Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, or Meg, or Madame Giry, or any other characters from the ingenious mind of Gaston Leroux! Anne just currently resides in my head until she's done telling her story. She's getting alone quite well with all of the other voices that reside up there. :)

AN: Anne shares with me just a little of what her life was like while Papa was alive. Enjoy! I know a lot of you want to know more about her! Believe me, it's like pulling teeth trying to get her to talk about it!


Chapter 29

"We lived in the country. Papa had a beautiful estate there. We weren't titled or anything, but we lived comfortably. I guess it was because Grandmama was so rich she just gave Papa a lot of money when he married Mama, since she wasn't rich. I guess it was sort of a bribery type of thing. She gave us money so long as we never showed our faces in her society. They never told me that. I just assume so, since I never saw her until we went to live with her a few years ago.

"We had a horses, and Mama had a beautiful flower garden. My bedroom over looked the front of the house and I could see everyone coming and going. We didn't have a lot of visitors, but those we had were always welcomed. Mama had such a good, kind heart and she always went out of her way to support those who were in need. Christmas was her favorite holiday because she always spend her time giving and giving until I was quite sure she would give the house away.

"My favorite room in the house was the library, but it was quickly followed by the music room. From a young age, Papa knew I had talent. I would play and sing all day long. So, a tutor was hired. I began lessons at the age of five and would be at the piano from the moment the sun rose till the sun set. At first, it was just simple songs for me to sing, but we spent a lot of time on technique. My tutor was worried that if I didn't have good technique developed from a young age, then my voice would be damaged when I grew older. He was the same in regards to the piano. It was scales and arpeggios for what seemed like an eternity but I played my first Bach Invention at the age of seven. Papa was very proud.

"Elizabeth was born just after I turned six, and I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible but for some reason I wasn't allowed to. I wanted to take care of her and to help her nurse, but Mama always needed me to go with her to the garden to sing songs with her, or to help pick flowers, or to be taught a parable. I went with her often to the village to take care of the unfortunate and time just slipped by and Elizabeth and I had little to no contact with each other.

"I would often go riding on my pony, if Mama or Papa was close by. I remember even at a young age, I refused to ride side saddle when I grew up. I found there to be something entirely unsafe in riding side saddle and was determined to always ride astride. Even at a young age I was entirely focused on disregarding what society deemed proper. My favorite thing, about living out in the country, was the stars. Every night, before I went to sleep, I would look out my window and would try, unsuccessfully, to count all the stars in the sky. Eventually, I would grow so tired that I would fall asleep at the window sill, the window open to the night air. I received scolding after scolding from my governess. She thought I would always catch my death of cold.

"The time when my Papa was alive, was a happy time. There was always a lot of laughter and a lot of love. I never wanted for anything, but then I had very few wants. As long as I could spend as much time as possible with Mama or at the piano, I was happy. Wo, to the person who tried to take me away from either of those things. My governess had a will of iron, and she made me focus as well as she could, but the second she was done, I was back at Mama's side or pounding away on the ivory keys."

"What happened after your father died?"

Erik's voice jolted me out of my reverie. I had been lost in Papa's smile and Mama's flower garden.

"You have to understand why he died. It was not from any illness that he died. He was healthy and strong…and in serious debt. He hid his gambling from all of us…well, at least from Elizabeth and me. Of course, she was only six when he died, and she barely remembers anything from when he was alive. I was eleven at the time and fully capable of understanding that Papa hung himself from the rafters in our attic. Everything went down hill fast after that. My tutor and governess left, the horses were sold, Mama's garden died, and the servants took everything of value they could find. We only had a few hours to pack what few things we thought precious before the bank came and we were driven from our home, from all I had even known."

I fell silent and looked at my hands, clenched in my lap. The memories, though so long ago, were still as fresh as if they had just happened yesterday. I had never seen my mother cry so much in my life. I think she cried for a good two days together before she tried to put our small family back together again.

"What happened then?"

"Erik, please understand that I can't talk any more about what happened. That's all I can share at this time."

"So…the reason why you won't sing anymore is because of what happened after your father died but before you went to live with your Grandmother?"

"Yes. Living with Grandmama, in the beginning, hadn't been so difficult. I was fifteen when she found us, and we were whisked away to live with her, Mama included. Mama soon became ill, but Elizabeth and I were sent away to school. Elizabeth was young enough to be corrected of whatever faults had occurred during those four years of darkness. I, however, was permanently flawed, with no hope of curing. I got out of finishing school, and was immediately prepped for a debut into London society." I laughed, remembering Grandmama trying to make me into a sensible and proper young lady. "Unfortunately, being allowed to run a little too wild in the country, plus four years of hard times, made that impossible. I had a season, and then two, and it was decided that a third season would be entirely impossible. So, I had a few small engagements, but was allowed to resume my piano studies, singing forever gone from me. I took care of Mama and stepped aside as Elizabeth prepared to be the talk of all London society."

"And…that's it?"

"Erik, those four years are something that I never want to relive and so I've put those ghosts to rest. I don't want to talk about them, not now…not ever."

"But if you talk about them surely you'll be able to sing again."

I was shocked, stunned, and hurt. Was this his game? "Is that why you want to know my past? So that I could sing and be the next Prima Donna?"

"Anne…"

"I won't do it, Erik! I will not be your next obsession!" I stood up and stormed out of the kitchen but he was close behind me.

"Anne, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean it that way." He grabbed my arm and whirled me around. My upper arms became grasped in his tight fists.

"Well, what did you mean by it?"

"Anne, you should see the way your face lights up when you talked about singing. You were born to be a singer and I want that part of you to shine."

"You don't understand! I cannot sing, not now, not ever again." I tried to break free but he was not having any of it.

"Why? Why won't you believe me? Why don't you trust me?"

I stopped moving. "Trust you? I just told you almost my entire life's story, and you think I don't trust you?!"

"But there's a part of your life that I'm missing, and I want to know what it is!"

"Show me your face, then!"

I had him there. His mask was what kept him from opening up to me, and now, after sharing almost all of my life with him, I wondered if it would always be the barrier that separated us. He dropped his hands and I stepped away from him.

"Erik…I'm sorry, but there are just some things I can't share with you. Not yet, anyway." I turned and walked away. He didn't say anything as I picked up my music and left the house. As I made my way back to my room, I took a shaky breath, my mind a complete whirl of emotions. How could I explain to him that I couldn't tell him something he wanted to know...if I myself didn't remember it?


"Damn it!" Erik shouted in his empty house. Why wouldn't she listen? He was only trying to help her and then she had to bring up his mask. Was that always going to be her way of getting out everything she didn't want to do? It was only going to work for so long. But as he thought over her story, his mind was drawn to other things and Anne took a back seat in his mind. The thing that rang in his ears and that he tried to do his best to hide was Anne's mother and her flower garden. He had wished that she had elaborated on that. Erik remembered, vividly, Maria's love of flowers and how he had strived to make sure she had any sort of flower she wanted. When she had left and had gotten married, he had given her, as a wedding present, a special shoot to plant in her own garden. It was a very special red rose that he had himself had grown a long time ago, in what seemed like another life. He had called it Divinité, and it was as a dark red color that would bloom for weeks at a time before finally withering away to die.

Maria had been a special person in his life, though he had never been romantically attached to her. She had a kindness unlike anything he had ever seen. Antoinette always seemed to live in some sort of fear of him, regardless of the fact that she had rescued him. Maria had touches of the angel in her and had taken care of him and had brought him back out of the darkness. She ran errands for him, and found some ways to unsuspectingly bring him food and supplies so that he could begin to create his masterpiece. He found it strange, and yet ironic that Anne should be who he gave his heart to.

Erik knew that he had to rectify the situation with Anne. He didn't like her being upset with him. He smirked, as he realized that his relationship with Anne was something quite different from whatever relationship he had with Christine. Christine had been afraid of him, and only wished him to be an Angel from Heaven sent by her father and nothing more. Anne, had substance of character and, though she was much like her mother in ways she probably didn't even realize, she was not afraid of him. She was usually angry with him, rather than anything else. He doubted she could ever come to care for him…to love him…but love had only brought him pain. He was determined to keep this feeling for Anne locked away but only declare it once…only once.

He made his way to his music room and pulled out a blank piece of sheet music. He picked up his quill, dipped it in black ink and wrote three words across the top of the page. The title was always the most important thing to a piece. It set the tone…the mood…everything depended on the title.

Love Never Dies


AN: Trying to get to the good stuff here! It's harder than it looks! We'll know all about the four dark years before the end of November! I promise!