(Content Warning: Non-graphic descriptions of sexual assault. As an aside, thirteen was considered a legal adult in 1800's France.)

Chapter 10: Little Reminders

To the Carnival Master's credit, he never let anything uncouth happen to his young performers. The man at least had some moral compass. There had been times, after "The Faceless Girl" would perform her little song on-stage, that people could pay an extra few francs to see her up close; but only under the watch of the Master. Many, many were curious. They poked and pulled and picked at her face, just to prove it wasn't some trick. That was allowed. A few asked questions: "What's your name?" "Where are your parents?" She was not allowed to answer.

But from time to time there would be another question asked: "How much for her?"

The answer was always the same: "I take no offers until she is a woman."

Then whoever it was that asked (always a man) was immediately escorted outside.

When she was thirteen years of age, she had her first bleed. Ashamed and afraid, she hid it for as long as she could. But there's only so much blood one can hide until it stains something. Now that she was a woman, there were no protections. Within a year of her first bleed, that same question came again after the last show of the night:

"How much for her?"

And, this time, the answer was: "Seventy-five francs for one half-hour." And, of course, the Master insisted he be there to watch.

While the carnival was still aglow with torches, and the rest of the carnies were wrapping up their acts, Erika and her 'customer' were taken to the back of the show tent. The only resistance Erika dared put up was to push the 'customer' away when he started to undress her. For the rest of the half-hour, she was bound by the wrists to a tent post. The Master stood over them, lighting up the scene with a lantern in his hand. And it hurt. And it hurt. And it hurt.

The 'customer' finished inside her and left. She wasn't untied. A huge, rough hand closed over her throat, daring her to make a sound. And it was her Master pushing his too-large member inside. And it hurt. And it hurt. And it hurt. Oh, god, it hurt!

A scream ripped from Erika's chest. She swung her pointed elbow at the assailant squeezing her arm, and it connected. Still screaming, she kicked at the dark – even as large hands pinned her wrists together. The hands became arms that wrapped around her torso, pulling her tight to someone's thumping chest – someone beside her in bed. Someone who felt familiar.

"You're safe, Erika. Be still." Nadir's voice brought her around – made her realize she'd been asleep. "You're safe."

A shrill crying started in the corner of the lightless room. Erika followed its lead, covering her face to sob into her hands.

Nadir kissed her neck, holding her firm to his body so she wouldn't thrash about. His temple throbbed where her elbow connected, and he was seeing stars. Torn between comforting his lover and comforting his son, Nadir squeezed Erika against him before climbing out of bed to light a candle.

He went straight to the wicker swing cradle. Izad kicked his feet under his nursing gown, and his body was in that angry bean shape Nadir was already recognizing. It seemed he'd been startled out of sleep, and was none too pleased.

Scooping up his babe, Nadir crawled back into bed to comfort both of his lovelies at once. He hummed a soft melody while propping Izad against his shoulder. He rubbed soothing circles against his back, and the wiggling newborn began to settle.

With the room quiet, Erika felt herself coming around. She sat up, drying her face on the sheets. Her stinging and puffy eyes burned with the candlelight.

For three days she'd been in debilitating pain. When she needed the washroom, she required assistance from Nadir to stand and walk that short distance. Any amount of gravity made her organs feel like they would tumble out in a giant prolapse.

In the days that followed her assault, the bodily pain she suffered was comparable. It was no mystery why she had woken, thinking the act had just been carried out.

"Forgive me for waking you," Erika said, wiping the watery runoff from her nasal passage.

"I was never asleep," Nadir said.

It was the third night since the birth, and he had forced himself to keep vigil beside her. She was motionless as a corpse when she slept; her breathing, the only proof she was alive. He had listened to her every breath, praying it wouldn't go silent. When she started whimpering and struggling in her sleep, he thought she was having a fit and immediately woke her. It may have taken a head injury to realize she'd been having a night terror, but it relieved him to know she wasn't at death's door.

Nadir continued to rub Izad's back. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Erika tried to pull her knees to her chest, but her torso was stiff. "Why does blood make me a woman?"

"Hmm?"

"Every steppingstone in my life is marked by blood," Erika continued, mostly muttering to herself while tugging her hair. "I bleed, suddenly I'm a woman. I bleed, my virginity's been taken. I bleed while giving birth, and even now I bleed for days after."

Nadir listened in silence, unsure what to say.

Erika looked at Izad, his cheek smushed against Nadir's shoulder. She ran a few fingers down the pudgy curve of his face, enjoying his velvety texture. The newborn turned his face into her hand by reflex, eyes barely open. There was no need to fear him seeing her face, he wouldn't be able to remember it.

"I know what my Master was trying to do," she said to no one. "I know why he waited until I was a woman to turn me into a whore."

Nadir glanced at her without jostling Izad too much. "Erika...Allah keep you." He didn't know every detail of her past, but he knew of her slavery in broad terms. He could only assume the abuse she'd suffered in those years – because she refused to speak of specific memories. He had his suspicions, but not to such an extent. "You never told me."

"I doubted you would think less of me, if you knew now," she said, keeping her eyes on the baby. "If I was a gambler, I would bet my life on this; he was hoping to breed me like a heifer."

Nadir's heart ached for her. The more he learned of her life, the more it broke.

"It makes perfect financial sense," Erika continued, petting Izad's messy hair. "Charge men to father another eyesore, then charge to have people see it once it's born. It's genius, really." She was quiet for a while. "I only wonder what could've happened, had a child of mine not been deformed."

Erika held out her arms. "May I hold him?"

"Of course."

Izad was passed, and Erika laid him on her chest. The contact between mother and child had been minimal those first three days. The babe was cradled in her arms only to feed and was then promptly handed back to his father. Erika hadn't held him quite like this before. She rested the sinew of her missing cheek atop his head, while her arms curled around his body like a nest.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, noticing the grin on Nadir's face. "He is profoundly comforting to hold."

What drove her to hold him, truly? Was it to prove he was safe; not about to be taken and drowned because he was healthy? Maybe it was whatever delirium insisted he go to her arms while he took his first breaths. It could've been a habit she was forming, an assumption that every time he cried at night it was because he needed her.

Needed her.

No one had needed her before. Not like the child did. It was the natural, most meek form of need on Earth.

But, also the most basic. Once she disappeared, he would be content as long as he had a breast to suckle on. His little world wouldn't stop turning because of a face he would immediately forget.

Nadir chuckled, watching his son yawn and settle back into sleep against his mother's heart. "I'm enjoying the sight while it lasts," he said, a pang of sadness biting him. "So...the end of the week?"

Erika nodded, Izad's hair brushing the over-sensitive skin of her deformity. "I expect to be well enough to walk by then."

So it would seem. Nadir would still lose his family. Though, this time, not through death.

Mimicking what Nadir had done, Erika placed her hand over Izad's back. "I may sound like a romantic," Erika said, her voice above a whisper, "but I'm happy he was conceived from an act of love...however drunken it was."

Nadir put his arm around her shoulders. "I as well."

He looked down at his lover and child. Erika was holding Izad with stiff arms, as though she feared him rolling off her chest like a tiny Fabergé egg. Erika's eyes were fighting to stay open.

Nadir held his hands out in offering. "Shall I take him back?"

Erika hesitated. "Let him sleep for a moment."

A 'moment' became an hour. By then, Erika had fallen asleep with her temple against Nadir's shoulder. Nadir looked to the alarm clock on the nightstand. The candle had almost burned itself out, but he could see it was six-forty-one in the morning. No use trying to rest.

He saw Izad sucking on his small fist in his sleep. He would be wanting to nurse soon. Nadir knew that signal by heart; Reza had done the same thing when hungry. In fact, the more he looked at Izad, the more he saw Reza as a new baby. But it was only Izad's fourth day of life. For all he knew, Izad would grow to have Erika's temperament...and Allah help him if that was the case.

Yet, for the time being, Izad was a sleepy baby. He would wake up – often when one or both parents were asleep – to cry for milk or a change. Then, right back to dreaming he would go – if he could dream.

At least with Izad, Nadir wasn't on a constant paranoia about every gesture and sound. He'd had those days of early fatherhood; when nothing made sense and he felt helpless...he was helpless. He had been alone, with only a cousin he could call on to act as a wet nurse.

He was ready to do it alone, this time. And, this time, he would do things right.

Izad stirred with a low whine, and Nadir knew what needed to happen. He waited. The second Izad let out a wail, Nadir was out of bed and setting up a fresh candlestick.

Erika startled awake, the shrieking baby in her ear. Covering her eyes with a cold hand, she groaned and shifted against the headboard. "What does he want?" she groaned.

"The same thing he's wanted every morning."

"Right."