Phantom of the Opera 1. A Fate Decided

A/N...

Okay...i suppose i have some explaining to do: Iam reposting this under my original penname because i am too lazy to have two accounts. So yes, for those who didnt know, Beautiful Revolution and Belle Resistance were one in the same.

I had created the second account to hide from a few people i did not want to read my story, but i just don't really care anymore. So from now on The Price of Freedom shall be posted under Beautiful Revolution. Okay? Okay.

Thanks for putting up with me, and I shall try to be a bit more sane in the future.

BR

ps... If its not too much of a bother, go ahead and repost comments that you made, or comments you have to this dilemmma i created. Thanks for putting up with me :P

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"Bring her in." 

The crowd parted as the young girl was thrown violently at the feet of the shah. Hushed murmurs spread through the multitude as two eunuchs loomed over her, swords pointed at her bloodstained back to keep her from moving. She lifted herself up from the ground, her cheek stinging where it had hit the marble. Warily she supported herself, the palms of her hands resting heavily on the cool stone of the palace floor as their blades pressed into her flesh. She refused to acknowledge the pain that flooded her senses, not wanting them to have any satisfaction from her agony. Swallowing her tears she resigned herself to the fate that awaited her, knowing that the worst was yet to come.

From behind the shah's throne he watched, leaning into the dark corner to hide from the scene that was preparing to take place before him. She was just one more case for the Glory of the Universe to illustrate his irrefutable judgment, and he could not bring himself to care for the dark musings of a king who had no inclination of what was truly just.

Erik retreated back into the shadows, determined to leave the room and wait for the 'trial' to end. He walked along the far wall, turning a deaf ear to the leers of the decrepit old nobles at the woman now supplicated herself before them all. Nobles. Truly there was never a more paradoxical term in the history of the world. A group of men whose sole purpose in life was to bring about the ruin of those who needed their protection the most, who sought their help only to be turned away. And so he reached out for the door, one gloved hand resting upon the handle. But in that fleeting moment he paused, and made the mistake of looking.

The girl could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen, but her shoulders slumped with the weight of the world and her eyes reflected an understanding that was well beyond her years. She was stunning in her anguish: tattered skirts of faded crimson pooled around her twisted form, matted hair the color of mahogany fell about her face in a veil of indifference, pale skin blanched from pain. From the distance Erik could see that she had been severely beaten; her wrists were bruised and swollen and red patterns trailed across the back of her white bodice. He could not see her eyes, which she obediently kept focused on the floor beneath her. As a woman, to look into the face of the shah was to ask for death.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the great hall, and Erik looked up to see a man enter the room, head held high and a great contemptible grin distorting his face. He recognized him as Mirza Arif Kahn, the cousin to the king and owner of the lands just west of the palace. From what Erik had heard of him he was a man of unquestionable cruelty, and was in the highest favor of the shah who, for reasons unknown to Erik, thought of Arif as a brother.

"King of kings," he humbly bowed before the king, and then, at the beckoning of the shah, rose to stand next to the girl. As he did so his foot intentionally ground into the fragile hand which she used to support herself, bringing her down to the floor once again. Erik saw pain flicker in her eye, but not a sound escaped her lips as she righted herself.

"Well, I must say that these charges are most unfortunate. Such a pretty little bride…it will be a shame for you to loose her, Arif." The shah shook his head as he stared shamelessly at the young woman's body, his meaning obvious as his eyes roamed from the curves of her hips up to her perfect oval face.

"I was hoping, O Great King, that you would be merciful and spare her undeserving life." Erik watched as the girl's head shot up to look at the menacing figure that loomed over her, her eyes filled with hatred and contempt. She quickly turned her head back towards the ground, but her look of derision was not lost to Erik.

The shah laughed, unaccustomed to such a plea from a husband whose wife had been unfaithful to him. "And please, Arif, tell me why I might do that? She has wronged you, shamed your house and your name. She deserves to die. There is no humiliation and death that a whore does not merit."

Erik himself could not believe the request for her life; In Persia a woman was worth nothing, and an adulteress was worth even less. With a quiet sigh Erik turned away from the door and returned to his place behind the king, his back leaning against the wall as his inexorable curiosity defeated his indifference.

He continued to watch her, captivated by her determination to show no emotion. It was as if her soul had been removed from her body. She sat before the king and her husband who were so whimsically deciding her fate, and yet she might as well have been deaf to their arguments. He saw that the dark stains upon her back were spreading and wondered how much more blood she would loose this evening.

"Of course, you are right, my lord. But I am willing to live with her shame and humiliation. She comes from a very respectable family, and I would not want to pollute their honor with the stain of her sin," he looked down at her then, staring at the top of her head as he continued. "Her death would mean immediate excommunication from society for her uncle, and we all know what fate awaits those who fall out of the graces of the community." Her eyes went up to the man before her again, but now there was a disquieting fear that shone in her eyes.

"She is just a woman. There are hundreds more that would be more than happy to take her place."

"I have found that in these past months I have come to care for her very much and would like to keep her in my possession." The shah laughed and looked down at the girl again, whose stony gaze had returned to the marble floor.

"Well," the shah began, "we can certainly see why." A burst of laughter filled the room as every man present responded to the shah's quip. Every man but Arif Kahn and Erik . Both stared at the king, anxiously awaiting his decision. "However, we cannot simply let this go unpunished, by any means." As he spoke he stood, then stepped down from the throne to crouch in front of the girl whose eyes never left the floor. He brought a finger under her chin and delicately lifted her gaze to his, forcing her to look at him. Erik saw then that her eyes were not the dark brown that was usually found in Persian race, but instead blazed emerald green as she stared up at the shah. "Well, if we cannot kill her I simply do not know what to do. Perhaps you should take her to the khanum. She will know the proper punishment for such a deceitful offense." He looked over his shoulder at the shadows behind him. "Don't you agree, Erik?" The shah laughed as the masked man who stood there made no effort to participate in the conversation.

Still laughing, he motioned for the two men who stood over her to take her away and Erik watched as they reached down and each grabbed an arm, forcefully lifting her to her feet and dragging her wordlessly out of the room.

A wave of nausea hit Erik as he thought about the fate that awaited her, and a shudder ran through him as he glared at the shah from the safety of the shadows. To go to the khanum would be worse than death, and a weight of uneasiness settled in his soul for the girl who was now being pulled through the hallways to the door of the king's mother.

The shah returned to his throne, and upon sitting waved impatiently at the man who stood before him. "Be ready to collect your wife in a few days, Arif. I trust that you have sufficient means of accommodating yourself until then?"

"I do, my Lord." Arif turned to leave, but when he reached the door he turned to face the king once more. "My Lord, are you aware of what the khanum will do to her?" The lack of emotion in his voice shook Erik, and he wondered how it was possible for a man to talk of another person so uncaringly.

"How am I to know what tricks she has hidden up her sleeves?" The shah had been staring apathetically at the window, but after a moment looked back towards the court, a slight smirk across his face.

"Why do you ask? Are we suddenly concerned for your wife's chastity?" he mocked

A low chuckle echoed throughout the court and Arif shook his head, his eyes meeting the king's. "Majesty, I couldn't care less what you do to her. All I ask is that you don't touch her face. I will be back in seven days for her, if that suits the khanum's taste?"

"Seven days. I will see you then, cousin."

"Yes, my lord."

"Arif?" the shah called after him. "Would you be so kind as to explain to me why you really want Aminta alive?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders as he pushed the door open, a wolfish grin plastered to his face. "The things we do for love, my lord." And with that, he left the palace, the crack of a whip echoing in his ears.


	2. A Love Conquered

Erik watched Arif Kahn leave, his eyes following his every move until the door closed again, obstructing his view. He looked to the shah, whose attention had returned to the empty flatteries that rained out of the mouths of the insincere masses at his laudable display of justice and mercy.

With a sigh of disgust, Erik walked through the door and left. He passed through the empty halls, following his feet away from the sneering court. As he walked the snap of the whip resounded in his ears, and he stopped walking to listen to the beating being dealt to the young girl. One right after the other, the sound of the strokes of the lash echoed in the hallway and fractured the air around him. But something was missing; something was not right. He listened; a great crack echoed through the halls as leather stripped her body of skin, but then nothing. Silence filled the hallway. Suddenly he realized what was missing, and he felt a wave of nausea ripple through his stomach. The girl did not scream. Erik resumed walking, his feet falling at a faster pace as he fled the inhuman silence that echoed through his mind.

The dank air assaulted her lungs as she fought for breath; the straining pull of her own body tugging at her arms, now bound above her head, left her gasping for air. Waves of excruciating pain spread through her back as the whip tore at her skin. She closed her eyes against the pain, swallowing the screams that clawed at her throat and begged to be released.

She ignored the agony that rippled through her body and forced herself to remember the love she had shared with Jacob. Reliving the past gave her the strength to She thought about her childhood, when she first saw him. She was six, he was eleven. An apprentice to the greatest architect in all of France, he and his master had come following the tide to the home of her uncle, the daroga Sadra Alam. There they began their commission; a new palace was to be constructed in the place of the old, decrepit home where her uncle and his family had lived. As he and the other architects worked, Aminta would stand off to the side, watching them with intense curiosity. She soon began follow the young boy everywhere when he went outside the construction site. He was able to ignore her at first, but her persistence overruled his annoyance and their friendship grew.

Years later, when the palace had been finished, Aminta thought that her heart would break. But a collapse in the interior structure had caused part of the right wing to fall, and in the shower of dust and debris she knew that her love for him arose from the ashes of the destroyed home. Another year passed as new plans were drawn and the wing was re-built. But by then the apprentice had become a master, and Jacob was beginning to work on other small architectural commissions within the town. When the palace was finished, Jacob said goodbye as his fellow masons returned to France, and he remained in Persia. He bought a small home in the middle of town, just outside the open market.

Aminta, under the pretext of finding gifts for her family, would leave the confines of the palace walls and travel to the market to be with Jacob. In those stolen moments, it was as if they were the only people in the world, and they were able to ignore the impending truth - that their love could never be. When Arif Khan asked for her hand in marriage, Aminta felt that her world had ended. But her debt to her uncle prevented her from refusing, and with a heavy heart she left Jacob, weeping for the life she would never have.

She went to her wedding bed as if it were her grave, and spent the first month of her marriage as a ghost, sitting by her window and kneading her skirts between her fingers. But Arif was a demanding man, and refused to let her sulk in the shadows of their home. He sent her out to the market in the company of a servant, and one day while walking through the bustling crowds she felt a great tug at her arm. Thinking it was just another buyer, she ignored it, until a hand grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. Her shock and outrage disappeared as she stared into the face of the Jacob. He pulled her into an alley and kissed her with a hunger and passion that took her breath away. They left the market, ignorant of the bystanders, following the empty back streets to the safety of his abode where they stayed in each other's arms for the rest of the day. When they parted, she promised to return, he promised to wait. And so they continued this way, she going into the market and returning home empty handed, he awaiting her to return with an eagerness that consumed his heart, his soul, his mind.

But the memory of their love brought with it the memory of their downfall. Aminta had known that their affair had to end, and so she had gone to him in the dead of night, to tell him that it was over. How was she to know that Arif had seen her leave, had followed her to the bungalow where she spent so many stolen moments in the embrace of the man to whom she had given her heart when she was a little girl? Why had it happened now? Why, when she had been so close to ending it for good?

Her thoughts were cut short as a searing pain struck her back, and her body swayed with the force of the blow.

She felt a calloused hand grip her jaw and yank her head up as she found herself staring into the face of the captain of the shah's guard.

"Come on, give us a scream."

The whip bit into her back, throwing her into his chest. His hands pulled at her shoulders, pinning her to him. He laughed then, his putrid breath burning her face as he stared down at her. He forced her lips to his, and she straightened her neck, stiffening under his touch. He pulled away and sneered at her, devouring her battered form with his fiendish gaze. His hand found its way around her back, the sweaty palm pressing into her broken flesh. Agonizing pain spread through her like a wave of fire, but she held her tongue and kept her gaze focused beyond his shoulder as he rubbed his foul body against hers.

He kissed her again, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She gagged, grimacing as he crushed her body against his chest, preventing her from escaping. When he finally broke contact, her eyes met his, and he laughed again. Drawing all her strength, Aminta arched her neck and spat in his face. His laughter died, and he removed a hand from her back to wipe the discharge from his cheek. He looked down at his soiled palm, and then to the two green eyes that blazed up at him. He grunted as he brought his hand down hard upon her face, withdrawing his other hand from her back to watch her swing from the force of the hit.

Colored lights flashed in front of Aminta's eyes and her breathing came in haggard gasps as she fought the pain that threatened to steal her consciousness. She opened her eyes again to see him look over her shoulder and give one terse nod, suddenly feeling the tension in her arms loosen as slack was given to the rope that bound her. She fell to the floor, her feet no longer able to support her burdensome weight. Landing on her back, she tensed as white-hot pain consumed her body. She quickly rolled onto her side to relieve the pain, and found herself prostrated before several men.

The captain was at the head of the mass. She watched as his evil grin spread over his rotted face, his hands untying the sash at his waist. When he began moving towards her, she kicked at his shin, causing him to stumble. He stepped back, and laughed as he looked over his shoulder at the men behind him. When his gaze once again settled on her it was too late.

She kicked and thrashed under the weight of their bodies, but there were too many. It was useless. Hands grabbed at her skirts, forcing them up past her thighs and exposing her sex to the ravening men who surrounded her. Clawing fingers pried her legs open, and try as she could, there was no stopping their insatiable hunger.

As they made their way through her, each taking his turn using her body, she prayed to whatever god was watching to give her death. The last thing she remembered before blackness mercifully overtook her was the sneering laugh of the man above her as he withdrew, moving out of the way for the next to have his chance.

Down the empty corridor he ran, until he found himself in front of the room provided to him by the shah. He entered, slowly removed the robes covering his foreign attire and throwing them to the ground as he walked over to the window that overlooked the courtyard. The gardens were in full bloom, and the image of the perfect flowers reminded Erik of the girl he had come here to forget.

_Aminta_.

That is what the shah had called her. The name didn't sound Persian, and from her looks Erik would have guessed her to be to be European. Her skin was paler than that of the Persians, her brown hair held no hint of curl at all, unlike the raven waves of the women in the country. And her eyes. Never were there eyes that burned brighter than hers. Unnaturally green, they held in them an exotic beauty that defied nature.

Erik turned away from the cool air that blew into the room, causing the white muslin that surrounded the windowpanes to dance around him as he made his way to the bed. He sank down onto its satin sheets, slowly running his hands through his hair. What was it about her that affected him so? Why couldn't he just forget about her, push her out of his mind? Why should he care about a woman who whored herself behind her husband's back and was foolish enough to get caught? But no matter how hard he tried, he could not remover her from his thoughts. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was doomed to return to that bastard husband of hers. Truly, to die would be a far more merciful fate than condemning her to a life lived in the servitude of such a monster. And if he had judged her age correctly, then a long life it would be.

A loud knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts, and he quickly strode over to the door. He yanked the door open violently and saw a young eunuch standing before him, staring down at the floor as he addressed Erik.

"The Khanum wishes for your presence. I am to escort you to her as soon as you are ready." His voice was barely more than a whisper, hushed by the rumors that circulated around the masked man who towered before him now. Everyone who entered the palace knew of the mysteries that surrounded the shah's guest, a magician with the voice of an angel and the face of a demon. No one knew how true the rumors were, for not a single person brave enough to try and discover the truth. Except the khanum. She found a primal joy in torturing the young man who hid behind the white leather of a mask, and used his pain to gain the utmost pleasure.

Erik could have guessed that she would call on him. That damned woman never missed an opportunity to ridicule him, and he could hardly expect this occasion to be an exception. He turned from the guard wordlessly, picking up his discarded robes from where they had fallen. Putting them on, he walked out of the room and waited for the boy to close his doors before following him down the empty hallways away from the bedroom.

As they walked, Erik could hear the hollow echo of footsteps out of rhythm with his own coming from the opposite end of the hall. They turned a corner and Erik found himself standing before the massive double doors that lead to the Khanum of Persia, mother to the king and head of the royal harem. The entrance into the room was closed, and Erik nodded to the eunuch to open the door.

As he waited to enter he saw her, battered and bruised, being carried towards him by a guard whose menacing scowl gave Erik insight to the horrors that had occurred behind closed doors.

Her face, once so perfect, was distorted and swollen, dark contusions marring her cheeks. Her clothes had been shredded into strips by the lancing blows of the whip. The bodice of her dress, once as pale as snow, was now splattered with blood and grime, stained to match the crimson hue of her skirts which now hung limply from her inert body. In her weakened condition she could no longer walk, and the man leading her held her up as they made their way down the hall. Erik paused before the door to give the eunuch room to pass, and in that brief moment her eyes found his. He lost himself in her gaze, trapped there by the helplessness in her eyes. But then, as quickly as it had happened, the moment passed, and he found himself standing alone in the hallway staring into the room after her.

He entered, slowly making his way along the walls until he stood halfway between the khanum and the girl, who laid in a mass at the feet of the queen. The room was empty save for the khanum, the girl and himself, and he wondered what horrors the khanum would choose to do in such a private setting.

She did not acknowledge Erik as she watched him enter, her focus turned on the girl before her.

"So this is our dear little Aminta Alam, all grown up?"

The body lying before her stirred, and Erik watched as Aminta slowly pushed herself up onto her elbows. The act seemed to last forever, but she finally succeeded in rising up to her knees before the queen. She kept her eyes to the ground as the khanum rose from her seat at the divan and walked down to circle the young girl. Reaching down, she lifted the girl's face to her own, making a conscious effort to put pressure onto the bruises that blemished her face. But the girl did not flinch, and after a few moments of agonizing pressure the khanum released her, allowing Aminta's face to drop down to the floor again.

"Now I understand why my dear nephew wants to keep you around. I must say that I am not surprised at your unfaithfulness; I always new that there was something in you that Arif could not control, a fire that could not be quelled." Aminta's eyes followed the khanum as she returned to stand before the divan, hatred burning in her every glance.

Erik could now see that the back of her dress was completely gone, torn from her body by the lashes of the whip. Long red welts rose against her skin, and blood encrusted each of the deep lesions. Her shoulders were shaking from the effort of holding herself up, but she continued to support her weight, remaining stoic before the khanum.

The khanum continued to watch Amnita, but after a few moments looked over to the shadows where a white mask glittered as the firelight danced off of it.

"Tell me, Erik, have you ever been in love?" The muscles in his jaw twitched in annoyance at the question presented to him. So this was how it was to be? He made no attempt to reply, and the khanum smiled to herself as he continued to stare at the girl who had now turned her beautiful face to look up at him. Her eyes burned into him, and he felt his legs weaken at their hatred. The anger in her gaze unnerved him, and he lowered his eyes from the intensity with which she assaulted him.

"No? Well, it can have the strangest effect on you." With this, she nodded to the guard, who turned to open the colossal door behind them. Erik turned and watched as a young man, no older than himself, was pulled into the room, his feet trailing behind him as his limp body was dragged by two guards. His trunk was a mass of bruises and swollen cuts, and his back displayed countless lash marks. But his face was untouched, a perfect visage whose features were now distorted with pain.

The girl did not turn around as he entered the room, but instead stared ahead of her, watching the tight-lipped expression of the khanum spread into an unsuppressed sneer. As the young man was brought forward next to the khanum she motioned for them to let him go, and he fell in a battered heap before her. But unlike Amnita he made no attempt to move; the only thing that let Erik know he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the hushed words that he dared to speak.

"You can't hurt us." His whispered statement rang in the ears of all present, and Erik looked down at the man. "We are free from the shah, from Arif, from _you_." He spat out the names like poison.

The khanum laughed, malice tracing her very breath as she returned her stare to Erik.

"It will make you do the strangest things. You fight to keep it, even when you know that fighting is useless." One of the guards nearest the man kicked his enervated form, and a whoosh of air escaped his lips as the force of the blow rolled him over to face the girl who now closed her eyes against the reality playing out before her.

"Isn't that right, Aminta?" The girl opened her eyes to stare up at the khanum. Her glance betrayed nothing, but from the shadows Erik could see her entire body shake, whether with emotion or pain he could not discern.

The stare of the khanum turned malicious, and the wicked grin she had so perfected adorned her face. She continued to stare at Aminta, who had once again returned her eyes to the floor beneath her. As he watched, Erik realized that not once had she looked to the man who lay mere feet before her, to the lover whom her ardor had condemned.

A guard walked behind the khanum to a brazier that stood behind her divan. From it he withdrew a poker whose heated end had been hammered flat, creating a rounded edge which glowed red in his hands. He returned to his place beside the man, and watched the khanum as she began to walk towards Erik.

"You see, Erik?" He turned to face her, his eyes hardened to her question. "Love destroys rationality. It gives those who are confined by it the idea of being above earthly restrictions. They do things that they know they shouldn't because _love,_" she hissed the word into Erik's ear, "will protect them. And if you are saved from condemnation, then there is nothing that one cannot do. It seems that love truly does conquer all."

A wicked smile spread across her face, and she looked back to the two lovers. "Well, _almost_ all."

The man was rolled onto his back, his body arching as his open wounds touched the acidic caresses of the marble. But forceful hands held him down, and he was too weak to fight the men who surrounded him. He slowly turned his head to Aminta, willing her to meet his gaze.

She felt his eyes on her, but refused to look. She could forsake everything and meet her end if she didn't see his anguish, and focused instead on a point on the floor, trying desperately to stop the pain by ignoring the torment that plagued her soul.

But he continued to watch her, and the silent whisper of her name brought her head up from the ground at the same moment that the guard holding the poker brought it down upon the young man's face, searing the flesh of his right cheek.

His screams of agony echoed throughout the hall, and as Erik watched he felt a lead ball sink to the bottom of his stomach. The burning metal was removed from his face, and Erik saw that the perfect countenance he had once possessed was now transformed to a melted mass of burned flesh and tissue. His cheek was gone, completely taken away by the heat of the steel. Every feature of his face had been pulled down, and the skin on his forehead had been removed, exposing the bone. Erik stared down at the ruined face that so vividly mirrored his own. Anger flooded his senses; not at the injustice done to the man before him, but to the blatant act committed by the khanum. The assault to the boy's face was a direct insult against Erik, and with a final glance to the woman standing next to him he walked towards the massive double doors. The screaming had died away, and the only sound that could be heard was the swishing of the robes which fell at Erik's feet.

But a gasping breath broke the silence, and Erik stopped walking as all eyes turned to the broken man that lay before them all. His head had once again turned to the girl, his perfect cheek pressed into the cold floor leaving her to stare at the mutilated flesh that had become his face. "I…I'm…sss…" he sighed, fighting for air. "Sss..o…ssosoorry." Erik looked at Aminta and watched as a single tear traced a path down her blood-smeared face, her stoic resolve shattered by the pain that now destroyed her heart, her soul, her mind.

"Look," the khanum chanted, seeing the will of the young girl shatter, "the infidel's whore has a heart after all."

Aminta watched as Jacob's chest rose and fell in long, labored breaths. His eyes closed against the pain, and she knew that in those final moments, as close to death as he was, the torture was not over for him. The khanum would not be finished until his last gasping breath was taken, filled and distorted with anguish and suffering.

"Erik?" His back straightened as the khanum called after him, "Shall we send her to you when we have finished?" With one final glance at the doomed lovers, Erik pushed through the doors and left the room, the laughter of the khanum filling the hallway

Walking away, Erik ran a trembling hand through his hair and took a long, haggard sigh. He told himself to let it go, to forget. The khanum had done worse things to him before, and she would do worse things to him in the future. But the look in the girl's eye as she stared into the man's destroyed face was his undoing, and once again he fled to his room. But as he continued, an unearthly scream echoed through the palace. In it Erik heard all the sadness of the world, emotions so strong that words did not exist to describe the agony it held. Erik stood, rooted to the mosaic tiling beneath him as an echo of the immense heartbreak of a young woman who had lost it all resounded through his mind.

It was the first time he had heard her voice.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Angst, Romance