Disclamer: No, I do not own Erik. ( i simply borrow him for my own purposes )

AN: I am sorry it's taken so long to update. I've been really sick for these past three weeks. Slowly getting better! Please pardon Chapters 10 and 11 as I'm afraid they don't really further on the relationship between Anne and Erik. Have to get through the beginning before we can get to the good stuff! Black ribbon roses for all who review!

Practice Makes Perfect

"So, what do you think of our Prima Donna?"

Aunt Giry was sitting across from me as the carriage made its way back to the Opera Populaire. Tea with Madame Carrolton had been marvelous. I had never met someone so well poised and eloquent yet so vivacious and effervescent at the same time. She was trained in all manners of society as well as in her vocal training. She hadn't lived the life of a nun, simply staying inside and singing and practicing all day and all evening. She had been from a rich family that supported the arts and had pleased her entire family when her talents in music became so apparent that there was no possible way to keep them hidden.

"I think she's wonderful," I replied.

"She's a very good person too. Madame Carrolton has donated much of her time and money to supporting the Opera House. Her family was mostly involved with the rebuilding of the Populaire after the fire."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the carriage. The fire was something that occurred because of the Opera Ghost…or Erik as I was now determined to call him. It was correct to call something or someone by the proper name. I wanted to ask her about Erik, but I couldn't find the words.

"Why did you listen to the conversation, Anastasia?"

I looked out the window trying not to be too curious in what was going on outside the carriage. "I don't know. I guess it was merely out of curiosity. That enigma of a man was and is such a strange person that I couldn't help listening to him, regardless of what he said." I smiled and gave her a look that let her know I heard everything he said about me.

"And you're not worried or upset about what he said about you?"

"That's more of Elizabeth's style. I stopped caring long ago what people say about me. I can't waste that sort of time in life. It's precious to all of us."

"Your mother's illness has taken its toll on you hasn't it."

I felt tears prick my eyes. "It's certainly been an eye opening experience. Mama would sometimes talk about the things that she would have done differently with her life, but she would always say that she had no regrets. She told me that she was happy with the choices she made and that she could stand before God with a clean conscience."

"Very few can make such a claim."

I smiled and dabbed at my eyes. "Yes."

"You are not going to ask me to tell you his story, are you?" Aunt Giry as we pulled to a stop in front of the Populaire.

"No, I'm not." I placed my hand in the driver's extended hand as he assisted me from the carriage. "I think I've learned my lesson in making rash judgments on a story half told." I smiled at her as she too alighted from the carriage. "So, as much as I want to hear you tell me his story, I think I'll wait till I can ask the gentleman himself."

Aunt Giry was very quiet and she seemed to almost make a point to watch the carriage leave the Opera House, returning to the stables. "I think that will be very near impossible, Anne. He is not a very talkative person." She looped her arm through mine and we made our way inside using one of the side entrances.

"Really, Aunt? He was quite certain to tell me exactly what he thought earlier today." I grimaced in remembrance.

"He's not all bad, Anne."

"Yes, I have no doubt that there is good in him." I cut her off. "There's good in everyone. It's how we choose to act on it that defines us."

We were silent through the remainder of the walk inside. My evening with Vanessa Carrolton seemed marred by Aunt bringing up this morning's earlier events. I didn't want to talk about my argument with Erik as it reminded me very much of my greater faults that Mama had tried so hard to correct. I wanted to focus on something that held promise and the idea of days filled with more than just mulling over whether or not Mama was still alive.

"When does the show open, Aunt?" I asked, coming to a halt in front of my bedroom door.

"Next week. So, I'm afraid Madame Carrolton will not need you until the show ends. That should give you some time to rehearse and to work your skills back up."

I nodded, grateful that she seemed to return the conversation to something a little less controversial. I had a feeling that for some time our views on Erik might differ. "Is there a piano that I could practice on?"

"You can use the one that's used for early rehearsals, Anne. It's always moved off stage in the morning but it's put back on during the night."

"Why? Pianos are so expensive and if something should happen to it…"

"Well, it is a risk some are willing to make but to not be able to have some way to practice; well I think that's a risk not many are willing to make. You will be surprised how quickly you'll be asked to help some of the other girls with their work. Pianists are very rare in the Opera House."

"I can imagine. Pianists would not have much of a use since the music is played by an orchestra."

Aunt Giry smiled and patted my cheek. "Precisely. Well, I won't keep you up any longer. I am pretty sure the piano is out on the stage now if you would like to practice. Since we're so close to performance, no one should need it right now. Just make sure Jane goes with you."

"Jane?"

"Well, it's always good to walk around the Populaire with someone. It's easier to find you if we know you went missing."

"I've already met Erik…so you can't expect me to be in any sort of danger now."

Aunt Giry didn't say anything but she gave me a look that made me feel that I was not necessarily in danger but rather in some hot water with the Phantom. "I'll see you in the morning, Anne?"

"Yes, Aunt. I think I'll turn in now anyway, so good night."

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and I departed into my room. I leaned against the closed door and waited for her footsteps to recede down the hall. I quickly threw off my evening gown and put on one of the outfits procured for me by Aunt Giry. It was a plain black skirt and white blouse which made it far easier to practice in than something that had all of those laces and bindings.

I picked up my music from where I had placed it earlier and made my way back out of the room. I kept my footsteps light and quick as I hastened to the stage. Sure enough, the piano was out in the middle of the stage next to a solitary light. I had always heard of a "ghost light" which is said to keep away the spirits of the theatre but I found it sort of strange that a theatre such as this would keep a candle lit after the fire. And I seriously doubted that Erik needed any sort of help to see in the dark.

I hesitantly made my way to the piano, fearing that someone was going to jump out of the shadows or ask what I was doing out so late on the Opera's stage. I had never had any great desire to sing on the stage, but to play was a thrill I could never seem to calm. At home, Mama always said that I had a gift that just needed to be shared. But she was always referring to "my gift" as if it had a mind of its own. As if it was something that I, at times, could not control and had no power over.

I looked around to see if anyone was near, but as the only light was from the stage, I couldn't see anything and my eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dark yet. I placed my music on the piano, scooted out the bench, and sat down. For a moment, I simply stared at the keys, with my hands in the lap. Then, ever so gently, I raised my fingers to the keys and pressed down a D minor chord, a personal favorite. I played an arpeggio just to get an idea of who the keys responded to touch. It was a well-played instrument so I was delighted to find the touch to be feather light. It required very little effort to create a full sound.

Without realizing it, my fingers had taken to playing Mozart's Alla Turca, followed quickly by his Sonata in C Major. I could play these pieces in my sleep and I had practiced them for hours when I was younger. Father had been very clear on his view of my technique, so they were now flawless and memory returned like an old friend. As one piece flowed into the next, my mind wandered back to happier times when all the family was together. Papa would sing, and Mama would play as I danced around the room, Elizabeth tottering along as well as she could. Papa's tenor voice was not classically trained but he could sing a melody and would make-up silly little songs that would send me into gales of laughter. Eventually, Mama would play and Papa would pick me up and we would dance and dance until it was late into the evening. I was Papa's "little starling" and Elizabeth was "little angel" and there were no tears. There was no debt, no fear, and no wondering what tomorrow would bring, for we were too occupied with the present.

I had made my way into a piece by Beethoven when I heard a noise behind me. I was too involved in my reverie and to be suddenly dropped into reality brought a scream from my lips and my fingers to pull away from the keys as if they had suddenly burst into flame. I was off the piano bench in a flash and looking around to see where the noise had come from.

"Who's there?" I demanded, feeling a little foolish to be addressing the darkness. My heart pounded at the thought of seeing the Phantom again so soon. But there was no answer to my cry. "Don't cower in the darkness, answer me! Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I should very well be asking you that question, mademoiselle."

My fingers gripped the piano and fear struck me cold.