancient soul, and I feel a peace, euphoria, unlike anything I've ever felt before. And when I play, I lose myself in the music that I pour from my mind, my heart, and my soul. I have had no training, because they (my parents) have feared and rejected me. Yet, it seems as though I need none, as though I already know how in my dark and ancient soul.
I don't know what I would have done if grandpapa had not, in fact, rescued me when he did. I most likely would have either starved to death or committed suicide. Yes, I said starved to death. I know I barely eat as it is—food just does not appeal to me like it does most people—but what my family did was ridiculous! At times they would forget about me for weeks, and I would not get a single meal! Even I cannot go that long without food. For this reason, among others, grandpapa took me to his home in France after visiting my parents in America. He had good timing, as it was one of those times when I had not been offered a meal for weeks, and I was on the brink of unconsciousness. Unconsciousness is the one thing I feared most above all others, for I would find myself with bruises and cuts after regaining consciousness. Before he left with me, he and my birthparents had a huge row. I guess grandpapa won, for immediately after it was over, he came up to my prison-like room and took me. I was not afraid, for I believed that things could not be any worse than they were at that time. Things could only get better. I was right.