AN: Elizabeth & David are the property of Abby the Band Nerd. Arabelle is my OC. The rest belong to the Amnesia franchise.

He had been trapped in that...that...that torture chamber for over a month; it wasn't surprising he came out hair had been shaved, his eyes burned from their sockets, and the scars from his captor covered his body; the cuts, scratches, and bites profoundly noticeable against his sun-depleted skin.

And he wasn't alone. Two more souls has been tortured by the odious woman, even though they had maintained more humanistic appearances and mannerisms. It didn't matter how human or inhuman they were, they all showed some form of duress: they were scarred and starved, bloodied and beaten, tortured and tormented.

The sight of them was gruesome at best. The sheer horror caused Arabelle's heart to beat into her throat. Passer-bys cringed, averting their eyes to try and keep their stomach's contents from projecting onto the cobblestone streets.

One of the men before her, whose arm was covered in bite marks, let out a strangled cry. His distraught voice pierced the night air like a baby's wail. "My Elizabeth! Bring me my Elizabeth! I need her, please! S'il vous plait, bring me my love!" His voice was filled with such pain one would equate Elizabeth with oxygen.

A crowd was forming - on lookers holding their hands over their mouths as they listened to the man's cries of agony. Some people murmured in distaste as the distraught man continued to beg for his return to his beloved Elizabeth. Others turned away in hope that his tortured screams would fade into nothing.

Suddenly, a voice overlapped the chatter of the crowd, a broken cry of disbelief and pleasure. "Malo? Is it you?" A petite figure pushed through the crowd, shoving Arabelle to the side as she staggered forward and caught sight of the famous - and presently deformed - violinist.

He turned to the sound of the honeymilk voice, cocking his head to the side and letting out a gust of air from his lungs. He looked visibly surprised, as if he actually believed his cries had manifested his self-proclaimed love.

"Malo...it's me!" she sounded on the brink of tears as she braved a few steps forward.

"Is it truly you, Elizabeth? No tricks?" he acted as though he was a frightened child, hesitantly closing the gap between them. She took him in her arms, resting her head against his chest as his fingers deftly traced the bridge of her nose. The familiar contours of her body told him all he needed to know. "It is...it truly, truly, is!"

He collapsed into her arms, sobbing like a child reunited with his lost puppy. The sight was too sweet and embarrassing, you almost had to look away.

So Arabelle did, turning instead to study the other two disfigured men. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the ghost of the man she'd loved. She barely recognized him, as his body was covered in bright red wounds, but the telltale scar that stretched from his ear to the apple of his cheek gave his identity away.

Alois - her Alois.

Alois had always been proficient at racquet ball, besting those who'd played the sport twice as long as he had with ease. Arabelle had a difficult time picturing him happy with anything besides tennis, so it fit that the one distinct feature of his had been obtained through the sport. His scar.

Arabelle was as talented at sports as Alois was at court bard. She picked the pen over the racquet any day, seeing as the one time she'd actually tried her hand at racquet she'd ended up injuring the only man she'd ever love.

He was trying to mentor Arabelle in what he dubbed "The Art of Tennis." Trying to being the operative phrase in that statement. When it came to sports, Arabelle just couldn't pick them up. She could swing at the bouncing ball forever and never hit it, all because she was cursed with the passion to write instead of play.

Alois tried to stay calm as he instructed her about the court, stopping every once in awhile to correct her form. He seemed to enjoy teaching her, no matter how pathetic she was at the sport. He laughed good naturedly when she missed the ball, reminding her to line the racket up with the ball before swinging, and went about the lesson.

"Now pay attention. This is going to be soft," Alois called from the other side of the net, bouncing the rubber ball on the pavement a couple of times before throwing it into the air. She kept her eye trained on the ball as his racket hit it in the perfect line right to Arabelle. This was her one chance to show him she had *some* sort of talent at this sport. So she took a swing at it.

For once she was able to hit the ball, sending it back over the net with the kind of speed she never tricked herself into believing she could create. Going along with the ball was the racket she had let go of, flying over the net and hitting Alois across the face, cutting a gash from his ear to the apple of his cheek.

He stood there for a minute, not reacting as the blood came pouring from the gash. He reached up and touched the blood, then looked at his fingertips before blinking several times. "Ow," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh my Heavenly Father, Alois!" Arabelle responded, darting around the net and running over to him. "I am so, so, so, sorry! I didn't mean to, my goodness let me look at it!" she said, instantly grabbing his face and turning it so she could study the damage. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was long, and the blood dripped from it like melting ice. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! It's horrible. I am so sorry, Alois, I didn't mean to let go of the racket!" Arabelle recognized she was beginning to hyperventilate.

Instead of being cross, as Arabelle half expected, he just laughed. And he didn't just chortle, he laughed. He laughed loudly, throwing his head backwards as a shadow of confusion crossed Arabelle's face. "That was an amazing hit, Bells!" he exclaimed, grabbing her into a hug as he ignored the bleeding cut on his face.

"Ok...did I cause brain damage or the like? Because you're bleeding, you should probably get bandages from Madame Lucille!" Arabelle asked as Alois continued to laugh, wondering where someone of his size gained the strength to knock the breath from her lungs with a simple hug.

"I am fine, Arabelle!" Alois smiled as he released her from his death-grip. He rested his palms on her shoulders, smiling as he stared into her eyes. His blue eyes met her hazel ones and, as he reached up to stroke a brown tendril out of her face, he felt a pang in his chest.

"I'm just fine," he whispered.

Alois and Justine's relationship had always been turbulent, that was obvious from the start.

The signs were all there, from his willingness to abandon Arabelle in a heartbeat for the brunette seductress, to give up his career to stay by Justine's side, to desert his family for her dark, damp dungeon. It seemed like simple love, really, but deep down Arabelle knew it was much more dark and twisted than anyone, including his mother and father, could ever imagine.

It wouldn't matter how many doctors they called to have Justine examined, how many police officers they ordered to have her arrested, or how many priests they begged to exorcise their son's rogue lover: Alois would stand beside Justine through it all. And Justine, bless that feminine dog, took that affection and tossed them aside where Arabelle would have gladly scrambled to collect them.

It broke her heart to know her dandelion promise meant nothing to the first, and only, man she would ever truly love.

Arabelle knew Monsieur and Madame Racine wouldn't allow her to visit with Alois, at least not right after his rescue. But that didn't stop her from crossing the gardens every day in bare feet to visit their manor with a freshly picked bouquet of flowers to put in the vase beside his bed.

His eyes were wrapped in bandages, his arms swaddled in gauze, and his head was just starting to grow back the hair that was shaved off by his 'one true love.' However, the worst part was that Alois was unaware of Arabelle's constant presence by his side: stroking the side of his face or holding his hand. But even if he knew it was her at his bedside, she was frightened to know if he would even appreciate it or would just howl for Justine to come to his rescue.

Unfortunately, she had a little...incident at the gallows and would be unavailable for contact. Not that Alois would be too pleased to hear that, nor would he wish to believe it until he saw her lifeless body with his own eyes. But those were no longer usable, thus a perpetual cycle of denial over the 'untimely' end to his love's life.

She remembered what it felt like to be loved by him. To be the one he wanted to hold in his hands, be the one he kissed playfully on the tip of the nose, be the one he was ready to propose to should the topic arise in conversation. It wasn't too long ago, but it felt as if he didn't remember. Part of her suspected he didn't, but the other part of Arabelle made her touch the dandelion ring hanging on the silver chain around her neck and reminded her of the promise he made her as well. That kind of promise, no matter how long ago, was one that would be hard to forget.

"I, Alois Racine, take you, Arabelle Ronaldo, to be my lawfully wedded wife. And with this dandelion ring, I thee wed," the nine-year-old beamed as he slid the weed onto her left ring finger.

"I, Arabelle Ronaldo, take you, Alois Racine, to be my lawfully wedded husband. And with this dandelion ring, I thee wed," she had repeated back to him, sliding his own ring onto the finger.

He leaned down and kissed the eight-year old full on the lips, her first kiss, and they walked arm-in-arm down the makeshift aisle. She was so sure that one day, maybe within the next fifteen years, they would do it all over again for real. But that day never came.

Arabelle still had the ring, dried in a book as an act of preservation, hanging on a plain silver chain around her neck. It was a happy memory, one of her first true memories that she was sure hadn't been altered by someone else's description of the event. But what she remembered the most was what came afterwards, when she returned to her parents and told them how she got married.

Arabelle skipped through the door, humming a merry melody and smiling down at her ring. Her mother was at the piano, playing a faint lullabye, and her father was reading a book, muttering the words almost silently to himself. The young girl was a ray of sunshine, instantly causing her parents to look up.

"What are you smiling about?" her father asked with a dry tone, casually turning the page in the paper as his daughter took a seat on the ottoman, resting on her knees and staring at him with too happy eyes.

"Alois and I got married!" she shouted, holding out her hand for them to admire the ring he had made her. "See?"

She was expecting them to be excited, to be overjoyed, but instead they just laughed. "Silly girl," her father tsked, "You two aren't really married." From the piano, her mother chuckled and returned to playing the lullaby. "It's not legal with the church."

"We are married," Arabelle argued, standing up and placing her hands on her hips. "This is for real!" Ahh, the ignorance of a child in love.

It was six weeks before Arabelle was allowed to spend a prolonged period of time with Alois, who was still recovering from being kept in Justine's basement. Who would have thought one month with that woman would cause damages no one in their town had ever seen before? Certainly not Arabelle.

Arabelle sat on her usual stool beside his four poster, reaching up and stroking the small amount of hair that had grown back. An enormous weight was bearing down on her, a nagging voice popping up in the back of her head. It's my fault he's here, she blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes with this realization. I didn't stop him, I let him chase after that woman like a cocker spaniel. It's my fault, not his. All mine.

Arabelle wanted to pretend Alois would reassure her that it wasn't her fault, but she knew better than to hope for that. Instead he would probably just agree with her, mocking her misery as he wailed for Justine to come and save him from his parents and Arabelle. As if they were the ones holding him hostage in their basement as they tortured him repeatedly and to no end.

She sighed, dropping her hand and placing it on her growling stomach. She had barely eaten in the past month and a half. Maybe an apple here or a sliver of meat pie there, but a full meal with potatoes and roast? That was almost unthinkable - her mind was more concerned with Alois. Especially after what she did to him that drove him into the arms of his angry lover.

Alois never forgave Arabelle for marrying David la Plante. Maybe part of him actually believed their childhood fantasy of marriage would become a reality as Arabelle did at one point, or maybe he was sure David would do to Arabelle what he did to Elizabeth. But it didn't matter why, the look of betrayal when he saw the betrothal ring on her finger was enough to haunt Arabelle for the rest of her days.

"He doesn't love you, you know," Alois said, shaking his head.

"And how do you know that?" Arabelle asked, glaring at him. It wasn't like Alois had ever reciprocated Arabelle's affections. "Have you even spoken a score of words to him?"

"I highly doubt he even knows a score of words."

"And I highly doubt you know anything about love," Arabelle spat, quickening her step. She never heard his response. A faint whisper, his voice cracking in emotional agony:

"I know more than you would think."

"You were right, Alois. He left me. For a rake, no less!" Arabelle's voice raised an octave as she shook the image of David's new wife from her mind. She was a harlot, to say the least. "I'm sorry I never listened to you. I should have...I really should have." She took his hand in hers and gave it a quick squeeze.

"Yes," a feeble voice responded. "You should have, Air."

Arabelle's heart jumped into her throat, beating like a hummingbird's. Was it her imagination? Her memories of his voice haunting her? Or was it real? Alois had never been awake during Arabelle's visits, not that he was awake much even when she wasn't by his side. Since his rescue, his parents had reported he had slept more than he had been awake, having to heal from the torture and starvation he suffered.

"But don't worry. I forgive you."

Definitely not her imagination. Arabelle glanced down, watching as the once sedentary figure pushed himself up on his elbows. He looked too weak to even hold his head, up, yet he managed to push his entire body up and hold it that way for an extended period of time.

Arabelle smiled out of instinct, knowing he couldn't see her, but doing it anyways. He'd always loved her smile, or so he had said, so maybe if she smiled it would make everything alright again.

"And I forgive you for not listening to me about Justine," Arabell smiled. She took his hand in hers and gave it a nourishing squeeze.

"But you were wrong about Justine," Alois said - his voice feeble and cracking as he retracted his hand. "She does love me!"

Arabelle shook her head, sure that she misheard him. "Alois, please tell me you are joking. How could you possibly believe *that woman* is capable of love? Look what she did to you!" Arabelle was speaking in a tone more cross than she had ever used with Alois. "She tortured you, she starved you, she blinded you! How is that love?"

"I was happy to lose my vision for her. I welcomed it!" Alois's voice steadily rose until it was almost a near shout. "And she has shown me her love as I have shown her mine!"

"Giving you free reign to torment a carpenter and violinist does not signify love, Alois. It signifies the mind of a lunatic!" Arabelle's voice was rising now, in volume and octaves. "Can't you see that Justine was a manipulative liar?"

"Don't speak of her that way!" Alois stood up in rage, his voice loud and menacing as he glared in the general direction of Arabelle. His chest was panting as he continued to shout angrily, "Justine is perfect! She's everything a man could want in a woman. Frankly, she's everything you aren't."

His words cut Arabelle like a knife, causing her to raise her hand to her heart and take a moment to collect her bearings before speaking. "You're right. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a psychopath. I'm a human being," she rose to her feet, turning to face the former tennis player with eyes that could kill. "And you are, too. You are nothing like that woman! How can you possibly adorer her? She's insane, but you are plenty sane. At least...you were."

Alois reached out, groping about the air until his hands brushed the fabric of her dress. He continued to feel her body until his hands had firmly grasped her shoulders, squeezing them so tightly she could feel his fingernails digging into her soft flesh through the cotton sleeves.

"Don't speak of her that way! You don't know her! You don't know anything about her!" Alois's voice echoed in Arabelle's ears as he tightened his grip on her shoulders.

"I know what she did to you! I saw you when you came out of her basement. Naked. Starved. You were on the verge of death! How can you say she loves you if she tries to kill you?" Arabelle's voice was louder than she had ever raised it to before. She was both frightened and enraged by how Alois was teaching her, especially as his grip continued to squeeze her more and more.

Alois didn't respond, instead shoving Arabelle back against the wall. His hands moved up to around her neck and continued to squeeze her as she gasped for breath. On the back of her head she could feel a pool of blood forming as her oxygen supply was cut off by the tennis player's rough hands

"Don't you speak about Justine like that. Don't you ever speak about her like that!" Alois continued to squeeze, ignoring the strangled gasps coming from Arabelle.

She could feel her heartbeat quicken, pounding in her chest as she struggled to reach out and touch Alois's chest. She could feel his heart beating steadily beneath his chest, her slightly tanned skin contrasting against his insanely pale skin. Human. He was still human - at least Justine hadn't been able to steal that from him.

"I still love you," Arabelle mouthed, her voice escaping her as her heart pounded harder and harder before finally falling silent.