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

Stepping Out

She strode down the street, confident, relaxed, and full of purpose.

She was going to the market to procure some edibles for their evening meal. It was to be a very special occasion indeed.

The cloudless day marked the one year anniversary of the day Massimo Dolcefino had gifted her with legs.

Wooden legs.

The legs on which she now walked.

As she strode with graceful step, Elsa allowed her thoughts to ramble through the last several months of her budding freedom.

She had moved slowly, carefully, through his cozy dwelling over and over again. Walking on her new wooden legs. Exploring his modest collection of books, examining his well-worn and well-used tools and carpentry sundries in the quiet, dusty light of his apartment.

Touching everything. Curious and interested in all of it.

Because it was his.

She did not know the names of all of his carpentry trappings, nor did she ask.

It all seemed so mystical and intriguing to her and for some reason she could not fathom, she wished for it to remain so.

She might have been quite content to stay in that apartment forever.

It was her sanctuary, it was her comfort. It was her home.

The balcony was her venture out into the world, a few meager stories above the ground, but still feeling closer to the sky above than to the people below.

Which was absolutely fine by her.

There were things she missed, of course. The hair salon was one.

Her dark roots were beginning to show badly though she tried to remember to be grateful that her hair had not fallen out at all during her ordeal.

So she tried not to notice and show concern for her less than fashionable locks.

But he did catch her glancing sidelong in a mirror one day, one hand self-consciously fingering her darkening strands.

"You know, cara mia, there is a beauty salon just down the street if you so wished to visit there."

She forced a laugh at the absurd consideration even as a low grade terror coursed through her at the thought of venturing out into the world away from the safety of Massimo's walls.

The outside world, the place from which she was well removed.

The place from which she was safe.

And of course, the stairs.

Those stairs.

Ridiculous notion.

But Massimo would not be denied.

He smiled at her, that kind, encouraging smile that warmed her bones and tingled her secret places.

"Come now. It is time to take another step on your lovely legs, Elsa."

That soft, rumbling, Italian voice cajoling her. Those deep, warm eyes. Those gentle hands, rough with work, confident in their commitment.

She wore her yellow dress, her red shoes, and a mask of muted terror upon her face.

As he led her out of the safety of the apartment and onto the tiny landing just before the dingy stairwell.

"Oh Massimo," she gasped, fearful breath catching in her throat as they stood in a narrow space, peeling grey painted walls surrounding them. "It's so high!"

And they were.

The stairs were so high, each step narrower and steeper than the next.

As she gazed at them, they seemed to distort and grow ever more treacherous before her terrified eyes.

The light emitting from the dusty bulbs along the wall was gloomy, much too dim for her to safely navigate past hidden chinks in the wood that would no doubt snag a heel and send her tumbling down, down, down to the landing below where she would come to rest in a broken, bloody heap of flesh and wood.

And the handrails looked decidedly shaky and flimsy as well.

"No, no," she implored desperately, attempting to draw back. "Not today. I'm feeling . . . tired . . . and . . . and . . . it's the perfect weather to lounge on the balcony instead . . ."

He allowed her ramblings to continue for the briefest of moments . . .

"perhaps tomorrow . . . or . . . the day after . . ."

. . . before interrupting with one firm, quieting word.

"Elsa."

She stopped, lips pressed and thin, face pinched with emotion.

"I have not yet allowed you to fall. And I will not now."

His voice was as always, calm, encouraging, and sure.

He was correct of course. She had never fallen under his watch. Under her own perhaps.

But never his.

Her hands clutched his tightly, knuckles white with fear and anxiety.

He maneuvered in front of her and descended the first step backward, facing her.

Letting her see his strength, his stability, his steadfastness.

Letting her see him.

There.

For her.

And so she, teeth gritted and jaw clenched, laid one hand upon the baluster and one hand upon the shoulder of Massimo Dolcefino.

And stepped down, heart pounding thunderously within her chest.

And did not fall.

Massimo smiled at her, as if he had foreseen everything from this moment forward. And simply knew she would succeed in this, and every, endeavor.

In anything. In everything.

After marveling for a moment in her tiny success down the first stair, she, tremulously, took another step.

And another.

And another.

It had taken an incalculable amount of time, at least in her own mind, to descend that first floor. At the landing, she had stopped and lowered herself, shaking, down onto the step.

And sat, quaking and trembling.

And smiling.

Massimo had knelt before, a hand lightly on each knee and waited for her to recover strength.

And courage.

Until she rose and continued.

On and on, one step after another.

Two flights down.

To the exit door.

And the sidewalk.

And the outside world.

For which, after all her effort and agitation, she was not quite ready.

For at that point, she was well and truly exhausted, her sweat damp body a mass of strained and tense muscles.

And so Massimo, satisfied in her newest efforts, had gathered her up into his arms and carried her back up the stairs and into his apartment.

Drawn her a warm, soothing bath.

Then retired to the balcony while she, stronger than when she had first lay cradled in his comforting arms, attended to her own toiletry duties.

She was a regular customer at the salon now, having coming alone and under her own steam for nearly two months.

They knew her well.

Or rather, the simple, lovely lady she presented herself to be.

Which suited her just fine.

Hey, hey, everybody!

Sorry I've been gone so long. Life and other inspirations, and all, you know.

But hopefully I'm back to finish the tale of Massimo and Elsa.

I've written the ending and it's designed to shred up your heart into little pieces.

But hey, not time for that yet. I think there's still a little good to be had here. You in?

And not to overshadow the dramas of our doomed lovebirds here, but hubbie 'o mine is having back surgery within the week. If you don't mind, send up a prayer, a flare, or just some positive waves that the surgeons can relieve his chronic pain instead of intensifying it, would you? I would be very appreciative. :)

Okay, enough about me and mine now. Let's see who all I've missed out on recently.

Thanks to those loyal, loyal reviewers, brigid1318, sophia10, CosettaP, ozz, JJackson1991, Buttercup (is Wesley there too? Please say yes!), pawlikus, GG (thanks for the other reviews for Tate as well), Foreverglfan88, MaverickPaxaPunch, Jurana Keri, and my two mystery guests for leaving words of encouragement and support. You all are fantastic!

Thanks to Mango Marionette (that's cool, now I'm hungry and feel like a puppet show!), Nicole1922, and dearjethro for adding your support here as well.

Well, anyway, see you again soon for another chapter. :)