Thank you for continuing to read my story!

Disclaimer: I have changed details of Erik's past from the original Kay material.

Note: I listened to "Casper's Lullaby" while writing this. Do not listen to that song while reading this chapter. I cried. Why did I do this to myself?

Anyway...

Enjoy!

Erik

Chapter 17

The Nanny

When I was five years old, there were only two people in the world who even remotely cared about me.

My golden spaniel Sasha.

And my nanny Marie Perrault.

When my mother - by blood only - left the house to go for her daily walks through Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville, Marie brought me from my bedroom to the grand piano in the large house's parlor. She sat me down and taught me to play. And she would sing - teaching me to do that, too. She wasn't pretty. Not at all. But her voice was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.

We were similar in that way. Neither appealing to the eye, but able to bring kingdoms down with only a song.

I learned quickly. I learned everything quickly. And I worked extra hard to be a good student for Marie - for anytime I played the piano or sung perfectly, she would smile at me and kiss me on the top of the head. It was my favorite part of the day - that single reward kiss.

It was also the only time of day when I wasn't required to wear my mask. Even in my room, my mother demanded that I wear it. But when she was out, Marie kept the mask on the surface of the piano - near enough to reach if we heard the front door open but far enough away that it was out of sight and mind.

Sasha sat right behind us, listening, wagging her tail and panting anytime either of us turned around to acknowledge and pet her.

When Marie taught me a new song, she always modeled it first - showing me where to place my hands and how to move them; how to move my throat and tongue as well to sing. I admired her while she made music. She was my mother's age - twenty-four - and had lost a baby while I was still in my mother's belly. My mother hired her to be a wet-nurse for me; and, when she saw me, my face of death, she was reminded of her own dead child. She agreed to nanny me when I'd outgrown milk.

My morbid appearance made her immediately attached to me. She said it was a sign that her son was in Heaven - even naming me after him when my mother never bothered. Erik. It made me feel less guilty about looking the way I did.

Because, really, it was my fault my mother had no friends. It wasn't Marie who told me this, but my mother herself. She said often that if I had been born normal, she could be a socialite as she'd been before. But rumors spread quickly in small towns - no one wanted to associate with the woman who'd birthed a gargoyle, and no one would buy the house where a monster slept. Now she was forced to be a hermit, with only a low-bred nanny and a demon-child for company. I prayed sometimes that I'd wake up and look like a normal boy, but my prayers were never answered.

"Erik, it's your turn, love."

I turned to Marie, wide-eyed. I'd been too lost in thought.

I didn't know what to play.

Now I wouldn't get a kiss.

She smiled slightly. "Were you not paying attention?"

"I wasn't," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Marie brought her arm around me and held me a bit closer. "Watch again."

And this time, I did pay attention. I wanted that kiss.

When she finished the song, I played it near-perfectly. Marie always marveled at that talent - the ability to see and hear a song played once and match it immediately, without needing it repeated. This hour made music the best part of my life.

My absolute favorite thing.

And I knew, even as a child, that if were to ever fall in love with a girl, it would happen through music.

The hour always came to an end sooner than I wished it to.

My mother returned home, and with her arrival came the need to don my mask and go to my room with Marie.

She read with me for several hours more, teaching me how to write as well. She'd told me that she hadn't always been in a lower class - she'd once been well-off, but was disowned when she fell for a poor man. The man died the same way her baby did - illness; leaving her alone and in need of work. But she'd been left with ladylike skills - literacy and piano-playing. She said sometimes that she was blessed for it - that God made it so because now she was able to teach me these abilities. My mother would never have done it.

"Marie?" I stopped her in the middle of her reading.

"Yes, Erik?"

We were laying on her bed - she shared a room with me - and I was playing with one of the buttons on my sleep-clothes.

"I have a question," I said.

"What is it, love?"

I looked at her. "If my mother doesn't want us around, why doesn't she just leave?"

She closed the book, placed it on the nightstand, and put an arm around me. "Because this is her house. It became her house when your father died."

"He died before I was born," I said, almost on instinct. My mother repeated the story so many times - how my growth in her stomach caused my father to die. That I was that much of a curse.

"Yes." Marie put her warm hand on my thin arm. "He did."

"Well, then..." I pondered. "Why doesn't she want us to leave?"

Because Marie had suggested that before - that she take me to live somewhere else. But my mother refused - always refused. She claimed that she'd have Marie arrested for kidnapping if she tried to leave her behind with no one. And she would have no one. Having brought me into the world, she was just as cursed.

"Because she's lonely," Marie whispered. "She says she doesn't want us here, but if we left, she would be sad."

I continued playing with the button, looking at my too-long fingers as I did. "But she's sad now too."

There was a pause, the only sound Sasha softly snoring on the rug below. Then, a whisper from Marie: "Are you sad, Erik?"

I had to think about it. "Only when you're not here."

"I only ever leave to go shopping."

"And that's when I'm sad."

Her arm tightened around me a bit, and I moved my head closer to rest against her shoulder.

After a time, she reached past me and to a small compact mirror on the bedside table. I knew what was about to happen and groaned in protest.

"We have to, Erik." She kissed my temple. "Every night, baby."

I gave one single kick into the air, bringing my foot down forcefully. "But I hate it!"

"I know, and that's why we need to." She brought the mask off of my face, opened the compact mirror, and held it so that I could see my own reflection. I cringed and closed my eyes.

"No..." I moaned.

A harsh knock on the door, and then my mother's voice: "Quiet!"

"Yes, Madame." We were both silent as her footsteps disappeared down the hall. Marie sighed. "Erik," she chided gently. "Love, you were doing so well with this. What happened?"

I shook my head.

"Was it your mother?" she asked softly.

I nodded.

"Did she say something to you?"

I nodded again.

Her voice took on an edge. "What did she say?"

"She said I look like the Devil," I whispered. "And that she hates my face more than anything."

Marie sighed harshly. She gave me an extra-long kiss against my hair, giving me the will to open my eyes again. I avoided the mirror.

"Erik," she said, "please look at your reflection."

I didn't want to disobey her, so I obliged. I felt sick at the sight.

"Say what we always say."

"I can't," I breathed. Because the words weren't true. They were a lie.

"Then repeat the words after me." She turned her head so that her mouth was near my ear and whispered, "I am good."

"I am good," I said. A lie.

"I am handsome."

I shook my head.

"Erik."

"Iamhandsome," I said quickly, smashing the words together so that they came out like a bandage being ripped off of tender flesh.

"I deserve to be loved," she finished.

I swallowed. A lie. A lie. A lie. "I deserve to be loved."