(A/N: Here it is-the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited; it brought me such joy to know that there are people out there who enjoy and appreciate my writing)

"Erik! Erik!"

I found myself being rather violently shaken awake. My muscles tensed instinctively at first before relaxing. It was only Angelique.

"Hm?" I grunted. I'm never very eloquent that early in the morning.

Although the room was almost completely dark, I could still make out where she lay, propped on one elbow, staring at me in concern. "You were having a nightmare—I thought you might want to wake up."

It had indeed been a nightmare, a memory from when I was four years old. My mother had been ill, and I had wanted to sit next to her to make her feel better. But every time I tried to go near her, she kept pushing me away, saying how horrible I was and how much she hated me.

Angelique didn't need to know any of that, though. "Yes, I was. Thank you for waking me. What time is it?"

She yawned. "Stupidly early in the morning, so go back to sleep."

"And you'll still be here?" I whispered to myself.

I hadn't meant for her to hear that, but she did. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

I groaned, knowing I would have to confess. "It's just…there are times when…you don't seem real, and I'm afraid I'll wake up and find you were nothing more than a dream."

"If I'm nothing more than a dream, you could have made me prettier," she grumbled, sticking her face in her pillow once more. "Go back to sleep, Erik. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

Sleep seemed to have left, however, so I contented myself with gently stroking Angelique's hair while she slept, marveling once more at how the skinny, sallow-faced hobgoblin had become the best thing that ever happened to me.

Two Years Later…

"Trust me, Erik; you do not want to go up there right now." Pierre held me by the sleeve, but his eyes never left the pages of his book. I couldn't understand how he could be so calm.

"But—but—she called me!" I protested helplessly, looking up the stairs.

"Didn't you hear the intense loathing with which she pronounced your name? Believe me; the only reason Angie wants you right now is so she can tear out your liver for putting her through this."

I finally freed myself and dashed up the stairs, nearly colliding with Robert, Angelique's doctor brother, as he was leaving our room.

"I was just about to call you," he remarked calmly—so calmly I wanted to strangle him.

"Well, how is she!?" I barked.

Robert grinned. "Angelique and your son are doing just fine."

"A boy!" I laughed. "I knew it! Didn't I tell you, Pierre?"

"You needn't gloat," Pierre sighed as he, too, came traipsing up the stairs. Pierre had insisted it would be a girl since for several generations in the Descartes family, all of the firstborn had been girls. I had suspected otherwise.

"When can I see them?" I pressed.

"Now, I suppose—although Angelique's tired, so I wouldn't make it too long."

Angelique may have been tired, but she certainly hid it well when I came in. "I take it Robert gave you the good news?"

"Yes, and Pierre is currently sulking for being proven wrong."

She chuckled and drew back the blankets on the small, squirming bundle she was holding. "Well, do you want to see him?"

I hesitated for a moment. Robert had said nothing, but I had to know—

"How is his face?"

Her grin widened. "He looks like neither one of us."

It was true—Gaston Erik Destler (Angelique and I had chosen his name earlier) was a perfectly ordinary-looking child, giving no visible indication of his hideous parentage. He would grow up to live a normal life. He would never know the horrors and deprivations I had lived through.

"Oh, Angie," I whispered, kissing her forehead. "Thank you."

"There is the great lesson of 'Beauty and the Beast'; that a thing must be loved before it is loveable."-G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy