(I own only plot, not the rhyme sung in the chapter, not the characters apart from my OCs, not one bit.)

A/N: New chapter! Yayayay! Enjoy. Thank you to all my magpies for everything you've done to keep my inspiration and encouraging me to write. You're all brilliant and I love you all. (To SibunaMockingjay: I have heard rumours about it happening, rumours about it not happening. I'm unfortunately incapable of confirming or denying, sorry, my dear magpie. And it's my life, too. ;) I hope you enjoy this chapter.) This is set a month before Rosalee's first birthday. (P.S. Everything in brackets and italics (italics) are thoughts.)

*Rosalee's POV*

"Jasper, love, where did you put the pink confetti?" Mummy shouts from the kitchen.

Daddy is playing lion, chasing me around the living room. "Top shelf of the cupboard, love!" he calls back to Mummy, then sits up, groaning. "I'm getting too old for this..."

I crawl up to him and smile. "Dada?"

He picks me up and kisses my cheeks, then says "Baby girl. Listen, Dada has to stop playing for a while now."

"Why?" I ask, upset now.

"Aww, don't look so sad, baby girl. It's just because Daddy's getting to be an old man and crawling about is for little babies like you. We'll play again later." I nod and snuggle in his arms. I don't like it when either Daddy or Mummy get hurt. It's not nice. I start to hum the pretty rhyme Mummy sings to me. Daddy kisses my cheek and asks "Will you sing that for me, sweetie?"

I'm not a talented singer, not like Mummy or Daddy, but I can remember pretty tunes. I'm not much good at this, so I take a deep, deep breath, like Mummy instructs, then start. "Oranges and lemons/ Say the bells of St. Clement's/ You owe me five farthings/ Say the bells of St. Martin's/ When will you pay me?/ Say the bells of Old Bailey/ When I grow rich/ Say the bells of Shoreditch/ When will that be/ Say the bells of Stepney/ I'm sure I don't know/ Says the great bell at Bow." I repeat the verse again, just like Mummy, though I know my speech is hopeless. I know the tune, I know the words. Getting them out is hard. Then I finish the last bit: "Here comes a candle/ To light you to bed/ And here comes a chopper/ To chop off your head."

Daddy shudders at that bit. "You're a talented little singer. Your mother, however, needs to understand that she's a morbid old-"

"I'm a morbid old what?" Mummy asks, her voice stern, but I can hear her giggles hiding.

"That's not what I meant, love. I'm sure you misheard."

"Go on, then. What did you actually say?"

I know and Daddy knows that she's teasing. He quickly blurts out "A gorgeous, golden angel with the mothering skills of the Holy Spirit."

She nods, then grins. "Nice save, lovie. Now tell me the truth of what you were calling me."

"Okay. You're a morbid old sad sack. Who teaches an eleven months old child a song like that?"

Mummy raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "I do. It's a nursery rhyme."

"A chopper to chop off your head? Honey, what sort of nursery rhyme is that?"

She bites her lip. "I suppose it's a bit dark, but our little love doesn't understand."

Doesn't understand? Mummy, you're talking about me here. I know! I know about the sun being a ball of fire circling our planet! I know what you mean when you're telling Daddy he's being daft! I think I remember being a tall, pretty, pale girl with black hair once... Ooh, my chest hurts! I squeal in pain and Daddy asks "What's wrong, baby?"

Mummy crouches next to me as I point to the sore spot. "Does it hurt, babykins?" Mummy asks.

I nod, sobbing. Daddy calls the hospital while Mummy wraps her arms around us both. I don't get why it hurts!

I lie on the bed in the doctor's room and the doctor has a look. I look past him and see the pretty blonde girl who lives in our house. She says "It's alright, Rosalee, don't worry. It's not a problem with you, it's me. I tugged the wound and it must have vibrated to you. You're going to be fine."

Whatever she means, I don't know. Daddy asks, sounding sick, "What's the matter with her?"

"Nothing," the doctor replies, sounding truly stumped. "She's physically just fine."

"She was screaming in pain and you're telling me that she's okay? I know my own daughter, doctor. I don't care about profits or whatever it is the system wants, I care about my baby. I want an honest answer to my question. What is wrong with our little child?" Mummy demands, looking scared and furious.

The doctor looks at her, terrified. "I promise you, Mrs Choudhary, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your baby. I've no reason to lie. I have four children of my own at home. I wouldn't lie about their health, I wouldn't want to be lied to about their health. Why would I lie about your child's health when I wouldn't have it done to me?"

Mummy snatches me and snaps "If she's alright, then explain her chest pain!"

The lovely, beautiful blonde girl says "Point to me and tell them it was me."

I point in her direction and say "Her." Too obedient for my own good. She smiles and that's the start of it all.

And that was chapter eleven. Hope this was good enough. Thanks to all for the reviews and favourites and follows and for keeping this story alive.

Song quote of the day: Lost in the prescription/ She's got something else in mind/ Check into the Hotel Bella Muerte. ~The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You, My Chemical Romance.

Until next time, hugs for everyone! C. xx