Yup, new fandom. I've had this one-shot brewing for a long time, and I've only just now worked up the courage to post it. It's my first piece for POTO, so please, I'd really love to hear what you think.

WARNING: This is not a happy piece. TW for child endangerment.

I don't own anything. The title comes from "Cherry Wine" by Hozier.

Enjoy.


He knew this would happen.

Distantly, he registers the sound of the child crying, but he can't tear his eyes from the limp arm that dangles off the side of the bed. It's the only sight visible from underneath the bloody sheet, pulled taut over her head. The air is familiar with the rusty smell of blood and sweat, but the knowledge that it's Christine's makes him gag.

His Christine... gone.

The doctor and midwife lie on the floor, necks twisted at unnatural angles. His lasso pools at his feet. I am so sorry, Monsieur, the midwife's voice echoes in his mind, but we did all that we could...

He lost himself when the doctor told him the news, can still feel the white hot rage pulling at the edges of his vision, but the image of Christine's still form is what keeps him from bolting out into the street now to escape. He regrets it, regrets the thought of Christine's sadness and disappointment if she knew, but she doesn't know, and it was their negligence that killed her, and a small part of him whispers that he wishes their deaths had lasted more than a only moment.

The child whimpers in its sleep, tucked inside the bassinet. It's a girl, the midwife's voice whispers, and she survived the birth. The child whimpers again, and his hands slowly curl into fists. He approaches the crib and stares down inside at his wife's murderer.

The baby sleeps, blissfully unaware of the state her father is in. Her right eye socket droops, the curve of her face puckered and ridged — it's a deformity beyond the typical wrinkles of a newborn, a gnarl of veins and skin and protruding bone. She looks like him, and he absolutely loathes it.

It would be a kindness to spare her. To spare her the suffering of what her life would no doubt hold. To spare her of the burden of living as a monster, a sullen corpse, underground. To spare her of living without the love of a mother, of living with him as a father. For what life could he provide her? It could not be a happy one.

He watches, detached, as the child shifts ever so slightly, pursing her lips as if to suckle. She doesn't wake.

It would be a kindness, he decides. Slowly, he stretches out a gloved hand and presses his thumb over the infant's nose. The child jerks its limbs, and he presses down harder.

The child lets out a cry and opens her eyes. He stares back, and they're wide and blue and oh, they're hers.

Startled, he jerks his hand back, watches as Christine's eyes fill up with tears and shut. The child breathes in shakily and wails at the top of her lungs, deformity turned to face him.

Erik watches, ashamed. This last bit of Christine - her last gift to him - and he almost snuffed it out. He stretches out a hand again, this time to comfort, but the child screams even louder, crying for her mother.

Erik bows his head, and he weeps.


(Psst... I pictured the baby as having ALW!Erik's deformity, but the Erik and Christine's blonde hair and blue eyes from either Leroux or Kay. Just if anyone was wondering) :)