Author's Note: Thanks to the people who let me know the trouble they were having viewing this story! Regardless how you feel about this chapter or the story in general, could you please let me know that updating it at least worked this time? Thanks so much!

Cecile was born on the second day of October that same year. The labor was long and difficult, but the little angel I had been waiting for my entire life finally arrived.

She was perfection. Her skin was smooth and soft as the flesh of a peach, the color of cream. Her hair was golden blonde that I knew would darken into Andre's light woody hue as she grew older since my hair had always been more the shade of dirty water. But the little angel had my eyes as bold and rich a blue as a deep lake in winter. Andre wondered if perhaps they would turn brown like his own when she aged, but they were too like mine to even consider the possibility.

I think with very few exceptions new mothers are convinced their child is the single most remarkable being on the earth, and I was not immune to my daughter's charms. Her chirps, squeals, and gurgles were the most beautiful sounds I had heard next to Erik's music. I could and often did spend hours watching her while she slept, stroking her plump and rosy cheeks and wondering what she dreamt of being so little in a world that was so big.

I did not anticipate the way in which Erik fell almost as deeply and irrevocably in love with her as I had.

To my surprise, Andre was the one who suggested I invite Erik over to meet Cecile. We had grown close again since the birth of our daughter, and I suppose he thought the boy posed less of a threat to our relationship now that I had flesh and blood of my own to care for.

I held Cecile against my breast while she slept and smiled welcomingly to Erik as he approached. "It's okay. She won't bite," I promised, amused at his anxiety.

Erik moved to the arm of the chair I sat in, glancing at Cecile over my arm. "She's so small."

"Have you ever seen a baby before, Erik?" Andre asked, much to my surprise.

The boy shook his head. "Only the cherubs in books and stained glass. She looks just like one."

"She's an angel. All she's missing are the wings," I said stroking her rosy little cheek. Her head turned towards my hand, and Erik watched in awe.

"She doesn't look real. It's so strange to watch her move."

"Would you like to hold her?" I offered, and Erik glanced up at me in surprise.

Surprised, Erik glanced from me to Andre before speaking. "May I?"

At Andre's nod of approval, I carefully passed the sleeping newborn into Erik's arms. She stirred but settled quickly with Erik holding her as though she were made of glass.

"She smells like milk and flowers," he said after a moment, unable to take his eyes off her.

I laughed and took Andre's hand when he rested it on my shoulder. "Andre picked every wildflower from here to Rouen and put it in the nursery. I sit in there while I feed her so I'm sure it's rubbed off."

As Erik held Cecile, Andre patiently answered his questions about what the babe ate and where she came from, how much she slept, whether she could talk yet.

When Cecile began to fuss I took her back into my arms before Erik could worry too much.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt her?"

"No," I promised. "She gets hungry about this time of night. I'll feed her and then put her to bed."

I couldn't refuse Erik when he asked to be the one to put her to bed for the night. He carefully placed her in the bassinet, staying by its side to watch as her blue eyes began lidded and heavy and her cupids-bow lips puckered in sleep. I was watching him watch her when Andre wrapped his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder.

"She's beautiful," I whispered, and Andre kissed my cheek.

"You're beautiful."

I chuckled and turned in his arms. "Why did you suggest I invite him over?"

Andre held me and considered this. "Well, for several reasons. For one I knew you'd have him over weather I approved or not and I'd rather not fight with you right now. For another, I'd rather supervise him with her."

When I frowned, Andre kissed me gently. "He's a six year old boy, and she is our world. Of course I'd rather supervise him than not," then he took a breath, as if debating whether to continue. "I also think this may be the only chance he'll ever have to be exposed to an infant. God knows Madeleine won't be having another by her choice or not, and Erik…"

There was no need to say more. I had told Andre about Erik's face long ago, of the physical scars and the emotional ones that were already so deeply etched into the boy. As much as I loved the boy, I very much doubted he would ever know more than the affection I felt for him as a mother. He had no friends besides an old dog, no steady interaction with children remotely close to his own age. He would grow up not only physically deformed, but having no idea how to forge and maintain friendships or romances. I had no doubt he was capable of forging strong bonds, but God how I worried his solitude would follow him through no fault of his own.

It was several weeks before I saw Erik again. I thought about inviting him by several times during those weeks, but Andre and I had family over to meet the new addition to our family. Even if Andre would have been all right with having Erik by with just the two of us in the house, I couldn't subject the boy to our family and the questions that would arise.

When life began to settle down and Andre was away on a farm for the birthing season, I bundled Cecile into a sling around my neck and set out into the cool autumn evening. I only intended to leave Erik by our usual rock in the garden, but sounds from within the house stopped me in my tracks.

The cry of an infant surely no older than my own daughter came out of the house, quickly followed by the shuffling of footsteps and a soft coo of a mother soothing her child.

Madeleine had not been pregnant during Erik's birthday in May. It was only early December; was it possible to go through an entire pregnancy in seven months? But if the baby wasn't hers… where had it come from?

I had no choice but to knock at the door and discover the source of the sound. Immediately the crying stopped and the curtain shifted slightly. Though Erik's face was impossible to read, I could sense his surprise at my presence so late at night. The door opened, and Erik's little masked face peered through. "What are you doing here?"

The shame and alarm in his voice worried me. "Erik, I heard a baby inside," I explained, cradling my own infant closer to me. "Whose baby is it?"

"Erik? Who is at the door?"

Erik nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Madeleine's voice. "Nobody. Go back upstairs," he commanded with frightening authority, but not before the door opened further and Madeleine stood over him.

She smiled so genuinely my blood ran cold; the last time I saw this woman I had struck her and now she was smiling as though we were sisters? "Collette! How wonderful of you to stop by. Please, forgive my son's manners; come inside, make yourself comfortable. Erik, be a dear and start a pot of tea for Madame Aumer."

The way Madeleine spoke to me and to Erik, her ease and wakefulness so late in the evening, Erik's nervous but polite obedience… what in God's name was going on here? I had no choice but to step inside and play along. "I was just… in the neighborhood and heard… heard a baby," I put forth tentatively.

"I was wondering when you were going to bring your little darling over to meet her future husband," Madeleine grinned, and I glanced at Erik for answers as he entered the room with the tea service. He refused to meet my eyes even when he put the service down upon the table.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand you," I said after a moment, holding Cecile tight. When I glanced down at her I realize she had woken up, but did not stir or make a sound. It was a though she knew my unease and had no desire to add to it by fussing.

"Look at her," Madeleine cooed, sitting by my side to watch Cecile with surprising affection. "She's stunning, Collette. She's got your eyes, you know. I never told you this but when I first met you I thought you had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. I was very jealous. I thought maybe if I'd had eyes as lovely as yours, Charles won't have left me."

My brow furrowed; hadn't I heard Erik mention once that his father was dead?

Madeleine continued. "Of course Erik and Charles both have his eyes. Tawny, almost like a cat's wouldn't you say?"

"Charles is..?"

"My son. Didn't you get the letter? I asked Erik to bring it to you."

Again I looked to Erik, but his eyes were pinned to the ground. "I've been very busy entertaining family the past few weeks," I explained. "I haven't had a chance to see Erik."

"Well that's quite all right. I just put Charles back to bed, but come and take a look at him," she offered, rising to guide me eagerly through the house. I followed obediently upstairs into what I assumed was the master bedroom with its lovely Louis-Philippe furnishings and a small bassinet in the corner. "Go on," she urged me, smiling lovingly at the bassinet. "I don't want to crowd him and wake him. He fusses terribly when he's woken before he's ready."

I approached the bassinet, unsure of what I would find there. I knew she had been seeing an older doctor who moved into the village recently; perhaps he had impregnated her out of wedlock? Perhaps the child looked like Erik and the woman had finally come to accept his appearance? Perhaps the child looked like Erik and the woman had gone completely mad and was in denial.

Peering into the bassinet, my heart sank like a cold stone into the pit of my stomach. The child, this Charles I had heard crying from the garden, the infant that had so change Madeleine was a statue. A little shepherd boy nearly a food tall and made of stone stared out into the room with unblinking eyes, wrapped in a blanket as though to keep off the cooling night air.

I knew at once Madeleine had gone completely mad; and worse yet I knew it was by no fault of her own.

Erik could make a dog speak like a woman, throw his voice and mimic someone well above his age and not even his own gender. Making a statue cry exactly like my Cecile, mimicking the whimper of a hungry newborn… it would have been nothing to him. Child's play of the most manipulative, disturbed kind.

I backed away from the bassinet, clutching Cecile as though she would keep me from drowning in my heartbreak; Erik was responsible for this. My little Erik, the boy I had loved and defended from tyranny for nearly two years had somehow found a chink in his mother's armor and was deftly exploiting it.

He was standing in the doorway when I turned, looking so many years beyond his age it frightened me. Cecile sensed my fear and began to whine. I shushed her gently, and nearly jumped out of my skin when an identical wine sounded from the bassinet behind me.

Madeleine rushed to the cradle and cooed, scooping up the horrendous statue and wrapping it tightly in its blankets. I was nauseous, chilled to the bone and more than ready to leave. Erik all but filled the doorway, forcing me to push past him as the infant's cries behind me only grew louder.

Sleep never found me that night. I paced for hours before lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. This was not something that should have even occurred to a young boy, no matter how abused. How long had this been going on, how many more things had Erik done to completely shatter a strong woman's sanity so thoroughly? Was the doctor she had been seeing aware of her state? Was he aware Erik was the reason?

And why would Erik ever do such a thing? He had renounced Madeleine as his mother, behaved as though she were nothing more to him than his landlady… if she really meant so little, why play such a cruel trick?

There was no doubt Erik was benefitting from this regardless of his reason. Madeleine was much more civil to him in her maddened state than I had ever seen her before. Even so, it was not real. Her life was an illusion, and she the puppet being controlled by a master puppeteer.

But what could I do? I had done everything in my power to mother Erik, to give him the attention and affection he had so desperately needed. There was nothing more I could have done for him short of stealing him away from Madeleine for good. He had made this decision on his own, in spite of my attempts to love and guide him into a normal childhood.

It was the first time I had ever considered Erik's troubles extended beyond his home. And the first but not last time I wondered if his emotional scars were as deep and organic as the scars on his face.