Author's Note: Thanks for the encouragement, everyone who reviewed. I'm glad you like the idea. I'm playing around with the structure a little bit. If anyone has any opinions on what the most affective method of juxtaposing the alternate lives, that would be helpful. I probably will use different methods for different chapters, however. Well, anyway, here's the second chapter. Hope you like it.

The tiny ballerina spun slowly to the sound of a simple, tinkling melody. A shaft of sunlight poured onto her through the window, reflecting off of her painted porcelain features. The boy watched, his chin resting against his hands which lay flat on the vanity, just tall enough to reach. His head lolled to the side and he closed his eyes, glorying in the comfort of the familiar tune and the feel of the sun against his face.

The music box slowed and came to a halt, and he opened his eyes. He studied the little box through the cut holes in the cloth that served as a mask, before reaching his hands up to snatch it. Pieces of jewelry flew out and onto the floor as he dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. He stared intently at the little handle on the box's side, then at the wheels within it. His nimble fingers went to work, testing and unscrewing whatever he could, unable to resist his curiosity. Why did the girl dance, and where was the music coming from?

Just then, he heard footsteps outside the door and looked up with a frightened gasp.

The sound of the music box had given away his hiding spot—Madeleine had been wondering where he had wandered off to. She smiled and opened the door to the master bedroom, only to find him looking up guiltily from the wreckage of what was once her jewelry box.

His mother stood framed in the doorway, her eyes wide with outrage.

"Oh! Eric…" she sighed angrily. "Eric, what have I told you about playing with things without Mama's permission?"

"What," she hissed, "are doing?"

His shoulders dropped. "I just wanted to see how it worked."

"Well then, you should have come and asked me! Or better yet, waited for Papa to come home!" She knelt down to sweep the pieces he had taken apart into her hand.

He sat frozen, unable to answer as she glared at him, the accusation and loathing in her dark blue eyes cutting into him.

"Well? What were you thinking, little monster!"

He let out a soft whimper, his face crumpling as he tried not to cry.

"I just hope Papa knows how to fix this..."

"I can put it back to—"

"No!"

His blue eyes filled with tears, though they did not fall. She bit her lip, determined to stay firm.

"You may help your father with it later tonight, if he agrees, but I forbid you to touch it until then."

He hung his head sadly and she sighed.

"You freak! Sneaking around the house, touching things in my room!" She grabbed the music box from him angrily. "This was my music box! And now it's broken!" She began to cry, feeling completely helpless and irrationally upset by the sight of the music box dismantled in her hands. It suddenly seemed as if all the happy years of her childhood, and all her dreams of motherhood, had been held within that box.

Seeing his mother's tears, the boy began to cry too.

"Eric, I know you think you can do anything but you must learn that you can't do everything on your own." She held his chin in her hand. "Even geniuses can't simply go playing with things that don't belong to them. You don't want to break other people's things, do you? I've had this since I was a little girl, and if it can't be put back together, I will be very sad. Do you understand?"

His eyes widened and he nodded.

"Good."

She sank to the ground, overcome. Why did he have to destroy everything? If it hadn't been for him, her husband would never have left her. Everything would have been different. "What could have possessed you..." she whispered through her tears, not expecting an answer. She stopped, chilled by her own words. Possessed indeed! Why? Why had this thing come out of her?

She ran her thumb over his cheek softly and leaned forward to kiss his head.

"There, don't cry. It's alright now."

He sniffed and smiled valiantly. She picked him up and hummed the song from the music box. He sighed happily, head resting against her shoulder, glad that no matter what the fate of the glass ballerina, the music would not stop.

With an anguished cry, Madeleine hurled the music box at him. The young boy's sobs filled the room and she covered her face with her hands.

"Get out!" she shouted, not wanting to hear.

He did not hesitate; he leapt to his feet and ran from the room.