Arabella grimaced even before re-entering the tent in which her grandmother was still slowly covering items, and stowing away some of the smaller, more portable items until business hours the following day. She could already hear Samara chattering in a much calmer, but still obviously scandalized tone about the deformed monster that was even now being brutally beaten in the freak tent.

" … The most hideous creature I've ever seen! Honestly! Even Michelle, the girl that died after that fire … she didn't look half so repulsive!"

Arabella reached out and viciously jerked aside the flap leading into the tent, allowing the still lowering sun to cast it's terrible, hell-fire orange light into the small space. Samara turned with a vague start, caught at playing with Tsifia's crystal ball and sitting in one of the vacant chairs when she should have been helping the old woman close for the evening. She blushed softly, looking away with a little bit of guilt. Yet Tsifia only raised a single eyebrow at her granddaughter, the right side of her mouth lifting even as the left side fell a little in a curiously ironic fashion.

"The Living Corpse?" She asked curiously. "Is that what they're to call this new one, Bella? The Living Corpse?"
She shuddered, striding into the tent and lifting the crystal ball away from Samara's elegant little hands. The younger girl was very much her friend, as much a friend as she'd ever had before. Yet they still had their vast topics to disagree on, and the way Samara could just sit and watch a woman who had trouble standing on her own at times put away every item in the tent … or the way in which she spoke of a person that she was perfectly aware Arabella felt sympathy for, was one of the easiest ways to annoy her.

"I didn't pay attention to any of the signs around me." Arabella stated coolly. "I was paying attention to the blood falling out of a split lip. A welt on his back that a heavy wooden board left behind."

Samara shrank away from her tone, fully chastised. Her face turned an even brighter shade pink, and she stood to walk out of the tent swiftly. Arabella simply reached out to take her arm, and turned her back around.

"Fold up the chairs and put them in the corner." She ordered softly, gentling her tone with great effort. She wasn't so angry at Samara and how she could rattle off her horror of a man so severely deformed. She was simply furious at Sven and Adnah for having no respect for any human lives other than their own. Moving forward she reached out to clean the tarot cards she'd left behind, and paused. She had left three of them face up.

The Devil. That was the card she'd seen before Samara's scream. But the other two made her gasp silently, reaching out to touch the cards reverently.

Death. That could mean so many things! It could represent the death of herself, of her poor grandmother, of her mother or vicious father. But now … with the realization that the boy she was so intent on helping was to be called, in a flash and flare way, Death, she wasn't so certain. She peered at it suspiciously a long moment before gathering it up with the first card, and then saw the other.

The Lovers.

She nearly dropped the cards all at once in silent denial. Yet she managed to keep her grip on the huge deck that her small hands wrapped about. No! She couldn't possibly have the card The Lovers! She deplored every man in camp, and it certainly wouldn't be like her to pay enough attention to the gorgio men who came into camp, or who she passed in the towns, to fall in love with anyone. It was impossible! She didn't feel that she could possibly ever open her heart when betrayal had been such an integral part of her life. Picking the card up, she shoved it hard into the center of the deck of cards, refusing to let it be anywhere near visible again. She looked up to see Samara and Tsifia staring at her in mild shock.

"What's the matter, dear?" Tsifia asked softly. "Did a prediction bother you?"

"No, bunica." She said swiftly, softly. "This is my life … I control my own fate. I will not take such a silly thing to heart! The cards can't tell me anything … it's only you who can really see what might happen, not the cards."

Tsifia lifted that eyebrow at her once again, chuckling softly. Samara joined her, and soon Arabella was once more storming out of the tent to escape her self-inflicted embarrassment.

Two hours later, she was standing in the back room separate from the rest of the "Freak" tent that Sven owned. The night had brought on a chilly wind, so a thick wool shawl was simply draped over her shoulders to keep it from cutting straight through her. Sven had gone to his tent for the night, no doubt making intense plans for the following day when he meant to unveil his newest prize: The Living Corpse. It was Adnah who stood leaning casually against one corner of the boys cage, his shirt unbuttoned all the way down past his waist and his posture trying to show off a chest and stomach that could have used a great deal of work to be considered attractive by her standards. He was trying to look impressive, but instead he only looked like a scrawny worm. He had the heavy iron key to the padlock on the cage in his hand, flipping it up into the air and catching it several times as his eyes devoured her uncomfortably.

In the cage the boy had curled up into a fetal position; and in spite of obvious shivering from the cold, he appeared to be asleep. There was a pungent, sweet yet bitter, stench coming from around him, and Arabella noticed with great dismay that he'd become violently ill at some point during or after his beating. There was blood in what his body had regurgitated, and even that was mostly mucus. It seemed he'd had no food in him, which somehow helped save her, herself, from feeling sick at the sight and smell.

"The bucket and rag is next to the door." Adnah began softly as she finally gathered the nerve to approach him. He straightened from the corner of the cage, holding the key out to her. When she reached for it, he snickered and pulled it abruptly out of reach. She scowled immediately and took a step back.

"Are you giving me the key, or not?" She demanded. He only smirked as charmingly as he possibly could. A long moment passed before he finally dropped the key and walked towards the entrance.

"Remember to scream if he tries anything. Although I don't think he can move much right now."

"Pig!" She spat, even though he was only trying to bait her with his nonchalant approach to such brutality. Yet the instant he was gone she stooped to pick up the key. She wiped away the cold grass that had already formed nighttime frost on it, and then froze, feeling the eyes that had turned to lock on her.

Slowly, her own eyes lifted from the key in her hands, and trembled just a little as they met the square and intense gaze of the boy from the cage. He had not moved from where he lay curled up, but his gaze showed inner strength and rage as well as caution. He seemed to be glaring at her, although it was difficult to tell for certain with such a severely deformed face. She wondered if it was possible for it to have ever happened after he was born. It seemed doubtful. Gathering back up her compassion and courage, which had briefly been decimated by his hard look, she managed a tremulous smile.

"… Alo 1…" She offered softly. Then, more timidly, "Bonjour2… I … I am Arabella."

The boy still stared at her with those intense, huge pupils, which had dilated in order to take in as much light as possible from the dimly lit room. There was only a small lantern by the flap into the main tent, and nothing much else. The moonlight barely bled through the thick material of the shelter. Uneasily, Arabella touched her chest, indicating herself.

"Arabella … Bella …" She whispered, then held both hands out to him. "You?" She struggled to remember the bits and pieces of French her grandmother had taught her long ago, when she had been more interested in speaking to the customers that watched her dance. "Vous3?"

The boy turned sharply, although she could still see one glittering eye staring at her in sidelong, uneasy glances. She knew perfectly well that he didn't know or trust her. Yet the fact that she was even attempting to speak with him at all seemed to perk his curiosity.

"Erik." His voice was soft, like velvet now that he wasn't choking back sobs of pain and terror. Arabella felt gooseflesh rise up on her arms and the back of her neck, but in the most appealing of ways. His voice didn't horrify her at all. In fact, it held even more power to her than it had when he was in tears, pleading for mercy. Laissez-moi4!"

She flinched slightly as he turned his back to her, but decided it would be best if he was ignoring her while she tried to enter his cage. At least if he didn't pay attention to her, she didn't have to worry as much about that intense stare of his which unnerved her just as much as it seemed to appeal to her. He didn't look at her hateful or with disgust as many other people did. He was simply showing obvious distrust, with good reason. She reached out slowly and began to turn the key inside the large padlock.

At once, Erik was sitting bolt upright with an obvious grunt of pain, shrinking back into the farthest corner of his small prison and staring at her with huge eyes. It actually hurt, for once, to be stared at so warily. She'd never hurt a creature her entire life. Not even small animals when she'd been young and ignorant to what pain and death were.

"It's all right." She offered in a soft, soothing voice. Slowly she pointed towards the terrible mess at the bottom of his cage, using the other hand to lift a wet rag from the bucket next to her. "See? I'm only going to wash that up for you." She opened the cage slowly, a bit more wary now that he was facing her. She had thought he'd be in far too much pain to sit up, but he had. That could mean he had the strength to try and escape. She couldn't risk that one single thing. Sven, Adnah, and her father, would all be furious. She couldn't afford her father's anger.

"Séjour loin5!" He exclaimed, leaning hard back into the corner of his cage. His voice sounded terrified and angry at the exact same time. Yet he was showing a keen interest in the now opening doorway that could potentially give him his freedom. Arabella walked forward slowly on her knees, carefully maneuvering the bucket of water with her.

"It's all right." She implored him, still speaking in a soft, kind voice. "I don't want to hurt you, Erik. I just want to help." His eyes had widened slightly at the use of his name, but she knew she had not gotten through to him. "Je... aide... vous6."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Yet as Arabella gathered the wet rag into her hand and began to half concentrate on the task at hand, he seemed to grant her the most cautious amount of trust he could. His muscles relaxed, and he slumped in the corner, his head bowing so that he stared down at the rags that his clothes had become from the severe beating. Blood had dried onto open wounds, and even though she could not let herself reach out – he was much too much like a wild animal that would bite out of fear – she worried that he could get an infection.

It took several minutes before she began to realize he was drowsy, barely awake. Perhaps he had a concussion, or was simply very tired from the whole ordeal. Either was a logical possibility. She let her eyes stay on the smelly mess that she was trying to mop up longer and longer, soon forgetting that he could have been any threat at all. His eyes were closing, and his body relaxing, more and more each minute she remained.

Then it happened.

It was so simple, and so foolish. She had turned around to reach for another rag left lying on the floor outside the cage, as the one she'd been using was now of absolutely no use. Sloshing around what was left of the disgusting mess rather than soaking anymore of it up. And before she knew it, without even hearing him move, she felt a cold hand take the back of her neck in an iron, icy grip, pinning her hair against her and thereby pulling it taut. The roots at the base of her skull screamed in pain even as she felt herself shoved forward into the corner of the cage nearest her.

"No – please!" She barely even had time to gasp that out before there was a very brief pain against her right temple, and all went black.

Half standing over her, Erik stared down at the young woman he'd knocked unconscious. There were others nearby. He could not stay. Yet he couldn't help feeling sorry for what he had just done. He'd considered his options carefully, and this unarmed woman had been what was likely his only chance – ever – at escaping this terrible nightmare he'd found himself in.

But there wasn't time to be sorry now. He had to figure out how to escape. Looking around he realized it would actually be quite easy indeed to lift up the bottom of the tent wall, which, he knew instinctively, faced away from all other areas of the camp. He could crawl himself through that gap if he had the strength to lift it over his skull. Quickly he staggered over the body of the unconscious woman who'd only tried to clean up his shameful mess, and knelt by the wall.

His feet were disappearing outside of the tent when Adnah came back into the tent to see how things were going, and with a curse began screaming. Calling to the others in a language he did not know but a few words of. Words he'd learned in his short hours here. In a moment or two, they would all come after him. And as he struggled to stand on legs that were in agonizing pain in spite of his desperation, he realized just how badly he had misjudged himself. The woods were much farther away than he'd thought … or at least appeared to be in the dark. And they were already swarming around him from all different directions.

"Non …"

1 Alo: Romanian for Hello

2 Bonjour: French for Hello

3 Vous: French for You?

4 Laissez-moi: French for Leave me

5 Séjour loin: French for Stay away

6 Je … aide … vous: French for Me … help … you