A/N: As there is no appropriate place to break in this long scene, this chapter will be particularly long. I know how dark this chapter – and the rest of the story – is… so I tried to insert tiny moments of humor. I'm sorry if they seem out of place… but humor so often is in morbid situations. It's usually one of the few ways we keep our sanity during such times.

I would greatly appreciate any reviews anyone has to offer me – and that is true of all chapters. So please, if you are a regular reader of my story but have remained silent, please lease PLEASE drop a review! I love my avid fans and reviewers; but the vastly different numbered hits on my separate chapters make me vastly curious what is going through everyone's mind!

He'd waited for her eyes to close before leaning over and snatching up one of his masks and a cloak. Once it was clear she was falling asleep; he sighed shakily and slipped the mask over his face before turning to step through the open flap of their little home. Dazed from the mornings' events, he gazed around to search for any signs of which direction Tsifia had gone as he donned the cloak… but he wasn't quite ready to chase her down yet.

The simple truth was that far too much was happening far too quickly. He couldn't absorb it all at once.

A part of him had known this would happen…

No… he hadn't known known. But the possibility had been lingering in the back of his mind ever since carrying her through the night to find that doctor. They'd been told that such trauma to the body could cause a miscarriage. He'd also known the moment he was told about Arabella's infection that her risk of losing the baby was much greater than it had been.

He was also all too aware that Arabella was growing sicker by the day. She tried very hard to cover her symptoms; but he was not a fool. He couldn't simply be blinded by lack of information. Each day she grew paler, a little weaker, and a little more unstable on her feet. Then, of course, there was the ever-present fever. He didn't know just exactly how sick she was… but he knew she was far worse off than she wanted to appear in front of him. As long as she had been on her feet and continuing to mostly behave like normal, he'd permitted her little deceptiveness… He'd been trying to give her whatever veneer of normalcy she so clearly needed.

He was no different from her. He understood how she didn't wish to be seen as weak; even if their reasons for wishing to appear strong were vastly different. He didn't want people trying to exploit his apparent weaknesses. She didn't wish for him to worry.

But now that the child was gone, she couldn't hope to hide it any longer. Her body would not have rejected the fetus if she'd been well enough to carry it. And a body simply did not let go of a pregnancy because it had a cold – or possibly even because of a minor infection. He didn't know enough about medicine to be certain of these facts… but what he'd managed to research guided him to that general conclusion. Arabella had lost the baby… she had a raging fever…

Erik shut his eyes and shook his head hard.

Yes… she'd lost the baby. But if the baby was gone, then her body would gather its' strength and the infection would hopefully take care of itself in time. It would continue to receive aid from Tsifia - he had no doubt of that. And he would insist on doing his part to care for his wife as well. Arabella would become well again in time.

He had to believe that… because any other outcome was simply too much to think about! It was far too much given the mornings' events!

…She was not the only one who had lost that baby.

…Aria…

He brought a trembling hand up to his face; his shoulders quaking even though he'd managed to lock away his tears after that first horrible salty droplet had slipped down his bare cheek. It had felt almost like acid; that single droplet. Acid of bitterness and grief and fear… That tiny glimpse he'd caught of the miniscule, twisted thing falling into Tsifia's hand in a bloody puddle had filled him with so much horror and disgust that he at last completely understood what others must feel looking at his face. He was glad that Tsifia had taken her away so quickly. He didn't know if Arabella could have looked at it and held on to her sanity. She was accustomed to living around freaks; and had opened her heart out to one… but based on his own mothers' reactions to raising him, he knew it was a totally different thing to see such horror in your own offspring.

He almost wished he hadn't put it in her mind to name the child. Of course the babe had deserved a name, or he wouldn't have suggested it… But Arabella had chosen a name that so closely connected the lost creature to him… had done it very deliberately and without even truly stopping to think of what that would mean to him…

Passing his hand down over his masked face, he swallowed the salty bile in his throat and took another slow look around.

Luz…

Aria Luz…

An aria was a melody – a solo melody most commonly… But Erik had studied language in his mothers' house. He'd studied Latin with a priest who'd done all he could to save Erik's soul from a darkness that seemed inevitable due to his demonic face. In Latin, 'aria' literally meant air. He supposed that was why so many arias were full of such soaring and sometimes seemingly effortless notes.

Melody, air, and light… all the things the daughter he would now never have had ben meant to symbolize. He wondered if Arabella would ever have even considered that name, had she survived to full term. Maybe she'd have picked something else… something more in keeping with the Romani culture… like Aminta. He very much doubted if it would have ever occurred to Arabella to choose those two names together under less dire circumstances.

But, really, what other name could such a child of hope ever been given? It almost felt like Arabella had been told by an angel whispering in her ear just what the baby's true name was meant to be. …And he didn't even believe in such things as real angels bothering to speak to humans!

With a whimper, he turned sharply and searched the area even harder for Tsifia. Time was slipping through his fingers as he stood there and mused over something as trivial as the name of a dead baby. He didn't know just how fast the woman would take care of her task. He didn't know how aware the tribe was – as a whole – of the condition Arabella had been in.

Might Tsifia just take off into the forest and bury the creature in a shallow grave; so that its' very existence could be kept secret?

He saw one of the Romani children running nearby and lurched in her direction. The child saw him coming and cowered away, but stopped running at his brief command.

"Where is Tsifia?" he asked the abruptly and – he thought – ridiculously terrified child. For a moment he forgot about the reputation he'd been building. At the child's blank stare of fear, he almost felt the urge to kick out at her. He only barely restrained himself by reminding his irrationally angry brain that she was only a child. "Tsifia, girl, where is she?"

The girl pointed tentatively towards the old woman's tent, and Erik sighed in relief.

"Thank you." He offered, much more gently than he had demanded answers. With a brief nod at the girl, he hurried towards the tent of his wife's grandmother at a brisk jog. He couldn't give the woman a chance to do as she was planning. No doubt it was exactly how things should have gone… but he wouldn't allow his wife's only desire for the baby to be ignored; or even accidentally denied.

She was just coming out from the tent when he came upon it, her eyes red and swollen with tears, her face wet and blotched. She'd clearly been crying quite hard – maybe almost as hard as her granddaughter had been mourning. She held a different, far smaller, cloth in the crook of one arm, wrapped tightly around a bundle that a kitten could have easily played with.

So tiny…

She also had a small jar in her other hand, like what she'd have kept herbs in at any other time. He wondered if she'd emptied it for the sole purpose of using it as the coffin for the unborn babe; and he instantly felt sick to his stomach.

"Tsifia."

She looked up sharply, obviously having not expected him to be away from his wife so soon after the tragedy.

"Erik!" she gasped, grabbing her heart the best she could with both arms occupied. "Don't sneak up on me lie that! What are you doing here? You should be keeping an eye on your wife!"

"My wife is sleeping." He replied in a very soft, paper-dry voice. It startled him; hearing his voice shift so quickly to something that should have escaped a sepulcher and not a human. His voice had been fine moments ago, when demanding angry answers from the little girl. He reached out for the little bundle in his grandmother-in-laws' arm. "Give her to me."

"W-what?" Tsifia seemed more startled by this command than she had been when he'd seemed to appear out of nowhere to her distracted mind. Realizing after a brief second what he'd actually said, she flinched away from him and grimaced, clutching the unborn child closer to her chest. "No! Absolutely not! I have to-"

"I know what you think you have to do." He interrupted quickly. "But my wife desires something more for our child."
"Our child?" The old woman stared up at him in obvious disbelief. "You… I didn't think you took it so literally…"

"You thought wrong." He said, his voice hardening once again. "Give her to me, Tsifia. Let me put her to rest the way Arabella wants."

Tsifia continued to eye him. He couldn't claim her stare was mistrustful, exactly, but it was clear she didn't know what to make of his intentions. He was amazed he could feel hurt by her reticence towards him; after all the moments she'd stood up for him and blessed his relationship with her granddaughter. At heart, she was still a superstitious old gypsy woman who would never truly accept him… and he instantly felt he didn't want to waste any more time pandering to her.

"Arabella has just asked me to lay her to rest in sacred soil."

"But no one will allow-"

"I'm not asking permission." He stated dangerously, taking a step towards her that he knew probably felt threatening. Tsifia's cringe backward certainly seemed to imply so; but he didn't care. "Give me the child."

Tsifia was clearly reluctant. When he reached out as though to seize either her or the baby, however; she held it out to him with a slightly fearful expression. Pulling the bundle close, Erik glanced at the brilliantly white rag that had been used as his daughters' shroud with another thickening lump of saltiness in his throat. He held his breath a long moment, staring at it… knowing he couldn't take a closer look at the child without offending or terrifying the old gypsy woman.

He slowly returned his gaze to Tsifia.

"You… bathed her…" he noted thickly.

The old woman shifted uncomfortably. Hesitantly, she offered Erik the jar in her hand; and he accepted it dispassionately, shoving it into one of his pockets. He knew attempting an actual coffin for such a tiny body would be ridiculous, so it would be prudent to have an emergency vessel in case nothing else was forthcoming… but he still cringed inwardly at the idea of burying Aria in such a thing…

"I … yes…"

Nodding briefly, Erik turned to stride away.

"Thank you." he said curtly over his shoulder. He couldn't manage more without the fear of falling apart. The last thing he wanted was to cry in front of this woman – especially in public where other gypsy's - who undoubtedly still hated him - might see him weeping and take it for weakness. He doubted if many knew the full extent of Arabella's condition. Very few would ever learn she'd even been with child to begin with. No one would understand his own personal feelings of loss. Even Tsifia had been astounded at his claiming of the child.

"Erik!" Tsifia called out, making him pause with a gnashing of his teeth. He began to turn, but she'd already rushed up to him with a small red woolen strand in her hand. Knowing she couldn't see it beneath the mask, he still lifted a quizzical eyebrow of annoyance at her. "I'll watch over Bella while you deal with... But if you're really claiming the child as yours… if you want to go that far…"

She offered him the strand, and Erik took it uncertainly.

He understood the significance immediately. There had been two babies born healthy during his stay with the camp. He'd witnessed newborns as they were brought to their fathers. Just as when Roman's once laid babies at the feet of their sires – forcing them to publicly accept or deny the child - the Romani had their own version of the tradition. They would put a string – a string just like the one he was holding – around the child's neck.

It made him wonder just how surprised Tsifia truly was over his decision to claim Aria. Or… had Arabella prepared for such a thing with her grandmother; asking the old woman to keep the symbol so Erik wouldn't feel pressured into accepting the baby? But … Arabella was not even far enough along to be showing yet. Why would …

It probably meant nothing.

"You know… there's another way…" she whispered gently. "We have a way to put her to rest, if Arabella is that upset…"

He continued staring at the red line lying across his palm. He said nothing to acknowledge Tsifia, so after a moment she continued.

"We place her in an unmarked grave at the side of the road." She explained hesitatingly. In spite of all Erik had tried to do to integrate himself into the Romani way of life, there had been plenty of times that he'd chafed over how they did things. She was clearly anxious of telling him something this specifically different from anything he might be aware of from his own society. "Her spirit can travel the road then. She can go where she wants."

Erik stiffened with a scowl. He hadn't thought – until that moment – about the soul that had possibly been in the body of his daughter. It hadn't even occurred to him. He wasn't angry of Tsifia bringing up the topic - he was far more upset with himself for not even thinking about Aria in such a way: as a soul that still existed.

He had definitive feelings about which creatures did (or if) and did not have souls.

He should have thought more about this much earlier… in spite of his grief.

"You want her soul to wander?" he hissed. "You want her to not belong anywhere or have a rightful place? You don't want her to be taken to God? You want that for the soul of a helpless baby… when you believe in so many evil spirits that wander the earth?"

"Erik; I didn't mean-"

Shaking his head bitterly, he began to stalk off again. He sank so deep into his own anger, and his own mind, that if Tsifia tried to regain his attention he was unaware of it. He could only watch his own feet as he stormed away and into the nearest tree line.

It was slow going; even at the brisk pace he was taking. The ground was littered with shrubbery and ground cover, as long as a great many fallen branches and broken twigs. He could have taken the road into town… but he wasn't about to put himself or his daughter through that.

My daughter!

He had been thinking as the child in Arabella's womb as his own already… but actually having that solid proclamation in his mind literally staggered him. He stumbled to the side and crashed jarringly but without any real pain into a nearby tree. He sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, the arm holding the dead child squeezing so tightly for just a moment that he was actually afraid he could have done damage to it.

He rolled against the tree and leaned his back against it almost as though using it as cover from some terrible enemy. Slowly, he lowered his eyes to the plumb-sized thing he carried, taking in the brilliantly white cloth Tsifia had wrapped the baby in. The way Arabella had been so worried about the baby being buried in the woods; he had actually been imagining that Tsifia might just toss her onto the ground somewhere and leave her to rot. He hadn't believed it, really; but his wife's panic had certainly put the image in his mind. To see she'd been wrapped so carefully in a clean rag made him feel a great deal better about whatever had been initially planned… although he could never bring himself to simply plant her in the ground never to be recognized in any way again.

Arabella needed him. He needed to hurry and complete his task so that he could get back to her. His wife was most certainly ill and weak… grieving and probably confused over her grief…

But he couldn't bring himself to hurry. He didn't really want to put this tiny creature in the ground and lose it forever. Yes, it was already lost – she had never even drawn breath – but he knew how final laying her in a grave would feel. To be honest, he needed a moment where his every thought wasn't consumed by hurrying to help Arabella in some way. As dearly as he loved her, he realized in his overwhelming grief over the loss of this child that he had taken little – if any – time to attempt things for himself. Taking his time in grieving and burying this child would not make him happy… but it would be his time instead of Arabella's or theirs.

Even though he was clearly doing this for Arabella more than for himself.

His face twisted in a wry, humorless smile at the realization.

Taking in a slow, bracing breath; he began to walk again. He walked a little slower, a little more carefully. He wasn't going to take all the time in the world – he wasn't selfish enough for that – but he didn't rush so frantically. As he walked, he shifted his hold on the child so that instead of cradling it in an elbow, he held it easily on his shoulder with a single hand. The body was so infinitesimal that it was like holding air… He leaned his head to the extreme in the direction of the bundle until he could barely feel it brushing the underside of his chin.

He began to quietly sing. He would have thought up something particularly special for her. After all, hadn't he done as much – and more – for the loss of his dog? But his mind wouldn't let him concentrate on creating music. The loss of a dog - as precious a pet and friend as she'd been – was absolute nonsense compared to the loss of a child… All he could think of were the transcripts of ancient songs he'd found in his mothers' house… with only the vaguest notion of how the melodies were meant to be sung. But he would do that part the best he could…

"Lullay… myn lykyng..."

The graveyard seemed a quiet place – as all graveyards often did. But this one was by far the largest Erik had ever seen. It stood very close to the town, with only a large church and iron fence separating it from the world of the living. He supposed there had to be several hundred people buried or entombed in the cemetery, and its sheer size was almost intimidating as he strode across it in search of someone that might help him with his task.

He found a funeral already in progress. He peered cautiously around a monumental gravestone at the group of fourteen or so mourners, standing in a rough circle about an open grave as a priest intoned endlessly about what the meaning of life and death was, and how God wanted his people to react to it. From the quality of the clothing the mourners wore, he supposed it must be quite a wealthy family who had lost someone…

Dull horror filled him at the realization that he hadn't so much as thought about what a burial might cost. Surely even for a body less than the size of an apple, it must cost something. Would what he had be enough to earn his daughter even a paupers' grave? Might he be able to afford some form of marker with her name on it? There was a little money in his cloak... but not much. After his last foray into the town to buy things; he hadn't replenished his pockets.

He waited far longer than he'd have liked for the services to be over. It was ridiculous how much time was spent praying and wallowing over a corpse in a graveyard. Even in his own grief, he couldn't see himself standing by so stoically – as the men at the funeral were doing – and listening to a priest drone on about God and the meaning of life or death. What did God have anything to do with death; particularly the death of a child?

Wasn't that more the Devil's work? Death robbed the living of people they loved... and often it robbed even the dying of any sense of dignity.

He waited until the priest gave his final condolences, and the mourners had walked a good distance from the grave site. Giving the tiny white bundle a little squeeze, he strode purposefully toward the priest – who stood watching with a forlorn expression as another man began to shovel a large pile of dirt into the open grave. Erik didn't care about this second man being there… but he hadn't been willing to be spotted by so many people all at once – not in his current state. His nerves were more than just frayed; and the more people who stared at him, the more agitated he would become.

"Desculpa, Padre…"

The priest lifted his eyes from the grave almost sedately - a trick Erik had seen before when a priest wanted to appear grave and holy - but jerked violently at the sight of Erik's mask. He held up the bible he clutched to a little, as though instinctively calling on God to banish the thing approaching him. It was aggravating to Erik; who wasn't even in full performance attire, or even in a particularly frightening mask. He hand't even changed from his sleeping clothes! He was just walking in a cloak and a mask that covered his hideous face. It wasn't as though he were pretending to be a demon! Still… he had something that needed to be done.

He paused until the priest had a moment or two to realize his foolishness and straighten himself.

"What is it?" the man asked warily; glancing at the gravedigger who had taken a few steps back from the gravesite. Apparently, they didn't seem to know whether Erik was a late mourner who wished to pay his respects or not.

Erik very carefully lowered Aria from his shoulder and held the tiny swathed creature in his palm out to the priest.

"I would… I would like to bury my daughter…"

The words felt nearly impossible to speak aloud. He could barely believe that he wasn't dreaming. Somehow, speaking to this priest made it all seem so unreal. He felt almost timid and fearful… dread filling him as he considered leaving the bundle behind in a strange place. Why were such thoughts always sneaking up on him?

"Daughter?..." the priest replied stupidly, glancing down at the bundle. He frowned, eyes furrowing as though he suspected some trick.

"My wife…" Erik tried to explain. "My wife was with child, and became too ill for her body to sustain the life within her."

Slowly, the priest rounded the grave until he was just a few paces from Erik.

"You mean… she lost the child early?"

"Yes…"

Continuing to eye Erik mistrustfully, the priest seemed to consider his options.

"I have a little money." He supplied quickly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his meager coins. "I don't ask for much… just a place for her on consecrated ground; and maybe a crude marker – that's all."

The priest crossed his arms across his chest; his bible tucked under one armpit.

"She was born dead?"

"Y-yes, Padre, she was."

"Then there is nothing I can do for you."

The priest began to turn. In desperation, Erik reached out to grab the man by the arm and swing him back round to face him. The man yelped as though he'd been burned, but Erik wouldn't release him.

"You cannot hold that against her soul!" he pleaded. "Please! My wife doesn't want her in an anonymous grave in the woods, and I won't have her buried by the road where her soul will wander lost for all time!"

Sighing, the priest jerked his arm from Erik's grip in disdain.

"I recognize you." He noted with disgust. Erik flinched at the tone, but kept his body as still as possible. Little Aria was in his all-too destructive hand, and he didn't want to squeeze her poor little body and damage it. "You're with that gypsy lot, aren't you? My brother dragged me there weeeks ago. I saw one of your 'performances'."

"I am with the gypsies." Erik admitted without shame. "But they are good Christian people, Padre. They don't practice as you and I do… but they do believe in God."

He could scarcely believe the words coming out of his mouth. In spite of the kindnesses of a few, he certainly didn't believe the gypsies were good. As a whole, the human race was a terrible group of creatures. Gypsy or gaje didn't seem to make much of a difference.

"And you?" the priest demanded. "You, with your dark magic for profit; do you believe?"

Erik hesitated a long moment. The priest seemed as though even his shortest of hesitations was answer enough, but Erik knew he still had the briefest chance to appease the clearly overly-judgmental prick. He thought frantically for something to say that would ring at least the tiniest bit true.

"I was raised a Catholic." He admitted slowly. "I… had a falling out with the priest who taught me… but I do believe."

Obviously being a man who had dealt with a great many followers who'd lost their faith, it was the priests' turn to hesitate. Erik let out a tiny sigh of relief; knowing he'd actually said the right thing for a change. Perhaps this could work out… In spite of his biased, the priest seemed innately built to help a lost soul!

"Let's see her, then." The gravedigger offered, coming forward with his shovel gripped loosely in one hand. Erik cringed at the suggestion; chafing at the interruption. He could tell instantly that the idea had completely derailed the priests' train of thought.

"My daughter doesn't need to suffer the same indignity I put myself through."

"It is by your own choice that you humiliate yourself-" The priest began.

"-You know nothing." Erik hissed in frustration. "I am there now by choice; but it didn't start that way! Now I am there to stay with my wife; and I have no other way to earn a living just yet! Please… what is there that I can do to-"

"Show us this daughter you want buried on Holy Ground."

Erik stared in utter horror and disbelief. The mere suggestion had been one matter… but the demand was entirely different. If he did not cooperate, there was no chance his daughter would receive the burial she deserved. The tests they were plying on him felt almost worse than being in that disgusting cage all over again… because he was not the only one suffering now. Even with Aria dead… he felt much too protective of her body to feel easy about obeying the priest. And to think that the priest would submit a grieving father through such torture ... that he would grasp at any straw that allowed him to continue discriminating against Erik...

His eyes fell to the tiny thing in his hand, and he slowly stepped back away from the grave. He continued stepping back until he could carefully expose his bundle without the ardently curious eyes of the gravedigger being close enough to make out any real detail. It was the decidedly curious gaze of the gravedigger that disturbed him most… not the eyes of the priest who'd merely seized on the suggestion as a test. The priest wasn't using the excuse to satisfy his wn morbid curiosities. He was being cruel... but in a far different way... and maybe even for reasons Erik simply couldn't understand.

The priest remained still and steadfast, his eyes filled with little more than disgust as he stared at Erik. It made him feel very small and anxious as he slowly pulled away the makeshift shroud keeping the tiny body warm.

Erik had seen a glimpse of her before Tsifia rushed from the tent… but he hadn't seen very much. All he'd known was a little bloody lump with a distorted head and the bent limbs of a newborn bird. Now, as he pulled the white cloth back, he found himself utterly unable to breathe.

No one could have said she was anyone else's daughter but his. Not looking like she did - as vastly different as she appeared. Although she had a nose – where he did not – it was so tiny and under formed that it was barely more than a lump in a strangely smooth face. Her sealed eyes seemed enormous for such a tiny face, and so far apart that they were almost on either side of her head. From what he could tell, her ears were still very much part of her scalp… Only her little chin and seemingly parted lips really made him believe he even held a human in his palm. For the most part, the smoothness of her head and facial features were almost suggestive of a fish.

She had legs and arms that seemed impossibly twiggy, and fingers and toes… but not a single hint of hair or fingernails or toenails. And her skin… her skin was so translucent that he could almost make out the tendons and muscles beneath. In spite of having been thoroughly washed, she was a loud and distinct red in color... which he found truly bizarre. In a way; it made her appear even more freakish than he was.

It was a morbidly fascinating sight. Sucking in an amazed breath, he brushed the tip of one finger down the center of her face, leaving it on her parted lips for just a moment; as though she could suckle it as many babes did. She was rather a disgusting sight – just as disgusting as she was tragic – but he couldn't find it in himself to be repulsed again. Instead, tears once again prickled at his eyes as he stared down at the being that should have grown to be a fully formed and undoubtedly beautiful baby. He couldn't imagine any child of Arabella's being less than exquisite... so long as he wasn't the father tempting fate to destroy it.

"Aria…" he breathed in a sigh so musical it almost took even him off guard. He usually had much better control of his vocal chords. He was well aware that the priest and grave digger were moving slowly closer to him. From his peripheral vision, he could see them craning their necks in an attempt to get a good look at the creature he'd unveiled.

The grave digger was the first to react; gagging and beginning to utter a line of curses the priest ought to have reprimanded him for. But the priest was no better. Although he didn't utter profanities, his bible came out and pressed to his chest again, his eyes going round and his face turning pale. He crossed himself with vaguely trembling hands, and he shook his head wildly.

It would have been comical; if it weren't such an offensive thing to do.

"Absolutely not!" he bellowed after a moment of searching for the right words. At least... he tried to bellow. His voice came out with even less control than Erik's had. It was strong, then thready, and struggled back to strong - all in five syllables.

Erik stared at the man in utter shock, his hand almost limp under the non-existent weight of his daughter. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised… but the instantaneous hatred took him entirely off guard. How could anyone looking at this poor dead child – disgusted or not – feel anything but sorrowful pity? How could anyone act so hatefully against the dead?

"That creature is not meant for this place!" the priest exclaimed fervently. "Take that soulless thing back into the forest where it belongs! Bury it – burn it – I don't care! But get it out of this holy place!"

That was worse than the suggestion that her soul could be lost. Everything in the world seemed to grow unnervingly still and silent around them. There was suddenly a calm deep within him that only existed during one kind of emotion... and it rarely showed itself so thoroughly on the surface of his body. But even his entire frame went stone-still.

Erik felt the rage flow into him like thick, black, poisonous smoke. His eyes took a swift glance at the gravedigger, who seemed to be running away from the sight of his tiny miscarried babe. It was astounding how easily someone could look at that almost human face, and deny it could possibly have ever … or to be so terrified and sigusted that it made one flee ...

"Soulless?" he echoed dangerously. This time, the raspy tone of his voice that strongly suggested cobweb infested tombs didn't surprise him in the least.

"It certainly isn't human!" the ignorant priest replied, clearly having never seen a shift like the one he'd just inspired in Erik. He was still blind to it as he spat out the phrase... making Erik began to hear his blood as it pounded through his ears.

Erik did not give the priest time to continue ranting and raving over what Aria was or was not. He found himself almost shoving the tiny corpse into his pocket – unable to think clearly about what he was doing. He certainly didn't have the frame of mind to place her carefully to the side. Instead, his free hand flashed out and caught the priest by the throat. Erik's forward lunge knocked the man off balance and they both nearly went sprawling onto the coffin down in the open grave.

"You call yourself a Christian?" he demanded, hearing the same dangerous quality in his voice that had existed the day he killed Adnah. Only this was so much worse. Arabella might have been badly hurt that day; maybe even killed… But it would not have hurt her soul. She'd have been the victim of a terrible tragedy; for which Adnah would burn in Hell. Arabella herself would have gone to God…

So why did Aria deserve any less, when she was more blameless than any other creature that had lived a single day on Earth?

"This child was an innocent creature of God!" he bellowed into the man's face, knowing it might regain the gravediggers' attention and not caring. "She was just a baby; who didn't ask to be conceived, or born, or killed by her own mothers' sick body! How can you denounce her to Hell?"

"You… are…" the priest tried to speak, but Erik's grip on his throat was far too tight. He swung at Erik with his bible; but by that time Erik had released his treasure safely into his pocket, and his second hand was free to snatch it away. Instantly holding the tool meant to punish him, he began beating the priest with all his might around the face and head.

"What, Padre?" he screamed. "What am I? A soulless monster; a demon? I was born as innocent as the babe in my keeping! All babes are born with but one sin; and even I was given absolution for it when I was born! How dare you deny my daughter the same grace?"

He swept his foot around the robed ankles of the priest, dropping him to the ground and following so as to keep his hand on the mans' entirely unworthy neck. He was distantly aware that tears had started pouring from his eyes again but had stopped caring. He was completely insane with rage and grief now. Even his voice had risen to an ungodly shriek - almost like what he imagined as a child what a witch's voice would sound like. He dug his fingernails into the fatty flesh beneath the priests chin; a part of him so hungry for the hypocrites death that he wanted to see and taste blood.

God did this to people. God made everyone think that they were all so worthy in His eyes, but gave people the ability to decree otherwise on a whim. He gave them the ability to hate, and fear, and shun… He made people without conscious or empathy… And he felt the priest had just destroyed what little of those emotions he himself had thus far retained. This was exactly the type of reason he'd had such a hard time telling the priest he believed at all… the people who claimed they believed so rarely ever showed exactly the type of lessons taught in the bible.

"Fools like you did this to me!" he growled, dropping the bible carelessly into the grave; so that both hands would be free to add pressure to the hypocrites' neck. It made a low hard thump as it hit the coffin, and the priest had instinctively seemed to follow the bibles' fall the best he could with his eyes, managing nothing but a distressed and guttural moan of objection. "Self-righteous hypocrites who spent their lives teaching me: 'Judge not, lest thee be judged'! But the first thing any of you ever does is judge!"

Grunting with the effort it was taking to strangle the sanctimonious 'shepherd of God', he shifted his weight over the hefty body; which wriggled like his dog had when she was still a reasonably younger pup in a playful mood. It was clear, however, that the man wasn't playing. His face was rapidly turning an alarming shade of blue. At least… it would have been alarming if Erik weren't the one deliberately causing it to happen. Still… even he was a little appalled that the skin could so quickly change.

"Please…" the priest begged in a set of spread out wheezes that barely managed to work their way past Erik's clutching hands. Instantly, Erik tried to redouble his grip. He knew enough about the human body that anything that could talk was clearly not going to suffocate to death. He was doing something wrong… But his hands were already hurting from the effort. Sweat was pouring down nearly every square inch of his body; making the perspiration indiscernible from the tears dripping down his face. With a groan more of frustration than effort, he leaned back on his haunches and flexed his fingers without quite releasing his victims' throat completely. The priest took advantage of the brief reprieve with a huge gulp of air; and cried out desperately: "I'll do it!"

Erik froze, staring down at the priest disbelievingly. He still didn't release the fat throat; but he knew from the fear in the priests' eyes that he was very serious. The high wheezing whistle of his voice had also proved convincing. He was at the point where he would do anything to live.

This was not one of the genuine believers that would have gladly walked into the lions' den to prove his faith.

Erik cautiously loosened his grip once more; realizing just how equally desperate he'd been to kill. He'd attacked the man out of grief and anger... but hadn't thought he actually wanted to kill until the priest made his desperate attempt at survival.

"You'll what?" he demanded; still wanting to tear the mans' throat open, and just waiting for a solid excuse. He thought maybe this could be a trick.

"Bless her!" the priest's face was covered in tears too. Erik wondered how he hadn't realized that while strangling him; his face having been so close he'd been spraying him with spittle. "I'll bless her and bury her! I'll give her any kind of burial you want!"

Erik took in a slow breath, experimentally trying to calm himself. He leaned further back from his victims' face; and found his own twisting with utter disgust as the pungent odor of urine reached his nostrils. He glanced down disdainfully as he realized the priest had pissed himself in his terror. He couldn't be blamed really; but Erik knew the indignity of such things as having no choice but to urinate all over yourself. His cage had not been furnished with a chamber pot, after all, until Arabella's constant nagging had granted him one.

That dark part of im that hungered for blood whimpered with frustrated denial in the back of his mind; but laughed wickedly to see someone else suffering such a familliar situation.

He tried to feel sorry for terrifying the man so badly… but he wasn't sorry. He'd wanted to kill, and he would have done it without a moments' hesitation if it hadn't been counterproductive to his goal. Uttering a grunt of disgust, he stood and backed away from the priest. His eyes briefly scanned the area to see if the gravedigger might have remained close enough to hear the fight… but there was still no one else about. All that remained was the shovel the man had apparently dropped in his headlong flight from the sight of a tragically lost fetus. Sighing, Erik scooped it up in one hand, deciding it would prove a much greater weapon than his pathetically weak hand if the priest decided to cause problems again.

Strangulation was simply much too slow and difficult. He'd have to find an easier way to deal with that.

He froze again - only for a moment - and blinked at his own tought proccess in utter disbelief.

Where had all that come from? What was he thinking?

Slowly, the priest rolled onto his stomach and began climbing awkwardly to his feet. His eyes locked onto the sight of his bible in the grave below.

"I need my bible." He managed through a clearly raw and wounded throat. "I cannot perform the rite without-"

"How many burials have you performed in your time, padre?" Erik demanded coldly; dismissing his darker moments and his astonishment over them. He wasn't himself... he had too many worries... the stress... It had to have been the stress...

The man turned to look at him, his eyes widened with surprise. When he didn't answer, Erik began to very carefully retrieve the tiny body from his pocket; feeling terrible for how he'd so casually treated it in his fury. He took a glance down to be certain he hadn't damaged it, and sighed briefly in relief to see that little Aria was still as whole as she'd been minutes before.

"Would you say dozens?"

"More than that." the priest finally acknowledged.

"Then you don't need your bible." Erik moved his shovel to the crook of one elbow to wrap his daughter firmly once more in her shroud. "You know it by heart by now, padre. Don't try to fool me by saying you need your bible. We aren't leaving this cemetery. If there's one thing I don't believe in; it's the necessity of water to receive Gods' blessing. I'm not asking for a baptism. I'm asking for a blessing."

The priest glanced down at himself; and opened his mouth to undoubtedly ask for a moment to change his garments… but Erik had run completely out of mercy for the man. He would let him live... but a little more humilliation would serve the man good.

"Where do you bury your little ones, padre?"

The priest didn't utter another single word through the entire ordeal – except for what was necessary to perform the asked for rites. He showed Erik to a small graveyard meant for lost infants and children with no family plots – a tragic sight indeed – and Erik quickly dug his own grave just deep enough to be certain it couldn't be considered shallow. He had already pressed his luck with a man he'd tried to outright murder… so he didn't ask for a coffin. The cloth Tsifia had wrapped his daughter in - and the damnable glass jar - would have to do. At least she wasn't being put in without some kind of protection from the destructive elements within the earth.

The priest then blessed the tiny bundled body and said a prayer asking God to receive her soul. Erik gave the priest her name… and then laid her to rest with trembling hands and a sorrow he hadn't realized was possible after his day of tumultuous emotion..

He'd thought he had already felt the deepest part of his grief… but it was only in knowing he had to leave her behind in this lonely place that it really struck him just how lost his future as a father was. He'd stroked the bundle without unwrapping her again multiple times… kissing it repeatedly before smoothing soil back into place as gently as he could around her. It took so little time… she was so tiny… The jar was so small...

"You… want a marker for her?" the priest finally offered; seeming to actually be moved by Erik's grief. His eyes were still hard – most likely due to his remaining prejudice and the fact that Erik had tried to kill him… but he seemed genuinely sympathetic towards his assailants loss; watching how carefully he treated his daughters' body.

Clearing his throat, Erik rose almost clumsily to his feet and averted his eyes from the grave.

"Yes." He admitted, shoving his hands into his cloak pockets and pulling out the few coins that happened to be there once again. He held them out to the priest, but the man shook his head.

"Don't." he sighed. "Just... just tell me the name you want on it. A simple marker can be arranged."

Erik stepped forward, seized the man's wrist, and roughly shoved the coins into his palm. He didn't trust the man to carry through with his promise - even after paying him - but at least money was a slight incentive.

"Take it." He commanded. "I don't need your charity, Padre. I need her honored correctly."

With a wince, the priest jerked his hand away but kept the money.

"What name…?"

It was not easy to say the name this time… imagining it carved into a piece of stone shaped like a cross. But he gave the priest the name just the same... and then began to wander away. He refused to look back at the grave – no matter how tempting it was to do so. Now that he'd let go of that part of his future… he had to leave her to rest in peace. He knew that however disgusted the priest was to have been forced to perform the ceremony; he would not dishonor the grave by disturbing Aria's body. She was safe, in holy ground, having been buried by a priest…

And he prayed to a very cruel God to do just one thing for him today… just one thing…

Keep her… God… Keep her as one of your own…

Remembering the bible… it probably would have been more accurate to ask God to have more mercy than He'd had on His own child… but that seemed to be going a little too far with his blasphemous disdain.

A/N: I know I don't write angry Erik very often... so I hope you enjoyed it!