I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.
But this isn't about the freak show. This is a love story.
In the Absence of Light, Darkness Prevails
Selflessness and Forgiveness
He was changing her.
Massimo Dolcefino was changing her. From the cold, stoic, shrew of a woman she had created herself to be for her own survival, into something else.
A lighter, warmer, more optimistic creature who could see the potential for beauty and hope in the darkest of places.
He wasn't changing her by force, by seclusion, by guilt or obligation.
He was changing her by giving her the opportunity to become cleaned out, throw away her old life, her old presumptions about herself, her old barriers.
And he did it by simply being him.
And presenting her with new legs.
And solace when she needed it, companionship when she did not.
Time.
He gave her time.
To breathe.
To think.
And decide who she wanted to be, visualize it in her mind so that she could make it so.
It also helped that every day, rain or shine, harmony or strife, he presented her with a flower.
A rose or lily or a tulip. Some such lovely perennial, just for her.
And a smile.
"You love me, Massimo."
It was a statement, not a question.
He did not blink or shy away.
And he did not answer immediately.
Until he did.
"Yes."
They were on the balcony. Elsa had removed her wooden legs and now her stumps lay warming in the sun. She had been walking earlier and now they ached and were tired.
But she was growing stronger. More sure and confident.
Of her walking.
And of him.
"Why do you not pursue me?"
It was an honest, simple question.
He stood, turned half away from her, hands lightly on the railing, looking out at the clouds.
He was quiet so long she did not think he would respond. But after a few moments, he did.
"Because I do not want you to think I believe you owe me for your legs. Or your life."
She huffed and leaned forward, strongly adamant in her words.
"But I do! Without your care, I would be dead. From blood loss or infection. Or bitterness and despair."
He did not respond. She leaned back once more in relaxation.
"But that is not what I would think if you did."
He looked at her and she could see his desire to openly love her.
And his sincere reservation to do so.
"And what would you think, cara mia?"
She was struck dumb suddenly, the words clenching and struggling in her throat.
Words she wanted to stay. And hesitated to nonetheless.
"I would think . . . I would think . . . I would think I was a most fortunate woman to be desired by a man such as you."
And she, a grown, mature woman, looked up at him, feeling for all the world like a trembling school girl in her first bouts of love.
And he smiled.
And she thought she had never felt so happy.
Another day. Another bout of exercise. Another rest from her exhaustion.
And another question.
"Where did you learn such selflessness, Massimo? It was not here in Germany, surely."
They shared derisive smiles at the droll, and quite accurate, observation.
"No, no, not here," he agreed aloud. "I learned it in my homeland of Italy."
His eyes grew soft and faraway.
"My father loved my mother every day of his life. She was a cook for a man who owned a vineyard, as I have told you before. And my father was a worker and harvester there as well. They raised seven children together in our small cottage. And even when they argued, they never laid a hand on one another in anger. Most of the time, our cottage was filled with laughter and love."
He stopped and chuckled before continuing.
"Although once my mother, she did empty an entire wash pan of dirty dishwater on him for slapping her on her bottom in tease. She told him he needed some, how do you say, 'cooling off'."
They laughed together, though Elsa could only imagine her own father's rage and awful reaction if her mother had committed the same act, even in the same lighthearted manner.
"They were healthy and happy together all their lives," Massimo's smile faded away, leaving him solemn and grim. "Until she was stricken with what we now call a stroke. She was never the same afterward and required constant care and attention."
He was quiet for a moment, lost in the past. Then he continued.
"He tended to her needs without compliant. Even when she cried and wailed and did not know him, he loved her."
"One day she woke up clear and bright. She told him she wanted to go for a walk together in the vineyard and see the morning sunrise. I was the youngest, so he immediately sent me to run and tell the foreman of his need and took her on what was to be their last walk together in this world."
Massimo's voice had dropped to barely a whisper and Elsa had to strain to hear the reminder of his tale.
"My father told the story many times over. He said that as they walked, she told him she would die soon. And when she did, she would wait for him along the path to the Gates of Heaven. She would wait as long as need be until he passed over as well. So that they might walk in together and never be separated again."
Elsa touched her trembling fingertips to her lips and held them there.
"The sun rose and touched her face with caress of God's own angels. She shuddered then and sank to the ground with my father beside her. She died, with a smile on her face and her hands entwined in his."
Massimo removed his round glasses and wiped at his brimming eyes.
"She was buried on the land where the sunlight touched her. And my father visited her every day to speak to her and tell her of his news. He lived for ten more years after that. He still laughed and he still loved because he said he knew she was watching him and waiting for him along the Path."
He looked up at her, his smile tender.
"So that is where I learned to be who I am, cara mia."
And she did not know what to say.
It was night this time when she asked yet another question of him.
They were dancing, slowly dancing in the dim lighting of the apartment. Quiet, Italian music played in the background.
The dancing was motivation for her to continue moving when she grew weary at the end of the day, when her legs grew tired and her stumps ached.
"Have you never been married, Massimo? Have you no children?"
He smiled at her, one hand gentle on the small of her back, the other curled around hers on his chest.
"No," he replied simply. "My life has blessed me with neither a companion nor children."
She thought she understood.
Time. There was always more time to be had. Until there was none at all.
She had never desired to be married, not after watching her father dominate and abuse her mother.
She had desired men of course, the carnal need was strong in her. At first.
She had engaged in trysts, finding out early that men could be controlled and manipulated with sex. Like mindless beasts.
And her father's military compatriots had always been most interested to sniff out fresh, young meat to sample and devour.
She hadn't meant to become a dominatrix whore.
She had meant to save her money, escape her father's house and escape to the stage, where she could shine and be brilliant and beautiful and ethereal and admired and loved by all.
From a safe distance.
And so she had, for a while, enjoyed working behind the scenes in theater, learning the craft, working some experienced actors and actresses and dreaming of the bright lights and applause.
And then the First World War had damaged German entertainment industry and the crippled entity was reluctant to take the time to hone and polish her raw talent.
And so she taken her work where she could.
Her beauty, her flare for the dramatic, and her willingness to do anything caught the attention of the most unsavory men she had ever laid eyes on.
They had promised her fame. They had promised her fortune. They had promised her immortality.
In an effort to in the long run become a star, and in the short run escape her father's house for good, Elsa had eventually sold herself to the dredges of society.
And little by little, she had lost sight of who she wanted to be, who she was working to become.
She had traded herself away, trick by trick, never letting them touch her, but blemishing and poisoning her soul a piece at a time nevertheless.
Until she was nothing.
An empty, barren vixen of a woman.
Who felt nothing at all but disgust and disdain for the entire world and everyone in it.
And now that person was dead. Dead to the them all.
And to herself.
And now, hidden away in Massimo Dolcefino's two room apartment, learning to walk and learning to breathe and learning to love, she felt she might be able to reinvent herself as someone else.
A new Elsa.
An Elsa that could be beautiful on the inside and outside.
An Elsa that could feel pride and satisfaction in her existence.
An Elsa that Massimo would be proud to love.
And love him in return.
Elsa laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
Massimo rested his cheek softly on the top of her head.
And they continued to dance.
Hello, sweeties! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far; I've sure enjoyed writing it. I'll be taking a break during the week here because I've got to go back to work now that all the ice is gone. The sweet, little kiddies need somebody nice to teach 'em, you know. ;)
They'll be returning soon, Massimo Dolcefino and Elsa (have you noticed I've not called her 'Mars'? There's a reason for that, make no mistake.) And me, of course, trying to tell their story to the best of my ability.
Thanks to brigid1318, GG (I know, me too), Jessicalangefan, YellowBrickQueen, MaverickPaxaPunch, and Foreverglfan88 for keeping up with my overflow of words and graciously reviewing.
See you all later! :D