Thanks for the reviews! You have truly made my night!

I seem to be getting better at this formatting thing.

Oh, and...

NewBornPhantatic: I sort of went along with the fan art versions of Erik as a baby, along with the book description. Also, I have never seen the 1988 Phantom...not so much into horror (oh, the horror!). Which explains why I'm taking a more emotional approach to this story. EEK.

L.L. : I was waiting for a story like this too! Sadly, I never found one... so I decided to write my own :)

Dislaimer: I own some really cool crap. But no copyrights. Those belong to Kay.

And now, on with the show...er, story.

I neither gasped nor screamed. The sound that issued from my lips was more a yell of horror, much like one might utter after burning their hand on a hot stove. As promised, the baby woke and began to cry. Usually, there is no distinct emotion in a baby's cry. This child, however, gave a long, sorrowful wail that pierced the silence. It broke my heart.

"Oh, God…" I breathed, and crossed myself before peering into the cradle again. His sunken, skeletal face was contorted as he wailed. His eyes were sunken deep in the sockets and tears flowed down the sides of his face.

"I don't envy you," Madame said before she left the room, leaving me alone with the child.

I had become nursemaid to something truly not of this earth

However horrible he was, I could not bring myself to hate him. I eventually gathered my courage and picked him up to comfort him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as I drew him close.

"Shh," I soothed. "It's all right. I'm sorry." I don't know why I felt the need to say it. What I did know was that little Erik was not a monster, just a small, neglected child who needed love and attention. From what I could see, his mother gave him neither. She had complained of him crying and claimed he only did when he was hungry. I had been in this house for less than an hour and already I could see that none of his needs were met. He was unclothed save his mask and a diaper that was fastened with straight pins and looked as though it hadn't been changed for days. His back was covered in a rash from lying unmoved in the cradle day and night. Beneath the mask, raw patches of skin bled and scabbed over. I could not begin to imagine the pain he was in.

Aside from that, the cradle itself was filthy. The linens gave off the unholiest of smells and were stained with blood and urine, and something else that may have been vomit. It was no wonder Erik was ill and thin, if he spent all his days in that. I would not stand for this. Outraged, I stormed down the stairs to confront Madeleine.

I found her sitting comfortably on the divan, fanning herself and reading a book, with the dog under her footstool.

"Madame," I began. "Are you aware that your son has a terrible rash? And that his bed linens have gone unchanged for God knows how long, and that he has been sitting in his own excrement?"

At the last word, she cringed and replied, "He is no longer my concern."

"Who had been taking care of him until I arrived?"

"Marie generally does. But she has been away this week and I cannot bring myself to go near him." She sniffed and took a sip of her drink that was on the side table. This woman disgusted me unduly.

A blind fury overcame me, and I could not disguise the anger in my voice. "Madame, he is an infant. He cannot care for himself."

"You'll forgive me if I was under the impression that was your duty now." She sneered. Clearly, she failed to understand my point. Father Mansart had been right in that she was concerned only with beauty, but I had not expected this. She was not only vain and superficial, but uncaring and cold as well. I had the feeling she committed all of the seven deadly sins on a daily basis.

"Very well. And if I am to begin my duties, the least you could do is show me where things are in this house. A washtub, for instance. Surely you have one. And bed linens, diapers, and Erik's clothes."

She twisted her mouth in an irritated fashion. "You'll find a copper washtub in the scullery. Linens, in the wardrobe at the end of the corridor upstairs. As for Erik's clothes…he has none but the mask. I must have overlooked them."

It was nearly winter and the attic was frigid. He would need clothes and soon. I and my mediocre sewing skills would have to provide them, it seemed. After my exchange with the infuriating mistress of the house, I set about fetching what I needed. A blanket I found in the wardrobe would have to serve as a garment for the time being.

I lugged five kettles of warm water up to the attic and filled the washtub, changed the bed linens, and set about bathing Erik. He remained silent and calm as I gently rubbed his skin with mild soap and a soft cloth. He was strangely cold to the touch, but it was almost freezing up here. Frost gathered on the windowpanes as an icy wind blew. Erik waved his arms about and splashed in the water. When I removed him from the tub to dry him, he wrapped his little arms around my neck and cooed. Perhaps it was because this was possibly the first time he had ever smiled in his life, but I knew at that moment that I loved this little boy.

Aww, bonding time!

Yeah, it's fluffy and cute. But who doesn't need a little of that once in awhile?

I tried to make baby Erik endearing...does it work?

And Madeleine just...ugh. At least we have Orianne to put her in her place :)

as usual, reviews appreciated!