Marjorie sat at her piano, only playing a simple melody. She was much too distracted by thought to play anything complex. She gazed out the window, watching the empty streets. Rain had come, washing away what was left of the snow. She knew it was the last of the snow she would see until the next winter, which, for some reason, made her unreasonably sad. Maybe it was silly, but it almost made her want to cry.

Erik sat down beside her on the bench, placing a teacup in front of her. He watched as she gazed out the window. "What are you thinking about?"

"Where are we going to live?" She turned to look at him, her hands falling from the keys. She had worried about this for some time, but she realized just how soon she would have to figure this out. After all, they only had a few short months before they would have a baby to care for.

He ran his hand over his face. It looked like he didn't have any idea either. "What about here?"

"But you won't want to stay here. And how would you get to the opera house? You can't just walk down the street. They only way you've been getting here in the first place is during the night. And what about watching over the managers? The cast? You can't give that up."

He rubbed his neck. "Then I suppose we could live there. I have plenty of space to make room."

"But is that really a place to raise a child? I mean, I love that place with all my heart, but would it even work? And it's damp. That can't be good for a baby's lungs. Much less ours."

"I wouldn't dare confine a child to that place like I've been. What about Nice? Or even America? Rome? We don't have to stay in France if you don't want to. We can start a whole new life."

"I can't leave Paris, Erik." Her eyes grew a little damp. "This is my home. I've lived here my entire life. My parents are buried here. That's why I didn't go with my brothers."

"Don't be upset. We don't have to leave if you don't want to. I was just saying ideas. I only want what you want." He tucked a curl behind her ear.

"But I don't even know what I want. I don't know what to do, Erik. I never even thought I'd have to worry about this. I never thought I'd even get married, much less worry about a home. I had always assumed I'd just stay here until I died. But I don't even have time to run the bakery anymore. I'm always at practice or with you. But I can't give it up. It was my parents'. I have to keep it alive for them."

"But think about this, Marjorie, would you parents rather want you to keep the bakery running or for you to be happy? I remember you telling me how much your father wanted you to follow your dream at the opera."

"But that was before he got sick, Erik. And before the Populaire burnt down. Papa didn't know he would be dead before I got to work there. He always assumed he would run the bakery and I would play the piano. Eventually I'd find a fetching husband who would take care of me and I'd live with him. And when Papa was old, like he planned to become, he gave the bakery to Lucien and Charlotte. But when Papa actually died Charlotte had babies to care for and they already had the perfect aristocratic life in Nice and I was still alone in Paris. I had to take care of it myself. How else would I survive on my own? They let go of the end of their rope and I'm still left flailing. I didn't sign up for this, Erik."

"Your parents would want you to be happy, Marjorie."

"But that's my problem. I can't be happy either way I choose. I love this place, and I love baking, but it's so difficult. I want to live my own life and be free. But I want this place to live on. I don't want to have to be tied down. I want to leave. But I love it too much to do that. I'm torn. It's pulling me thin and I don't know what to do. I know I belong here, but I belong at the opera, too."

"You don't have to decide right this instant. We can give it time. We can think of more ideas. But the choice is yours to make, Marjorie. Don't let me hold you back. It will be our home, but all I want is for you to be happy."

"Alright." She looked down into the teacup, as if the answer might be somewhere hidden in the drink. All she could see was her frown reflecting back at her. They drank the tea in silence, listening to the rain hitting the window pane. She sat down her cup and stared at the keys. "Do you think we'll make good parents?"

"I don't know." He sat in silence for a long time. "I know you will be a perfect mother."

"But you don't think you'll be a good father?"

"No."

"I think you will be." She leaned against his shoulder. "You're good with the people you love. You give everything to the people you care about."

"I make so many mistakes with those people too."

"But everyone makes mistakes. And besides, even when you make mistakes, it's because you tried your best to help someone. You're so fiercely protective. You'd do anything for those select few. I see it with me. I see it with Antoinette. I even saw it when it was still Christine. Sometimes I still see it in her. Always when she sings. I know how badly you want them to have the success you think you can't get yourself. You only want the best for them."

He sat in silence. It was uncomfortable, unlike the usual quietness they shared. She couldn't see his expression, his face hidden by his mask. He stared at the piano keys. "I'm sorry I can't be the perfection you truly deserve."

"What? No, no, Erik. You know that's not what I mean."

"But it's what I mean. I could never give our child a normal life because I'm not normal. I don't know what to be for a child. I never was a child. I was young, simpler, but I never got to be a child. The only child I've ever known lived in circumstances much too adult for him, just as I had. His name was Reza. He was Nadir's son."

"Was?"

"Yes. I had to...well, he passed away, long ago. He was sick with a disease. He lost his eyesight, and his muscles deteriorated. I tried my hardest to save him, but there was no cure. At least none that I had time to find. I tried my hardest to preserve his spirit, then. If not for his sake, mine. Although I have to think I did for him. I made him the most wonderful toys. Whatever I could do. I would sing, tell stories, do magic tricks. There was this little clockwork man who would play the violin. He would only play again if you applauded..."

His eyes were distant and he had fallen silent again. The boy had been very dear to him, that was apparent. It was difficult to understand the level their relationship was on. It wasn't fatherly or friendly. Perhaps Erik had seen a glimpse of himself in the child, afflicted in a way that couldn't be helped. He had given him everything he could to keep him from suffering.

He sucked in a breath then, realizing he had been lost in thought. "I'm sorry, I just..." He shook his head and took in another breath. "The child had gotten to a point where he would only listen to me. I was a bad influence on him, I suppose. I had stolen the Shah's cat, Ayesha, to please him. It was a truly idiotic thing, it could have been all of our heads. I was terribly foolish, but I just wanted the child's happiness, especially since death had been so near. He almost worshiped me, as childhood adorations often do. But with his life being so short, it made me realize just how dangerous I had become.

"I spent two months with Reza. Painting him the most beautiful world I could have ever created. The world I had imagined as a boy. I spent day in and day out with the boy, giving him as much time with the beauty as I could manage. The night he...passed... I spent alone with him. I read from the Quran in his last moments of life. I reminded him of the beauty we had created together. I believed I had saved Nadir from bearing the burden of..." His voice drifted off again, a cold calmness in the room. "I know he has still never forgiven me for stealing his child from him."

They sat in silence for a long time. Erik kept his eyes closed, memories passing through his head, he sat as stiff as a statue. Finally she spoke up, keeping her voice quiet. "I think you will be a wonderful father, Erik."