Overture

Where we love is home,

Home that our feet may leave,

But not our hearts.

– Oliver Wendell Holmes

November, 1880

In the past, Anna only wrote letters when she so desired. It was a hobby she enjoyed, but she didn´t always find time to communicate the routines of her everyday life and the outstanding events that came along to others in this fashion.

This time was different. The pen compelled her to hold it. The blank piece of stationery paper seemed to scream for her to write on it. The expanse of beige desired to transmit communication, in Anna´s looping and small handwriting, across the Channel to her parents. She could not deny the poor, dead remnants of some majestic tree their last request, so she let the words flow from her heart onto the paper.

If she was going to write, she must choose her words wisely. In memory of the majestic tree that had sacrificed itself for her.

Her fancy was running away with her…what else was new?

Dearest Mother and Father,

I have been writing you ever since I went away, but it is only at present that I am truly sure of the reasoning behind your actions sending me away. You were helping me to find who I was. I might have been on this earth over twenty years when I took my position yet I had been living as does a child. I was completely oblivious to the intricate nature of the world, and to the complexity of my own soul. You wished for me to realize the good and bad of the world, and to confront problems with an idea of what I faced. For this, I thank you. I feel as though my whole life has changed as a result of your actions. I was angry at you for a while, but I now see what good can come of times of mental anguish and of new experiences. Thank you for always being patient with me. I am truly blessed.

I have put to use the education you encouraged me to pursue, and I feel a sense of gratitude each day that I am able to teach mi petit Marie de Chagny. She has become one of my most trusted companions. I see in her the kindness and beauty I'm told her mother possessed. Though I have sent you a portrait of her, it hardly does her justice. She is the most beautiful child, inside and out, that I have ever met. She makes me smile even when I'm in one of my stormy moods. Such a child seems an angel. When you meet her, you will surely adore her as do I.

I am so glad you are coming to visit; it is something I have anticipated for some time. You will find me changed from the way I was, but please do not be alarmed. The change is for the better. I seem to have matured more in my time here than in all my life before. Erik is anxious to meet you. I implore you to try to put aside the judgments and assumptions you have already made. He has not had a very happy life, and dealing with the dark memories is yet a challenge for him. But he has so much to offer the world. It has taken some time, but I think I am beginning to understand him. In the first letters I wrote you from Paris, I told you of the fear and suspicion I felt of him. I now see the reasons behind his actions. He has taught me so much about human nature…the good and the bad in us all. I hope you can appreciate him as much as I do.

As I close this letter and await your arrival, I hope to express the happiness. I feel… it's as if I have finally started living…not just standing off to the side, watching the action. Dearest parents, I love you so dearly, and I hope we are able to spend some time together and discuss what direction my life may take now.

Your loving daughter,

Anna Richardson¨

With a sigh, Anna set her pen down next to the ink well. As the swirls on the two sheets finished drying, she thought to herself, ¨I wonder whether Mother and Father would ever believe that it took falling in love with a Phantom to make me a woman.¨