A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! Sorry the updates are coming a little slower, I'm in production for a show, but I will try to keep things fairly regular. :-) Please keep all comments and reviews coming...if it was not clear in the notes on thelast entry, I did not mean Erik went to boarding school...Charles (Raoul's son) did. :-) Hope that clears it up!

Charles

I'm not sure when little Charles figured out his deformity, I was going to tell him, but realized one day that he must have done it by himself. He's stopped asking certain questions and I notice that he no longer has this odd fascination with my locked bedroom door, which suggests to me he has learned to pick locks. I'm not sure where he gets this cunning streak from, but it certainly keeps Father and me on our toes! I keep waiting for him to ask me something about it, but he never does.

"I think you should talk to him about it," Father said to me one night after I had returned from a concert. Charles had just had his seventh birthday and was thrilled not just with his presents but the allowance to stay up an extra half hour, though he was in bed by the time I got home. Father said he usually either wanted to read to him, read on his own or draw. I knew he did not tell me all the times Charles wanted to, or did, dismantle something or threw a fit; he doted on that boy and was in danger of spoiling him, not that I complained.

"I think he already knows," I replied.

"Of course he knows, which is why you need to talk to him about it!" I hadn't considered that would be so important, but Father was right, I couldn't have my son thinking I was keeping something from him. It was yet another thing I hadn't counted on as a parent, but I never claimed to be expert at it.

"How did the concert go?" Father continued, as we sat down in the parlor.

"Very well," I said. "They want me to go on the road next year, but I'm not sure if I should." Father paused, contemplating it.

"I could always watch Charles," he said.

"I am grateful, Father, but I don't think I could leave him," I said truthfully. It was something I needed to consider. The boy who had bemused me so when he was born had grown, over the course of his small life, to be a companion and delight. Many afternoons were spent in the yard playing games together, and I always felt a twinge of regret that he had no brothers or sisters to play with, or even friends. I had tried to arrange something between some of the other children in the area, but was at a bit of a disadvantage, as the mothers appeared to be friends and I was clearly to be the only father, and also because as much as I tried to shield Charles from the truth, the others saw it plainly and shied away.

Once, in church, when he was around four, Charles had fallen asleep and his mask slipped down. I did not notice right away, as I was paying attention to the pastor, and was startled when a small child in the pew in front of us started crying. Her mother went to comfort the baby and saw my son. She hurriedly gathered her daughter on her lap, who pressed her face into her mother's neck, and I re-arranged Charles' mask. He had slept through the whole ordeal, later, I lectured him about snoozing in church, because he would have expected me to. I was just glad he had not been awakened at the cries of the little girl; that would have been something I did not want to discuss.

Of course, I had put it off far too long, and so the next morning at breakfast, I broached the subject.

"Charles," I said casually, but noticed he was examining the grain on the wood table. "Charles!" I said a bit more emphatically.

"Yes, Papa?" he asked, tearing his attention away.

"Charles, I think we need to have a discussion."

"But I told you, it really wasn't me who broke the clock! Not this time," he muttered as an afterthought.

"No, Charles, not about that. It's about…well…why you wear that mask when we go to the market and to church."

"Oh," he said simply, quietly. "I know about that."

"Yes, I know," I said. "But you have to understand that it's just that- a face. It isn't who you are; it isn't what makes you so intelligent or so clever."

"Then why must I wear it when I go out?" The question was not asked in a tone that was meant to bait me, it was asked with a childish innocence that broke my heart. He understood the physical ramifications of his defect, but not what it might mean to others.

"Because, Charles…because not everyone understands what you and I understand," I said.

"And Grandfather, too?"

"Yes, Grandfather understands, too," I said.

"Do…do I scare you with my face?" At that I put down my fork, walked over to Charles' place and hugged him.

"No," I said. "And you never have to wear that mask in the house. You don't have to wear it out, either, if you don't want to, but I think you might."

"Yes," he said, as if he understood all the complications that might result from a change in the status quo. It wouldn't surprise me if he did; it generally took very little to learn new concepts.

"You know," he continued, "when you said that people don't understand, I thought my face was maybe why I don't go to school."

"Oh?" I said, not sure if I liked where this was headed.

"Yes," he said simply. "But I think it's more likely that I am too smart for them." At this I laughed uproariously. Leave it to Charles to state the most egotistical facts with nothing more than a simple tone of voice, as if this were the most basic concept.

"Perhaps," I said, "but, like the reason for your mask, maybe that's something we should keep to ourselves for awhile."

"Can I tell Grandfather?"

"Oh, I suspect he already knows," I said, tousling his dark hair and getting ready to call for the maid to clean up.

"Then I have a question for you, Papa," he said.

"Of course, son."

"Who is that woman you see sometimes?" I started. I had not expected him to know about Angelique, a young woman who had been attending some of my concerts. She was a piano teacher herself and would generally come up and talk to me afterwards. Once, we went for a walk that led past the house, and I had gone out one afternoon to meet her for a meal, but it was far from a romantic relationship. We discussed new trends in the music world, theories, and how best to teach her students, but it had never gone beyond that.

"She's just a friend of Papa's who plays the piano," I said, hoping to leave it at that.

"Like me and you?"

"Well…not exactly," I said. Charles was more talented than most people I knew, but it wouldn't do to tell him that, not when he was clearly self-assured enough.

"I want to meet her," he said, and I paused. I had not told her about Charles' particular issues; though she knew I had a young son and had undoubtedly heard rumors. I did not know where our friendship stood, or where she might want it to go, though admittedly I was afraid of getting involved romantically with anyone, even though I knew Charles could stand to have a mother figure in his life. It was very complicated, and I did not wish to complicate matters more by shaking things up.

"Papa, I wish to meet her!" he declared when I had been silent too long for his liking.

"I know," I said. "I will see what I can do."