I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.

Or Wooden Legs

In the Absence of Light, Darkness Prevails

Love and Hate

"I have not been entirely truthful with you, cara mia."

Elsa looked away from the lovely vista to the man who had granted her legs.

"I do have another item you might find interest in."

He intrigued her further with his mysterious proclamation and the gleam in his eyes.

Massimo then carefully lowered her into a chair near the open door and turned away to a standing bureau.

She sat, still in shock, admiring her new legs.

And realizing, perhaps because she had been walking now after all this time, that she was sorely bereft of clothing. Only Massimo's shirt and the set of undergarments she had been wearing when brought to him.

What inappropriate conduct, she mused with a sardonic smirk. And how very unfair to a gentleman such as he.

She huffed at her ridiculous musing.

Of course, it cannot be so very difficult. Any man not depraved could surely find no desire in a legless cripple.

And Massimo Dolcefino was certainly not depraved.

Although he did appear to be somewhat of a connoisseur of women's clothing.

Because he had just turned back to her, holding forth a dress.

It was soft yellow, delicately arrayed with muted, indigo flowers and green, twisting vines and leaves. With a rounded collar and gently tied loose elbow sleeves, the lightly fitted v-cut bodice was seamed to demurely compliment the wearer's slender midsection. From there, it flared slightly, naturally, to just below the knee.

It was not the revealing, forbidding, darkly sensual attire of a dark room dominatrix whore.

It was not the dowdy, drab, sack dress of a poor cripple.

It was the simple, casual, soft garment of a stylish lady.

And Elsa wanted to wear it badly.

If she wore it and spun slowly, the hem would flutter out in an lovely twirl.

I must learn to walk gracefully and move in such a way that it will be beautiful on me.

Massimo knelt before her, offering her the garment, yet another gift from this man who continued to surprise her.

"I thought it might be more fitting to a lady than my old work shirt," he surmised coolly.

She laughed then, lightly, and clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh, it is perfect," she praised, reaching out to touch the soft fabric.

She wanted it badly, she did. But it was not her. She was no lady. She was, had been, a dominatrix whore who made men thank her for their erotic agony.

Now she was a crippled, pathetic woman, unable to walk without prosthetics.

Then Elsa looked into the warm brown eyes of the man before her.

And thought she might be able to change.

Into whatever and whomever she wanted to be.

If she would let herself.

So she took the dress and the slip discreetly placed inside it.

It fit perfectly.

And she decided she would keep it.

And learn to walk gracefully in it.

"Happy birthday, cara mia."

He held out a white rose to her as she rested in her balcony seat in her new dress, soaking the new morning sun up into her body in preparation for the day's walking exercises. Her wooden legs sat beside her at the ready.

After a moment of confusion, she clucked her tongue at him in light derision.

"It is not my birthday, silly man. And to say such things brings bad luck."

Of course, there is not much worse luck than having one's legs sawn off.

She shuddered a little, even as Massimo continued to offer her the rose with a smile.

"Yes, it is, my dear Elsa."

She shook her head in reproach.

"No, Massimo. I am forty-one years old and my birthday is in the autumn. When the leaves wither and die."

He knelt by her chair, his face patient and kind. She felt drawn to him, as she always did whenever he seemed to be ready to share some secret knowledge with her.

"No, cara mia, you misunderstand. You are freshly reborn now into this world with your new legs and your new sense of hope."

She fought to control the smile drifting its way onto her face.

Reached out and carefully took the rose from him.

The green stem had been sheared smooth of thorns. She held it to her face and inhaled its lovely aroma.

"So be it, then. If it pleases you."

And his smile widened like a happy boy.

"It does."

And she thought she might love Massimo Dolcefino.

She hated Massimo Dolcefino.

"Come, cara mia. Just a bit further."

Her breath hissed most unladylike between her clenched teeth.

"No! I can't!" she practically growled at him. "It hurts too much! I am tired!"

Every day, every single day, she struggled to walk. She practiced and rested. And practiced and rested.

Her stumps ached, her thigh muscles ached.

The wooden legs were as light as Massimo could possibly make them.

And at the end of the day, when all of her energies were delepted, they were heavier and clunkier than ever before.

And she hated him.

His face remained smooth, expressionless, as it did so often when she struggled for control of her temper.

"You must, cara mia. You must continue to walk and improve and gain strength so that you may be independent and free. Of independence from anyone, including me."

Her anger burned hotter, fueled by the aching in her amputated legs.

"So you push me so hard in hopes that I will heal and leave you in peace?!"

She glimpsed the hurt in his eyes before he shut it away from her once more.

"No, Elsa, of course not. I only want you to be able to choose how to live your life. You must be free to do as you wish. Where you wish. And with whom you wish."

And she felt guilty then. And bitter. And angry.

"Are you a woman now that you are so needy for affections and sulk about pouting for reassurances that your companion will always be there to coddle and pet you?!"

She knew she was being unfair, that she was pushing him too far. That she was hurting him for no reason other than to push away her own pain and fears.

And that she mulishly didn't care.

Frustration and anger churned in his dark eyes and she felt a flash of fear that he would retaliate against her.

And she, in her weakness, would not be able to stop him.

That he would be like her father after all. The military officer who would casually bend his wife over knee behind closed doors and spank her black and blue for some believed slight or insolence. And her mother would never make a sound or shed a tear until he was away.

The shame, the hidden misery in her mother's eyes when he looked through her and went out with his much younger mistress, leaving her at home to listlessly pick at her embroidery or simply sit at the window and wait for him to return, smelling of another woman's perfume and wearing another woman's lipstick on his collar.

Would Massimo be just like all the others, given enough time?

And then Elsa's attention was redirected as the ever patient and ever long-suffering carpenter let go of her viscious verbal attack and insisted that she continue to move. Only to the chair across the room and then she could rest and regain her strength.

And she ground her teeth together in fury.

And walked.

Whew, being a big girl is tough, huh? But it'll get better. And at least there's roses, right? And as a funny, the alternate name of this chapter is 'Walking Sucks'. XD

If you'd like to see the dress Massimo gave to Elsa, then Google Images '09007614 Dress womens 1930s cream blue floral cotton, C38 W29'. And if you don't wanna, that's cool too. :)

So thanks to brigid1318, Queen-of-candyland, Jurana Keri, Foreverglfan88, YellowBrickQueen, MaverickPaxaPunch, GG, and 8Girls8Boys for your encouraging reviews. You all rock!