Hello! Eris shipper and trash reporting for duty! I have decided that after a long hiatus from writing, I'm going to attempt to write a Phantom of the Opera Eris story. Personally I want to write this because the Phantom of the Opera has been one of my favorite stories ever since I read the book at age thirteen and saw the musical at sixteen. It's not much atm and I'm not sure if I'll continue it, but I think it's pretty good so far and if you guys like it, I might continue. I know that for my other readers who are looking at this, I should be working on my other stories. I am though, but I just wanted to get this brain baby out. Enjoy!

ACT I

"If I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me."
― Gaston Leroux

He could see through one good eye and his slightly swollen bruised one that the twilight is setting in swiftly, and the earth seems to be falling into a sleep deep enough to qualm the demons that have plagued him nightly since the day he was born. He presses himself further into the corner of the cage, the metal bars pushing against his bruised back. Bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, he tried to ignore the sounds that the crowd was making, encouraged by his caretaker and jailer who was enticing more people to enter the tent.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Step right up- yes right this way to see the Devil's Child!" His voice booms around the tent over the crowd "The most hideous, horrible and terrifying child ever born and the only place you can see him is right here at this camp. Come closer and see why only the Devil himself could have sired such a child."

Spying a slightly older boy dressed in grey holding the hand of a young girl walking past the tent he called out to them, "You there! Would care to enter, I can guarantee that you will have nightmares for weeks to come if you have just one glance at the Devil's Child! Dare you come in?"

The boy in grey's eyes widen with a smile and he turned to whisper to the little blonde haired girl if she wanted to go inside. The thrill of seeing the Devil's Child was too hard to resist, even with the promise of nightmares. She appeared unsure, whispered something back and tried tugging on his sleeve to lead him into another direction; however, the smiling grey boy held onto the girl's hand tightly before following the owner into the Devil's Child's tent, dropping coins into his hand as they crossed the threshold of the tent.

The boy's owner enters the cage and pulls the door shut with a loud clang that made the crowd jump.

"Don't want him escaping, do we?" he whispered to the little girl standing behind the older boy that the devil child deciphers must be her brother. Hesitant, the girl steps away from the man. Before she and her brother could go further, however, an older man that resembled the older child strode in with an angry expression written across his face.

"Caleb! How many times do your mother and I have to tell you that you and your sister are not allow to come in here!"

"But father, this is the last time that they'll be here before they leave in the morning- can we just-"

Sensing a loss of profit, the fair owner tried to intervene. "Dear sir, can you blame the young lad's interest? Surely there's no harm for them to be here? Perhaps you would like to see the spawn of Satan himself-"

"No thank you!" The father snapped. "You should be ashamed of yourself for exploiting a child for such means of a living and profit! Come along, children. Your mother's concert is almost over-"

The father dragged his children away from the tent, though the imprisoned child watched as he caught the fleeting glance of the girl looking across her shoulder at him with concern and confusion before she disappeared. Huffing in annoyance, the fair owner turned to his audience with a leering grin and booming voice."

"Welcome! Let me start by assuring everyone that you are in no physical danger from the Devil's Child. He will remain under my complete control," the owner announced, flicking his rope in the direction of the Devil's Child, "At all times. Your minds however, I cannot guarantee. You may be plagued by nightmares for months to come, suffer horrifying visions at any time. Therefore, may I suggest that anyone who has a more delicate disposition, leave the tent before I proceed." He glanced around the tent. "No takers I see. Then let us begin."

He paced the length of the cage twice, stumbling slightly only once, before turning to face the audience again. Speaking in a low voice so the crowd had to move closer to the cage to hear him he began, "He was abandoned just hours after his birth, for what mother could bare to nurse such a child. The Devil has outdone himself in creating such a monster, a hideous creature that would kill you without a second thought. A beast that can never be trusted." He suddenly raised his voice so it boomed throughout the tent. "The Devil's Child!"

Striding over to the corner he grabbed the boy by the arm and flung him into the centre of the cage. The child remained curled in a ball, his face looking down to the ground.

"Get up!" The man roared with a kick to the boy's exposed shins. The child gave a small whimper but it couldn't be heard over the noise that the already excited crowd was making. The jailer gave another kick and the crowd started to jeer when the child didn't respond. Fury rising fast he pulled out his rope, and brandishing it like a whip, struck the boy across the back.

"Now!" he screamed, continuing to alternatively kick and whip the small body in front of him while the crowd laughed. Slowly, against the continuing assault of his jailer, the child brought himself to his hands and knees. Realizing that this was the moment, the owner discarded the rope and grabbed the sack that was covering the boy's head. With one swift movement he pulled him into a sitting position and removed the sack, exposing the child's head for the crowd to see.

The tent went quiet for a moment whilst everyone took in what they were seeing before seeming chaos erupted. The jeering and heckling of moments ago seemed to increase tenfold as the crowd took in the view. They jostled to get a closer look, scarcely believing that what they were seeing could be real. A rough looking teenage boy, wanting to appear braver than his friends, reached into to his pocket to withdraw some long forgotten food and promptly threw it into the cage. The owner gave a wicked grin to the crowd, this was exactly how he wanted things to proceed.

"Who else wants a go?" The crowd started scrambling for things to throw into the cage, anything they could get their hands on. Half eaten food, the small stones and pebbles that littered the uncovered floor of the tent and coins from the wealthier members of the group were all thrown at the child.

The jailer retrieved his rope and continued to whip the boy from a distance, hoping to provoke an explosion of temper to truly frighten the crowd, but the child didn't react, only moving involuntarily when struck. Pushed onto his side and momentarily dazed when he was hit on the back of his head with a larger stone and kicked across the face. The crowd was slowly starting to dissipate, having run out of items to throw and losing interest in simply staring at the Devil's Child. With one last kick to ensure the boy stayed down, his jailer started to gather the coins scattered throughout the cage.

The child gingerly stretched, testing his body after the abuse that had been inflicted on it. He reached for his sack and pulled it over back his head before crawling his back into the shadows. Sweeping his eyes across the cage to ensure that he hadn't missed any coins, the owner glanced down at the child still huddled on the floor amongst the food and stones in the shadow side of the cage.

"Pathetic little bastard. At least you're good for something," he said, shaking his bag of coins. Exiting the cage, once again ensuring the gate was firmly closed behind him, he sat up against moving the flap and exiting the tent with tonight's earnings, a bottle of drink at his side. As he sat there listening for any moment or sound for his abuser to come back, the pain from the boy's injuries slowly started to ease, only to be replaced by a boiling rage that needed an outlet. He started to recall the taunts and yelling of the crowd and looked around at the objects that had been tossed into the cage, at him. Oblivious to the remaining pain, he quietly got to his feet, grabbed the nearest object and threw them against the cage with a roar. He continued taking food and trash either kicking it or throwing it against his prison, acting like a wild animal. He fell to his knees when his legs could no longer support and began breathing in and out heavily through his mouth and nose.

As he closed his eyes he heard a small gasp. He whipped his gaze out into the open just long enough for him to notice the two small brown eyes staring at him through the bars of the cage he's lived in for two, three, maybe four years when he realizes that they belong to the little girl who was dragged away along with her brother by her father. It's seemed like an eternity. But they're there- those eyes, and at the moment time seems to move a little quicker- just fast enough for his heart to begin beating again and for him to ponder over why had she returned.

He shifts uneasily, sliding back farther into the shadow of his cage for fear of startling the girl. She's likely never seen a face like his- deformed, mutated, destroyed- all adjectives that haunt him constantly and follow him around as a permanent description. He's a monster, a freak... though definitely not by choice.

She shifts also in response, stepping forward and pressing her face into the frozen metal bars of his cage to try and see him better. She takes something out of her pocket that appears to be a piece of sweet meat or bread, sticking it out to him through the cage. Famished and hunger consuming him, the boy moves to grab the piece of food swiftly and frantically going back to his shaded place. He lifts the bag slightly above his face to eat, not wanting to frighten the girl as he devoured the bread. He watches the girl cock her head to the side, watching him with a naïve childlike curiosity in her eyes. He's unsure- it's not often that anyone dares to come close enough to the cage to be at arm's reach- most who do are violent, crazy, or leering like his owner and the crowd who come to the see the Devil's Child. Yet, in her eyes, he see's nothing of the sort; only sadness, curiosity, kindness, and warmth. He doesn't dare let himself hope though, not even for a second, that what he sees is honestly what she is- that her eyes will not soon fill with terror and disgust.

It's then that someone steps up beside her, taking one tiny mitted hand away from the bars and into her very large one. If the boy could guess the woman's age he'd say at most she could be thirty five- though in her eyes he sees wisdom far beyond that number.

"Beatrice, darling, what're you doing here? We're getting ready to leave," The woman says.

Bringer of joy!

He finds happiness and pride of himself in knowing the translation of her name. His mind is clever, and he's extremely intelligent- even only having read a few books in his lifetime that he could find while travelling through the fair, he knows much more than anyone else his age would. He often thinks of this fact with great bitterness; if it were not for his face, perhaps he could be most dearly loved. But no, by some great twist of awful fate, he was made as a bug to be trampled on, and murdered much later.

"I... there's a boy... I wanted to see him," Her voice chimes like the sweetest of bells, even at her young age. Her voice is soft, though, and much in need of training.

"Mama... Daddy didn't tell us, but why would they have a boy locked up this way?"

Her eyes look up to her mother with great sadness, and with that expression on her face the boy cannot fathom how her mother says what she does. He expects something to qualm her worry; to make the world seem less terrible than it is. But this is not the case.

"They think he's a monster. A freak of nature..."

Her face becomes even more downcast at this- her eyebrows furrowing together tightly. At six years old, she's not yet wise enough to know the awful way the world works- that most decisions are based on frivolities and shallowness. At twelve himself, and very much old enough to have experienced many of these things, he doesn't have the fortune enough to be unwise.

"...but he's just a boy, and that thinking isn't right, Tris."

She nods, and then without a word steps up to the bars, removing her mittens and lying them right inside the cage, so that he'll definitely be able to take them. Her mother doesn't protest- only takes her hands in hers and kisses them to keep them warm. The girl called Beatrice smiles at this, but then remembers what she just did and frowns.

"I don't think you're a monster." She murmurs softly. "So don't think for a second that everyone's the same, okay?"

The crowd's jeering and screaming was still a fresh imprint on his brain. The boy turns over the words in his mind for a moment, watching her bright smile.

He decides to test what she's just said.

He takes off the sack over his head, and crawls back into the light hesitantly, eyes filled with fear and loneliness. His body is emaciated and ruined with old and fresh cuts, bruises, and scars- and his face, oh, how horrid a face he has. The entire right side of it is deformed beyond measure- his lip is drawn up much too far in a permanent feral snarl, his cheek doesn't form around the bone naturally, and his eye is partially blind; discolored against his left, but no less filled with light and emotion.

She gasps and draws back for a moment, but upon greater scrutiny decides that even with his face so greatly wrong, he still appears young and afraid. In his eyes she's sees all the sadness of the world, and she realized he's just another child like herself. Smiling again, she steps back to the bars, holding out her hand for him to take.

"You have beautiful eyes." Is all she says. Her mother behind her smiles faintly at her courage and kindness, and she feels pride beyond measure. The boy just suddenly feels very, very warm. Reaching out his hand to touch hers, they fail to make contact for even a moment before the fair owner (having just arrived and seeing what was about to occur) pulls her roughly away from the bars, at least a few steps back. Her mother immediately retaliates, ripping the man's hand from her daughter's arm. The boy only shrinks back in his cage for fear that he's soon to receive yet another beating.

"How dare you?! How dare you touch my child?! Get your hands off of her!" She screams.

"But Mam, that boy is dangerous! He's a demon from hell!"

"He's just a boy! I ought to report you for the way he looks- he's hungry and sick- can't you see?"

Tris, at all the fighting, begins to grow afraid and sniffles, and the boy notices, the sound tearing him away from his fear of the fair owner and tormentor. He crawls back up to the front of the cage and motions to get her to come closer. Seeing this, she quietly steps away from the scene, back close to the bars. He smiles faintly at her, gently reaching his hand out and wiping a lone tear from her cheek, shaking his head as if to tell her not to cry.

"Shh..." His voice rasps. "Don't... cry..."

After years of not speaking, he finds it difficult to- but her nodding encourages him.

"What's... your name?" He asks, though he already knows. "Mine is... Eric."

"E-eric?"

He nods, grinning again, and she smiles back at him, brighter than ever before. She opens her mouth to say something in response, but before she can her mother grabs her hand, leading her away from the cage gently, though quickly.

"Come on Tris. We're going to the police. Don't you worry, we'll get him out of there."

Fighting against her hold just a little, Tris turns back to Eric, meeting eyes with him before the fair owner blocks her sight and slaps the boy with full force. Tears flood her redden cheeks as she continues to hear the sharp slapping beatings of hands and a whip. She could hear the grunts and shouts of pain.

Suddenly, as if some unknown force had taken possession of her body, Tris released the hold of her mother's grip, sprinting through the crowded fairground and back into the boy's tent to see the owner putting down the whip and reaching for a club to give the striking blow. Horrified, she ran as fast as her tiny legs would take her into the cage to stop the horrid man, only to be the one to take the blow as she stood in front of the boy called Eric.

It happens all too fast and yet all too slow simultaneously. Tris could hear her mother scream as her small frame and head hits the cold ground hard, her eyes meeting Eric's shocked and frantic grey eyes before her world turns dark. Eric watches the girl for one last time before her hysterical mother gathers her child in her arms and exits the tent in a frenzy.

And that evening, when the famous Prima Donna Natalie Prior and her manager and husband Andrew Prior returns with the police, they find the fair owner dead and that the boy has escaped. The next morning at the hospital when their daughter comes to and they tells her the news, Tris is confused as to why her parents would tell her about the disappearance of a boy whom she had never once seen nor met.