A/N: And now... let the darkness and madness descend...

Erik felt his heart stop for a moment when Arabella fell. His hands holding hers kept her from touching the ground, but she came dangerously close to hitting her head on the edge of the fountain before he hauled upward with both arms and pulled her almost roughly against him. She jolted up and forward, giving him the merest second to release her and throw his arms around her waist, bent at the knees and looking around in near panic.

"Bella?" he gasped. "Bella?"

Her head fell limply backward, her whole body so lifeless that he really thought she might have died on the spot. His eyes were huge behind his mask, eyes staring down at her without any coherent thought. He knew she needed some kind of help, but he had no idea what. He'd only ever witnessed women fainting from a distance, locked from falling to the ground by tightly packed crowds of gawkers who came to visit his Freak Show exhibit.

"Bella!"

"What happened?"

He tore his eyes away from Arabella's slack face to warily eye the couple that had approached him. Both looked sincerely concerned, although the woman cringed away slightly at the sight of his masked face.

"I-I don't know." He admitted shakily. "She just… she just fell… passed out or…"

"She fainted." The woman stated clearly. "Matias; pick her up and bring her over to one of the benches. She needs air."

The stranger nodded and reached out to take Arabella, but Erik jerked her closer to him out of sheer mistrust. Quickly he adjusted his hold on her and lifted her into his own arms. It wasn't particularly easy, but she was lighter than Adnah had been by a considerable amount.

"I can do it." He nearly barked. "Tell me what to do."

The couple eyed Erik as though he'd gone insane, but he wasted no time taking any advice from them. They were too startled by his short outburst to be of any real help in the time he felt necessary. The longer Arabella lay limp in his arms, the more panicked he became. Pushing past them, he began to weave through the continuously dancing throng of revelers. He was getting dirty looks and astonished stares, but they didn't bother him. All he could think about was getting away from the suddenly suffocating crowd and helping Arabella.

"Erik! Over here!"

He was so relieved to hear Tsifia's commanding voice that he didn't even stop for a moment to wonder why she was even there. It wasn't as though her motives were difficult to figure out, and Erik had far more pressing matters on his mind. Panting slightly with the effort of carrying his little beauty after such energetic dancing, he looked around frantically until he saw the old woman standing near an empty bench, waving to him so that the tassels of her black shawl shook around its' edges. With a deep breath, Erik hoisted Arabella's weight higher up against his chest and hurried to deposit her gently on the bench.

"No." Tsifia stopped him quickly. "Hold her up so I can see the back of that ridiculous contraption you have her wearing."

Heart hammering, Erik struggled to balance her weight differently and do as he'd been told. He'd learned by experience that one didn't disobey Tsifia lightly, even if you were nothing but a freakish neighbor who meant next to nothing to her. His eyes were enormous as he watched her begin to yank at the laces holding Arabella's bodice in place, his face growing hot beneath the mask as he imagined it loosening to the point of indecency.

"All right." The woman decided with a nod. "Set her down now."

In his panic, Erik wanted to snap at her to make up her mind, but nearly bit his tongue off in the effort to keep his sarcasm to himself. His eyes fell back to Arabella's unnaturally pale face, watching for the rise and fall of her chest or the flutter of her eyelashes. Tsifia took his shoulder and essentially tore him back from the unconscious beauty, startling him when she reached down to give Arabella a ringing slap across her face that nearly knocked her from the bench.

"No!" he objected desperately, ready to leap up and attack Tsifia for her audacity… but Arabella had yelped in pain, her eyes almost fever-bright as she looked around in astonishment and lifted a hand to her now stinging cheek. Her gaze met his in only moments, and then continued up to her grandmother's face with growing anxiety.

"Bunica?" she asked. "Where – what- what happened?"

"Calm yourself, girl." Tsifia told her with authority. "You fainted dead away while you danced the night with your very odd prince here."

Her chin jerked in Erik's direction, making him warm further with embarrassment and just a hint of pride. Arabella looked back to Erik, folding one arm instinctively over her loose bodice as she struggled into a sitting position. Erik moved forward and placed a hand firmly on one shoulder to steady her.

"I fainted?" she echoed in bewilderment. "How?"

"I think it had something to do with the death trap Erik has you wearing."

For the first time, Tsifia smiled… but her smile was stiff and brittle.

"But… what are you doing here?" her granddaughter demanded, twisting in her seat to see what had been done to the back of her bodice and reaching with her free hand to try and fix the apparent problem. Her struggled proved utterly futile. "How do you know it was Erik that chose this gown?"

"Bella, he's the only one who's even been to the towns." Tsifia said impatiently. "Of course he's responsible. He's also responsible for your punta dressing ladies."

"What?" Erik asked as Arabella turned nearly as scarlet as a blood-red rose. His reaction drew an exasperated sigh from Tsifia as the woman rolled her eyes to look at him.

"Really, boy?" she demanded. "You aren't going to claim you're so naïve that you can't recognize whores, are you?"

Erik blinked several times, finally calming now that it was clear Arabella was all right. Slowly, he began to realize what Arabella's grandmother was actually talking about, and why his gypsy dancer looked so mortified. Mouth dropping open, he buried his face in both hands as though his mask couldn't possibly hide it enough.

"I'm sorry!" he gasped. "I - I didn't mean – that is, I…"

"Bunica!" Arabella cried shrilly. "Why are you here? He could have had a nice peaceful evening without you telling him things like that!"

"Do they still have your other dress?" Tsifia asked, ignoring her granddaughter's anger. "You need to come home now."

"But-"

"Arabella!" Tsifia barked commandingly, instantly silencing her. "I'm here because I am your guardian. I am responsible for you. Of course I wasn't going to actually let you come here unchaperoned! But you nearly gave Erik and me both seizures the way you just collapsed like that! I am taking you home and examining you now! I knew you were in no condition to gallivant around that way!"

Sighing, Arabella shook her head in disappointment, glowering more deeply at Erik's again astonished and worried face.

"What?" he echoed uneasily. "You are ill, Bella?"

"No." Arabella snapped, folding both her arms over her chest as she rose from the bench. "I'm fine. My grandmother is over reacting. She thinks I'm dying just because I was a little sick to my stomach."

"I don't think you're dying, Arabella!" Tsifia nearly roared, rocking Erik back on his heels as he rushed to remain close to Arabella and make sure she was steady on her feet. The old woman had balled her hands into tight fists, causing Arabella to unconsciously shrink back slightly into him at even the merest percieved threat of being hit. "But you told me this has been going on every day for weeks!"

Glowering, Arabella glanced over her shoulder at Erik before giving her grandmother a look of pure murder.

"It doesn't matter." The girl proclaimed.

Tsifia reached out and forcibly took Arabella just above the elbow, turning her and beginning to pull her from the square and in the direction of their camp site.

"It matters, Bella." She nearly growled as Arabella fought to get free. Erik, utterly unsure what to do in the given situation, struggled to keep up. It wasn't difficult, given how much taller he was than either woman.

"Then what?" Arabella snapped, jerking violently and freed her arm, crossing both back against her chest where her grandmother couldn't pull them again. "Why are you so determined to examine me? I've had worse, and you've always trusted it would take care of itself!"

Tsifia froze, looking sidelong at Erik as virtual silence descended between them. She seemed to consider for a long moment, and then sighed.

"Erik, please go fetch my granddaughters' actual dress." She entreated coolly. "I need a minute with Arabella."

Erik stared between the two generations, confused and torn. He'd been trying very hard to earn the older woman's respect, but didn't know if Arabella's slowly growing trust in him would be injured at all if he obeyed her grandmother. She was always his first concern, and he couldn't tell what she wanted him to do.

"Now, Erik." Tsifia snapped. "My granddaughter wants answers; I'm not going to give them to her in front of a gaje."

Erik's shoulders rose up toward his ears as he took in her scathing words. Tsifia had never directly referred to him with such a discriminatory tone. She'd attempted to treat him as an equal. Now, in her anger, he was suddenly worth nothing again. He took a step back from the pair, eyeing them both with unease and hurt, which immediately made Arabella flash so hot with anger that he could all but see the figurative wall of flames wash over her.

"Bunica!" she shrieked furiously. "Why would you say something like that?"

"He's an outsider. He isn't one of us." Tsifia stated her tone still cool. "What we have to say isn't any of his business. It's time he accepted that he will never be included in the way he'd like to be… no matter how much we wish things could be different."

"You don't wish that!" Arabella raved. "All you want is for me to marry some Romani boy and carry some Romani children and live the Romani way! Erik is the only person to ask me what I want!"

"Then what do you want, Bella?" Tsifia demanded, looking as hard and cold as marble. "Do you want to keep attending these town parties, pretending for just a few hours at a time that you belong with the people there? To them, you are nothing! Gypsies are nothing to them! Without the protection of the tribe, you will take one too many chances, and find yourself the prey in a Gypsy hunt like the ones that have killed countless of our ancestors! Even now, you stand a better chance in the tribe… but only if you wake up and accept where you belong!"

"What do you mean, even now?"'s

The two women froze again temporarily as Erik spoke. Both glanced at him, but his question had brought Arabella's brief flashing rage up short; picking up on her grandmothers' words now that he'd pointed them out. Tsifia, however, was still just as determined to keep him in the dark.

"The dress, Erik." She managed to say between gnashed teeth. "Please."

He stared hatefully at the older woman, wondering just where she had learned to be so cruel. If she hadn't been Arabella's grandmother, he knew he would have throttled her for the harshness of her words. It wasn't the blow she'd landed him by referring to him as nothing, but how she'd done the exact same to the gypsy girl he loved. He didn't understand the concept of being cruel in order to be kind. Cruelty was nothing but abuse in his eyes… and he would never be able to see it as anything else… even when he felt the need to be cruel himself.

"Fine." He sighed, forcing his eyes to gentle as he looked over Arabella's heated face. "Bella will tell me what the Hell is going on later."

She nodded once in agreement, and he stalked off before Tsifia could snap out an objection.

With child…

Sitting numbly on her grandmothers' cot, Arabella slowly tightened the laces on the crimson blouse she'd pulled on after Tsifia's examination. Across the room, Tsifia was brewing them tea; as if tea could possibly solve her situation.

What a beautiful phrase for something so wrong.

She'd had a few moments of suspicion, of course, that she might be with child. She'd shoved the fear of such a horrible concept out of her mind immediately each of the few times it had surfaced, refusing to let such a nightmare be true. She had never experienced pregnancy herself, after all, so she could have been mistaken. But her grandmother - who had endured more heartbreak just trying to conceive and successfully carry a child to full term without losing one to still birth - knew what she had found during her examination. No matter how hard she wanted to remain in denial, Arabella knew that her grandmother would never let her continue pretending.

The only defense left to her was to feel nothing at all. So… she simply tried to wall herself off until it was safe to feel again. She needed time to come to final terms with her predicament, to look at it all rationally, and work out a way through it without utterly losing her mind.

She was carrying her own father's child; her own sibling. She was supposed to have left her father and all his torments behind her… but he couldn't have been able to torture her more thoroughly if he'd still been living in the same tsera. His abuse could have been nothing but rumor if he'd been hurting her. A visibly growing belly was going to take away all the innocence she had left in the eyes of the tribe. She would be an unwed mother… an utterly fallen woman that even purification couldn't save.

"Pardon?"

Erik's soft French accent came to her almost like a physical touch, lifting her chin so that she looked to the flaps of the tent opening. With the moon so high and bright outside, it was easy to make out his tall and lean frame holding what was undoubtedly her red dress. The hat he'd worn to the square was no longer atop his head, so she presumed he must be holding that as well. His very nearness brightened her slightly, even though she could barely bring herself to smile or move.

She didn't want to feel anything… or she would feel everything. But Erik's mere closeness, as much as it promised to lighten her burdens, also began to worry her for the first time.

Does Erik have a right to know? She wondered distractedly. Or can I keep it to myself for a time?

What an unfair thought… to keep her worst sufferings from him. He had told her that they had to face their woes together. If he really meant that, then she simply had to tell him. Didn't she?

"Come in, Erik." Tsifia invited, not even turning to face the young man as he stooped through the doorway and gently lay her red dress across the nearest available surface – which happened to be Tsifia's trunk of clothing. "I was just making some tea. Would you like to bring your cup in and join us?"

"No thank you, Madam." Erik replied politely, though a touch more coolly. Apparently, he'd taken her criticism back in the town to heart. He wasn't about to simply revert to his absolute respect and openness around her. Slowly, his golden eyes wandered over to Arabella, taking in her crimson blouse and black skirt. He didn't move far from the tent opening, clearly confused as to what he ought to do now that Tsifia had all but verbally whipped him like a dog.

"There's whiskey in the flagon to your right." Tsifia offered, clearly attempting to atone for her behavior in some way shape or form. Arabella's eyes left Erik's to stare at her grandmother, wondering just what she was up to by offering Erik spirits. "We could all probably use a good strong drink right now."

"Madam?" Erik asked in clear confusion.

Oh God, no… Arabella thought as her grandmother straightened and turned to face Erik squarely. Bunica, you can't tell him! You can't be that… that…

But she didn't know what word to use. Was it heartlessness? Was it maliciousness? It was hard to tell, since Tsifia seemed so deceptively calm.

Her eyes shot back to Erik, eyes wide in mounting panic. The warm cloak of sheer nothingness she'd wrapped herself in was stripped away utterly as she considered what Erik's reactions might be to this news. It was more than bad enough thinking about how the tribe as a whole would react to –

And there it was. She knew exactly why her grandmother was going to tell Erik what was happening. Erik had to know so that he could protect himself. Not everyone knew the whole story behind Yaakov's banishment. Not all those who did would be able to let themselves believe her condition was from the shame forced upon her. There would be people who looked for a very convenient scapegoat to punish, even as they punished her. Who else had she been around for weeks on end?

Only Erik.

"Sit down, Erik." Tsifia ordered gently. "There's something you need to know."

Arabella stood abruptly, making both pairs of eyes look back to her in instant concern.

"No." she stated firmly. "No, bunica… please…"

"I'm sorry, but Erik already knows I brought you home to examine you. He has a right to know our findings… he has to know."

"What is it?" Erik asked, stepping abruptly in Arabella's direction. One of his hands reached for her just slightly; but seeing how tense she was, he didn't actually touch her. "What's wrong, ma belle?"

"You can be the one to tell him if you'd prefer." Tsifia offered, speaking over him. "It might even be better that way."

Erik glanced at Tsifia before focusing on Arabella again, this time looking rather alarmed.

"Bella?" he demanded anxiously.

Arabella dropped her gaze to the ground between them. If it were possible, she would have insisted that the tent was growing dark and thick with oily blackness. Her pregnancy was already too real to handle. Telling Erik… seeing whatever dawned in his molten gold eyes was a terrifying thought. It shouldn't be, given how attentive, loving, and tender he'd been the past weeks. But she couldn't help being afraid.

Tsifia waited until the tea had almost boiled over, hoping her granddaughter would have the strength to admit her problem for herself. Then, nearly burning herself, she quickly poured two cups of tea and turned back to the young couple.

"She is with child, Erik." She stated simply, but without harshness. "Arabella is going to have a baby."

There was just the briefest pause, during which all the darkness Arabella imagined engulfed even the sight of Erik before her. Then, it was decimated by the very sound of his voice.

"What?" In spite of the fact that his tone would have fit in very well with her imagined blackness – as it was raspy and sounded like it escaped a sepulcher – she instead could have sworn she saw and felt the heat of a flash forest fire, or an explosion. Her eyes snapped up to his, and she saw the fire wasn't entirely imaginary. In Erik's eyes, there was a type of darkness that had nothing at all to do with the color black… and everything to do with the fires of Hell itself.

"I…" she stammered, taking a step away from him uneasily. "I'm … I mean… my father…"

Her words were nonsensical, but Erik seemed to grasp her meaning perfectly. His eyes dropped to her body, locking in on her as yet very normal and flat stomach. If his eyes could have burned holes through her body, they would have done so right then. Even though she deplored the condition she was in, she instinctively drew her hands up as though to protect the unborn babe… although she was really trying to protect herself.

"Ce fils de-a-putain!" he growled, his mouth pulling into a murderous sneer, although how his eyes flickered over her made Arabella cringe. "Quand j'ai trouvé, je suis aller aux larmes sa teté et pousser ses testicules vers le bas le moignon sanglant!"

"Erik?" Tsifia looked a little appalled, but it certainly wasn't from understanding what he said. Like Arabella, she was only able to take in the actual tone of his voice… which had lost every ounce of its' natural beauty. Erik sounded like ominous death, just as he appeared to be beneath his mask, and Arabella began to shiver, feeling cold all over as though he had summoned up the actual cold of death to envelope the room.

Erik shook his head, taking a near-stumbling step away from Bella.

"Erik…" she managed to whisper miserably.

"Erik – stop." Tsifia pressed, quickly stepping behind him before he could turn and stalk out. It looked as though he was barely able to contain himself, barely keeping from just knocking her aside. "You need to listen. As horrible as the situation is… it gets worse."

"Worse?" Erik demanded. "How can it possibly get worse?"

"No one will want to believe that the child is Yaakov's." the older woman continued swiftly, looking quite relived that he was standing there listening. "It's simply too disgusting and terrible a thought. There might be people in the tribe who will look to you as an explanation. They will think she's been with you, or that you forced her."

"Me?"

If possible, Erik grew stiller than a statue… stiller than a night sky devoid of clouds, stars, or moon. Arabella felt tears welling just from the intensity of the black rage and disgust she could actually feel coming from him in waves. Adversely, though, he let out a barking laugh that was utterly devoid of the humor it meant to represent.

"Me?" he echoed. "I cannot even touch Arabella! How can I be held responsible?"

Cannot… touch me? Her thoughts reeled, senses virtually shutting down as he unfurled a deathly graceful hand back in her direction. She failed to hear him clearly anymore as every word of disgust and mocker her father had ever heaped on her deafened her to anything else. But he has touched me…

"I might point out that you have been together ceaselessly these past weeks – alone for much of it so far as anyone has actually noticed."

"Sitting on the edge of my stage is alone?" Erik's voice was nearly hysterical, getting shrill with his bitter laughter. It still retained that terrible rasp of death that made Arabella feel covered in decay and doom. His voice had changed from it's normal power over her... and she shuddered violently behind him.

Having actually taken in little of his words, Arabella suddenly thought she knew what his glare towards her stomach really meant… what his words meant.

Touching me disgusts him. She thought in dull horror. Adnah was right. He's been trying to pretend I don't disgust him… but now this baby… its proof I'm not untouched. He can't pretend anymore, and I'm disgusting… I'm ruined and fallen and disgusting…

She wasn't numb anymore… and she wished to God that she was. Erik's voice poured over her like the most corrosive acid, melting away her wall of numbness completely and replacing it with pain and destruction.

"Erik, please understand-"

"I understand!" Erik roared. "I understand your people all too well – all people! No one has the capability to make the right people responsible!"

He pushed beyond Tsifia then, not looking over his shoulder even once.

There were tears streaming down Arabella's face, and she followed him out of the tent mere seconds after he'd long since disappeared into the darkest shadows available in the moonlight. She wasn't looking for him. Where he'd gone didn't matter.

She was one of the people who needed to be held rightfully culpuble. That was what he'd meant. She was at fault for bing who and what she was, for being so frail as to let herself fall prety to her own life.

"Bella!" Tsifia cried from the doorway. "Bella, come back! You're in no condition to go wandering about at night!"

For God's sake, Arabella thought incredulously. I'm carrying a baby, not dying of consumption!

She didn't know which direction Erik had run in, and it didn't matter. Her target was the forest that had so recently come to frighten her. What horrors could a large group of trees possibly expose her to now? Nothing was worse than the corrosive remnants of disgust and hatred and horror left behind in Erik's wake.

Her father had been right. Adnah had been right. She was only worth the virginity that had been snatched from her. No one wanted a woman who had been taken by another man. Had Adnah known the abuse she'd already suffered, he either would have taken it as permission to treat her like a whore long before he actually did, or it would have repelled him completely. Given his attempt to rape her, she doubted he'd have been repelled… But that was just it, wasn't it? You were either solely one mans beloved… or you were every man's whore?

Erik certainly didn't want a whore carrying any other man's child. That it was her fathers' child was only that much worse.

No wonder she disgusted him…

The child growing inside of her would get bigger… it would live outside in the world as a permanent reminder of how filthy she was.

She'd rather die than ever come face-to-face with Erik's disgust again. After all… no man would ever see an unmarried mother – even a stranger – and look at her in any way promising of love, understanding, or tenderness.

She'd dared to hope and dream. She'd included Erik in her every thought about the future to come.

She knew better now than to dream. Life had decided a long time ago that it would only give her pain and grief. It was now making up for the brief glimpses of peace and joy she'd stolen.

Translations:

Puta: Whores

(I can't possibly re-write Erik's French rant without my word processor going ape… so here's the very VOLATILE translation) That son of a whore! When I find him, I am going to tear his head off and shove his testicles down the bloody stump!

Sorry guys, I can never think of something Erik would genuinely say. He isn't usually the cursing type.