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"Stop it." Erik snaps. "Why do you do that?"

"Erik, she's only a baby." I remind him as Adora munches on a sheet of his music. I had brought Adora in here to cheer him up, because he had been in a rather touchy mood this morning; apparently, it was not such a good idea. At the sound of Erik's harsh voice, she looks up fearfully and begins to cry.

I hardly blame you, I think silently, musing over how violent Erik could make his voice sound in that mere moment. She crawls over to me and sits on my skirts, her little fussings simply a beg for attention.

"Oh, you're fine." I tell her, but Erik shoots me a guilty look and adjusts his mask (No matter how many I destroy, he always has another one), defiantly not looking at our daughter. She begins to cry again, and he leaves the room.

"And now you're both upset." I sigh, picking up Adora, whose tears cease instantly. "I suppose it's time for your nap."

Erik and I—well, Erik mostly, I was really no help at all—furnished and fixed up the smallest room for Adora. I had chosen a lavender color for the theme of her room, and it was sweet and soothing to enter. It held her crib, a small, white rocking chair, and a little chest of drawers.

As I tuck her into her crib, her eyes drooping, I feel Erik come up behind me.

"Are you angry with me?" he whispers.

"Of course not." I whisper back, leading him out, anticipating a long conversation.

"Good." he says, and walks away.

"Wait one second!" I call after him, closing Adora's door and catching his arm. He looks pointedly down at me. "There was no need for you to get all upset."

"I was not upset." he proclaims, wrestling out my grip, his eyes glowing. He thinks for a minute, and then looks down. "I did make her cry." he admits.

"It wasn't you, Erik. She's a child. She just cries."

"It was me!" he protests, and he gives me a look as though I have just uttered the most unforgivable blasphemy.

"Nonsense." I say patiently. "Yesterday, when we were in the kitchen, a plate spilled and got food on her lap, and she cried because it scared her. But you cannot be offended every time she cries. She forgives us for everything."

Only my first sentence seems to register with him. "You dropped a plate on her?"

"I was sorry! You think I did not feel bad?"

"Yes, yes," he says distractedly. "She was fine, of course." Humming impatiently, he follows me. "You never seem concerned when she cries."

I sigh. "Erik, what can I say? She's an infant. She cries. It's her way of getting attention. If we are to be good parents, we must not bow down to her every need. And will you please take that terrible mask off?"

He acquiesces, and eyes me shrewdly. "You used to cry at the Opera. When people were cruel to you at rehearsals, or when the ballet mistresses yelled at you. You cried when you were in my house and you were locked in your room underground."

I turn to face him, and he looks expectant of my answer. "Yes, I suppose I wanted attention." I confess. "I wanted someone to pay attention to me, someone to make me feel better."

"I always came when you were crying."

I smile a little, reminiscing on some very strange memories. Yes, the Voice always seemed to come when I was most upset about something that had happened that day. The Voice was the only one who cared for me then… He cares for me now, too.

"I never let anyone get away with hurting you." he says very seriously. I flinch a little, looking at his face. I never let anyone get away… There always were a few too many disappearances around the Opera that had to do with me. I decide to ignore our shaky past.

"Everybody needs attention."

"I do not." he retorts, and then stares at me as though he is begging me to contradict him.

I cross my arms at him. "Erik, of you want me to be honest, I have never met anyone who needs more attention." His face falls a little, as though I am insulting him. "And I wouldn't have you any other way. I must have somebody to hoist all of my useless attention on, right?"

"Right." he agrees warmly. "I do lots of things to get attention."

A particular incident that I used to think about comes to my mind, and I smile slyly at him. "Like when you came into my room to ask if I was tired?"

He looks unashamed. "I knew you were not tired. I just wanted to come into your room."

Internally, I laugh at his boldness. I was glad he had come to me that night, for I think I would never have been brave enough to go to him, seeking love. And the fact that he was brave enough to come showed that we were—well, that we were ready to be proper husband and wife.

But that was when I could barely see what would happen tomorrow. Now I see my husband and my daughter, and I wonder what our future will be like.

Gabriel comes over every now and then, if Karl and Marianne wish to go out, and I will watch both of the children. Marianne keeps encouraging me that I may bring Adora over anytime at all if I needed a break, but I can never bring myself to do it. What would happen if Marianne was distracted with Gabriel and Adora was hurt? Or if something happened to me and I couldn't get to Adora and she would be trapped there? Or worse, if she had a fit of epilepsy, which I have still not told Marianne about? So clearly, it is simply better to keep Adora around me.

In the back of my heart, I know I will have to let her grow up a little. But I was kept in childhood for so long, it seems that I am going to be doing the same with my daughter, and I must watch her carefully so that when the time comes for her to accept responsibilities and make her own decisions like a proper woman, she will be ready. And Erik will never let her grow up, I'm starting to fear. He was perfectly content to let me be his child while he was playing my protector, and now that Adora really is his child, when will he ever need her to grow up for him.

The physician makes a visit one day simply to check up on Adora and see if she is doing well. He counts the dates of all the seizures I tell him, and how they are getting further and further apart, and he says that is good.

"She's a pretty child." he compliments, while peering in to check her eyes. She looks back at him, sitting very still and quiet on the pillow. "She will be a soft-spoken one, that is for sure. And so well behaved!"

Adora waves to him when he leaves, and turns to look at me for my approval.

"You were a good girl." I assure her. "But you didn't say anything!"

Erik comes out from wherever he's been hiding. "She didn't need to."

I set her down. "Should I have mentioned something to the physician?" I ask worriedly. "She's fifteen months, Erik, and she still hasn't really said any words."

"She babbles."

"Yes, that's just it. She babbles. And that's all."

Adora watches us with smug eyes, as though she knows perfectly well we're talking about her, and that she has nothing to say about it.

"Well, I think she's adorable." he murmurs. "Words are silly, anyhow. They're just words. She communicates fine."

She bounces on my lap and reaches her hands out to Erik, squeezing her fingers open and closed. Erik looks genuinely shocked.

"Why don't you sing her to sleep again?" I suggest. "She always falls asleep much faster when you do it."

"I am good for something, eh?" he sighs. "If you put her in her crib, I will."

I narrow my eyes are him and give him the most foreboding look I can muster. It doesn't seem to work, but he sighs again, and steps forward with his arms out. "If I drop her, would you be very mad at me?" he whispers.

"Oh, be reasonable." I scold him. "You've carried much heavier things, and you never seemed to worry about dropping them. Me, for instance. You could probably carry her with one hand—but don't do that, please. Here."

I lift her up and he takes her gingerly. I watch them like a hawk as Erik quietly disappears into her room. Of course I trust Erik with her!—but I must make sure, just in case.

Without Adora, I stretch against the couch and lean back. It is not that late yet, but it is still growing dark, and I hardly have anything to stay awake for. Adora will be up around dawn tomorrow, so it might be good to get a bit more sleep that I usually do…

"Christine?"

I open my eyes, and Erik is standing by the sofa, watching me warily.

"Yes?"

"Could—could you come and sing this for me?" he asks. "But if you're tired, then of course go up to bed, my dear," he adds hastily. "We can do it tomorrow, as well."

"Is Adora already asleep?" I ask in disbelief.

He nods. "She likes the same lullaby you like." He smiles. "It always worked that fast on you as well."

I sit up, and all sleep is instantly cleared from my mind. If Erik is asking for attention, then I desire nothing more than to give it to him. And the last time I sung was… was… quite a while ago. Already, I am glowing with the thought of being able to sing with my composer again.

I take his hand, and we both smile. "Let us go sing."

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