Hannah proved to be a steadfast and good nurse. Old as she was, she rarely became ill, and never seriously so. The baby was a sweet thing and gave her little trouble. His disposition was serious and quiet; she frequently found him lying silently in his crib, staring solemnly out through the bars with an unnatural intelligence gleaming in his deep gold-and-green eyes. Hannah was not romantically-minded in the least, but those eyes called up thoughts of secrets and old magic. They gave the thin, deformed child his only beauty.

Hannah lifted him from the crib one day and gazed deeply into his eyes, ignoring the rest of his face. After a moment, the wriggly six-month-old smiled and grabbed her nose.

"Little scamp!" she exclaimed, laughing. She very gently shook him from side to side, "You let go of old Hannah's nose, you little…" The tiny, gentle hand moved from her nose to her lips. Her voice trailed off and she hugged the child to her withered bosom. "Poor little thing…" she whispered.

Six months had passed and his mother had not yet visited the nursery. No name had ever been given to the baby. It was this thought that now brought sorrow to the kindly woman's heart and tears to her eyes. She set the baby on the ground and watched as he moved from a rocking motion to a crawl, moving slowly but determinedly towards the faded wooden toys Hannah had brought him from her home. They had belonged to her children, their children, and their children's children. She figured that they would be good enough for the little Valliere boy.

He played with them for a little while, and she noticed how strong and sure his movements were for such a little baby. "If that woman will not give you a name, I will." She scooped him up off the floor and kissed his ruined forehead. "I name you Erik. It was my father's name – it means 'ever-powerful'. It will give you strength…" Erik stared intently at her. She could have sworn the baby understood every word she was saying. "…and you will need all of that you can get."

Under Hannah's tender ministrations, Erik grew healthy and strong. He spoke at the age of eight months, walked barely two months later, and suddenly Hannah found she had her hands full. The inquisitive, intelligent toddler dashed everywhere and got into everything. She could not recall any of her grandchildren or children being so clever at such a young age. Soon, it was clear that he would need diversions beyond what the empty nursery could offer. She began to teach him his alphabet, his colors, and his numbers. He would learn them and look up at her, saying "More? More!" in his strident little baby-voice.

It seemed that nothing would satisfy his insatiable need to learn until the day she reached her wits end and began singing to him in the hopes he would be distracted for a little while.

"Fais dodo, Colas mon p'tit frère
Fais dodo, t'auras du lolo
Maman est en haut
Qui fait des gateauxt."

The sixteen-month-old toddler was staring at her with wide eyes. When she paused for breath, he opened his mouth and repeated back to her what she had just sung. The words were a little garbled, but the tune was perfect.

"Mon dieu…" she murmured, staring at him in blank wonder.

In that moment, Hannah ceased to pity her charge and learned to love him. After putting Erik down for his nap, Hannah gathered her skirts and her courage and marched dutifully down to the Duchess's sitting room. Margot was entertaining two Ladies from a neighboring duchy. She cast an annoyed glance at the old nursemaid.

"Well, what is it?"

Hannah curtsied to the ladies and murmured, "It is that small issue in the other wing, Madame."

"Can it not wait?" Margot looked pointedly at her guests.

"Yes, I suppose it can, Madame. It is not really that important." Hannah curtsied and retreated. She was glad the woman had not shown any interest. It seemed far better to her that Erik's great gift remain a secret.

As Erik grew, his genius blossomed along with him. Hannah did her best, but rumors of a little demon living in the closed-off wing of the house. Hannah took care that Erik should not learn of these cruel comments – or their source. As Erik grew older, she put a ban on any reflective surfaces, even polished cutlery was outlawed from the nursery. The other servants would bring their food and other supplies to the far door at the back wing of the house and leave them, sneaking peeks whenever they could, then dash away in fear. They respected the old woman, but whispered that she must have poor eyesight indeed to stay with such a little horror.

In truth, Hannah could see well enough to note the marked and worsening deformities of her young charge's face. For the first two years she hoped, but by his third year she had accepted that his hair would never grow in anything other than sparse, scraggly, anemic strands. Instead of frightening her, it only saddened her. She knew this boy, and knew how unwarranted any fear of him was. If only her feeble son's normal face could have contained a portion of this child's mind and spirit!

In the Spring of Erik's fourth year, The Duchess de Valliere visited the nursery for the first time. The servants had begun to complain that the demon-child would sometimes appear running through the halls. They were sure he would curse them with the evil eyes. To prevent a staff mutiny, she brought her son a 'gift'.

Hannah sat in her rocking chair and watched wordlessly. It was not her place to interfere.

"Come here," Hannah did not move, so Erik guessed that the command was addressed to him. He stood before her, staring up at her flowing dress, delicate ringlets, and pretty face. She smelled like lavender. To the small boy who had seen nothing but old women and raw-boned servant women all his life, she seemed a faerie-queen.

Margot extended her thin, white hand which held a folded piece of white silk. "Take it," she urged, bracing herself for the inevitable moment when her hideous offspring's flesh would brush hers. She shivered in revulsion and then spoke.

"Never appear before me, or any servant of this house, without this. I will not suffer the sight, nor would I ask my servants to do so." She swept away, leaving the scent of lavender behind.

Four-year old Erik stared after her for a few seconds, before bursting into tears. He had read many stories, and Hannah had told him many more. In all the stories, mothers loved their sons, no matter what. From what he had been told, that pretty Lady was his mother, but he had seen no hint of love in her face. She had even told him why – he was too ugly to be loved. Hannah tried to console him, but from that moment forth he would not remove the mask, even for her.