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Bran Wilder {The Phantom} (lemortvivant) wrote in bellumlogs,

Bran kept backing up until his back hit the stage wall, feeling more and more like a cornered animal. He turned so his back was facing the pit and tried to find some kind of opening, his fingers trailing down the useless wood. "Why?" He turned towards Lotte, not bothering to cover his scars. "Why?" His laughter was mirthless, even desperate, as he forced himself to meet her eyes. "I couldn't tell you the truth. You were afraid, and there were flyers all over the place, like Erik was a terrorist or something. He's just a man and you all talk about him like... like he's a monster; worse than Dracula." Bran shook his head. "Would you have looked at me the same, if you knew? Would you have kept my identity a secret? Not that it matters now," he added, casting a furious glance at the plaque.

When Ella spoke, Bran felt his hackles rise, but he managed to keep from snapping back at her. No one was innocent; didn't she realize that by now? "I don't attack innocent women. I've never attacked anyone - you don't know anything about me, so what gives you the right to fling accusations like that?" In his mind he wasn't lying - what he did, he did for a reason. There was a purpose to all of it. He didn't kill or torture for pleasure or for thrills - he did it to leave impressions, to teach lessons, to give people what they deserved. Bran had taken enough of that over the years, so why not start giving it back?

He turned back to Lotte, considering her whispered question. "No one," he said finally, his voice too low for the other two to hear. "I'm no one, but the first thing anyone ever called me was Bran, if that's what you mean." What was the point of hiding it anymore?