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The birth came after all the leaves had fallen off the trees and crumpled. It came after Christmastime, where Erik and I had attempted to have a proper Swedish holiday, and failed miserably. It came after I finally received the letter from Marianne saying that her mother-in-law had finally gone up to the Lord, and they would be preparing the funeral for next week. Karl would be settling a few business affairs, and they would be coming home. Mari said she had a surprise to show me, but she wouldn't say, and told me I couldn't ask.

When I was out in the rain, trying rather fruitlessly to start my flowers growing, I knew the baby was coming. Unlike the fierce, ripping sensation like before, there was only a gentle tugging accompanied by brief pressure in my back. I didn't even scream.

Erik was highly reluctant to leave me, but he managed to go into town and return with the physician in record time.

I really do not remember any pain.

Nothing. No feeling, no screams. Erik knelt beside me the entire time, singing sweetly. That voice… how could anyone listening to it even imagine pain? Pain was the last thing on my mind. I didn't want to fall, like before… but Erik's voice provided a soft landing, a helpful light that followed my every move and drew me away from every thought.

He told me later it went on for only an hour. It felt like days.

Not like before, where time mixed together with screams and sighs, and I could hardly breathe. Both times I was vaguely unconscious, both times in very different ways.

In fact, I am not aware of anything, except for my Erik, tangled up in my own little world, until I suddenly feel an emptiness within me. It's more emotional than physical, but I can't explain the indescribable sorrow, as if I have just been parted from something very dear to me. I hold out my arms, an automatic response; a plea for whatever has been taken from me, a request to give it back.

I know my baby will be fine.

And she is.

She's handed very carefully to me, already wrapped in a pale, cream blanket. I am desperate to see her move, to see that life is still within her… As she comes by my hand, her own hand moves back and forth, and her tiny breath tickles my warm skin. I smile, never realizing how lovely the sound of breath is—the sound of life.

"A daughter." the physician says unnecessarily, trying his best to ignore Erik, which he has already been doing the entire time. I almost can't blame him in this moment. Erik honestly looks quite foreboding, with his masked face, which is unable to hide the worry in his eyes.

But he doesn't seem out of place to me. He belongs here, with his wife and child, and no physician was going to drive him out while I was here, no matter what the traditions were.

I touch her soft face, her crinkled eyes. Her thin curls are wet to touch, but warm and silky.

I wish she would open her eyes.

"Adora." I say sweetly, as one of her hands comes up to her face. She yawns.

Erik creeps over, but he doesn't seem to want to touch her. I press two of my fingers to her forehead, and gesture that he should as well. He shakes his head, looking frightened.

"You can." I tell him. His hands clench into fists and he shakes his head again.

"I shouldn't." he replies, and his voice is hushed, unsure.

My daughter begins to cry. Her mouth opens, pink and moist, and she lets out a shrill cry that sounds like a withheld whimper. Her movements are fluid, in-sync with her voice; her arms and legs are in motion under the blanket.

I wipe off a bit of smudge on her cheek and kiss it. Her mouth closes at my touch, but the sound continues, little gurgles in her precious throat.

Erik seems to be watching in morbid fascination. His eyes follow each movement, but he still seems too wary to touch us.

After a minute, she very blearily opens her eyes. They are tiny, squinted, and a clear, newborn blue.

I suddenly need to make sure she is alright. She needs to be healthy, so I cannot lose her, ever. Just as I have carried her for these long months, I must keep her with me. I will not give her up.

She can move, she can cry. She turns when I murmur, so she can hear. Her eyes are bright… too bright. They blink, and stare ahead. Irrational fears rush into my head.

"She's blind?" I say in terror, turning her for a closer look into her pale orbs.

"No, she's not." Erik says immediately, going around my shoulder and looking down. "What on earth makes you say that?"

"Her eyes…" I whisper, and I calm myself down, watching her eyes look straight into mine. I draw my finger down the bridge of her nose, and she trembles, her eyes still looking upwards. I pause. Had I only imagined that? Or had it been I who had trembled?

"All children's eyes are like that." he tells me quietly.

I nod, and hold her carefully in my arms. She closes her eyes and seems to go back to sleep.

Erik looks as though he wants to move away again, so I reach out my free arm and grab his hand. He pulls feebly, but stays next to me, gazing down at our daughter. I wait for him to say something.

"How tiny." he finally murmurs. "So small. Such… a little thing for you. Are you very happy, Christine?"

"Come closer." I request, but he remains upright, cold in my grasp.

"So small." he repeats.

I think I fall asleep. Time passes slowly, like tiny white, falling leaves. In my dream, Erik's fear is replaced with awe as he looks down at our daughter, who takes his hand. Astonished, I leave them and try to find my way out of the darkness, into the snow, where a little girl captures my hand and pulls me down in the hill into Erik's arms.

My arms… my arms are empty, and once again, I feel empty. My beautiful, little child is no longer a part of me. She no longer shares my moods, my thoughts, my life. I don't know where she is! "Adora?"

"She's here." Erik's voice answers, and I open my eyes as he materializes next to my bed, assuaging my unspoken fears.

"Let me hold her," I beg, and Erik points over to the corner, where her tiny make-shift crib sits.

"The physician I still downstairs." he tells me. "And I don't think you ought to get out of bed just yet. You have had a long day."

His statements seem odd to me in many ways. The birth had seemed light, painless—thanks to him, of course. Why was the physician still here I was absolutely fine. I only wanted my baby.

"Will you give her to me?" I ask, and his fingers tighten against the headboard, and he shakes his head. "Why ever not?"

He gives a tight smile, as if he already knows I will not like his answer. "I would… not like to touch her, thank you."

"She won't break."

"She might." he answers.

"Erik, please go get our baby."

He puts a palm against my shoulder—I can feel the chill even through the thin fabric—and another on my cheek. "You want Death's hands to touch your baby?" he asks incredulously. "Cold, bony, dead… Erik can only go so far. If he touches you…" He smiles wryly. "… Well, I have come to understand that are used to it. But not her. I will not touch your baby."

I mull this over, trying to formulate an argument that would make sense to him. "She's your baby," I explain. "She is part you. She understands. She'll understand more than anyone else, Erik. Probably more than me. It would hardly affect her. She's yours."

"Ours." he corrects absentmindedly. I let a growing smile shine on my face.

He rocks back and forth, and then paces hesitatingly over to the crib. He gazes for a full ten seconds before he cautiously lowers his arms and protects her with one hand.

She looks even more beautiful. Her skin has faded from red to a healthy peach, and her dry curls poke out from behind her ears. The burning desire to have her close to me again overwhelms me, and my eyes actually fill with tears as I extend my arms.

"She's awakened." he whispers, taking one finger and placing it in front of her nose. As soon as he is near to the bed, he deposits her quickly into my arms.

She lets out the shrill cry again, her eyes looking around, her head unable to move.

"She's looking for you." I say to Erik, and I try not to laugh at his expression, visible even under the mask.

"Me?" he says, looking perplexed.

Her fingers curl weakly around the neckline of my underdress. "My adorable baby." I coo. "My adored one."

She tried to stretch again, and I see how tiny and helpless she really is. She can't even lift her own head! How strange, to be holding this little, dependent life. She folds naturally into me, needing that support and comfort.

"You shall have to take care of us, Erik. Her and I. We need you, to keep us safe and loved. Together. Just like a real family."

Erik bravely lays his finger on the top of Adora's head, and I see a true note of pride in his eyes. He takes my left hand, where my golden band is snug and safe on my finger, and reaches into a pocket in his coat. There, he pulls out his own ring, the ring I gave him, the ring he has never worn, the ring with the word Together engraved on the rim. We were together. Just like he'd always wanted. All of us.

One hand still on Adora, he deftly slips it on with his fingers.

"A real family." he agrees.

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