Anna Devereux was distraught. She ran her hands down her roughly hewn brown skirts, she balled up her apron and released it, knowing full well she was only adding to the wrinkles on her already dirty clothes. She only had one set. She tugged on a strand of hair loose from her tight braid. "Ooh," she muttered. "What am I to do?"
It was bad enough that she was hiding in a dank little alley, so men passing on the street wouldn't see her. They might call "thief" like everyone else did in her last city of residence. It was only food. And only a little. She couldn't see why everyone got so worked up about it. Who was going to miss a handful of cornmeal, a dry loaf of bread every week? They would have tossed it out anyway, she thought contemptuously.
Then, they might also try something. Not every man could afford a courtesan. Fear quickened her pulse as she leaned back against the cold stone walls of whatever building she was beside.
So, she had stolen a wedge of cheese for a late… dinner. And she had been caught. Only a crotchety old woman, but surely she would tell whatever family was living with her. Anna did not believe in witch curses. She was eighteen already and surely old enough to have grown out of such things. She was hiding just in case, and she thought she would sleep in the alley she'd found until things had boiled down the next night. After all, no one called in a squadron and searched the whole city for days just because of a missing wedge of cheese. Which was moldy anyway. She dropped it while running away.
To add to her problems, Anna was new to the city. She had hidden away on a trade ship to get here, and then wandered a very long way, and she didn't really know where "here" was, although she thought vaguely that it might be Paris. She would have been more awestruck by the huge buildings if she weren't too busy fretting about the fact that she was hopelessly lost between them.
Finally, Anna resolved to ask the first person she saw alone where she was and where she could find… Well, she didn't have money to pay for a place to stay, or even for food. All she had in the world was the clothes on her back. Her family's home, modest though relatively nice, had burned down. Her parents perished in the flames, and her brother's body was scarred, his leg broken by a fallen beam of wood. He took his life a month after the disaster. She had no other family, and no one recognized her. And thus, she became lower than the rats. Rats at least had some sense of direction.
Anna peeked out around the corner of the alley, noticed in the distance flickering red-orange lights. Was there a fire in the city? Unwanted memories of the flames and the choking smoke came flooding back, and she caught her breath. She was only eight when it happened. Why was she unscarred? Why had she survived when her family had not?
She shook her head and pushed away the thoughts, coming out from the alley and standing on her tip-toes to look. Indeed, a building had flames licking out the windows- a pretty building too, an opera house from the looks of it. She craned her neck, watching the fire, wondering what she would do next when she heard quick footsteps on the cobblestone. Anna immediately whipped around to see a man, almost as roughly clothed as she, and all she had time to notice before he ran into her. Clearly he was as startled as she at the presence of another human being.
Anna took a moment to look at him as he stared in horror at her. The right half of his face was pink and bulging, his eye sunken in and lighter colored than the other. His lip was pulled with it, and no hair grew where what seemed to be a scar spread with lumps of disfigured flesh. She was not afraid, for that was what her brother resembled before he died, but she could see his mutation was not from flames, nor indeed anything but a misfortunate birth. Immediately she pitied him, for the other half of his face was handsome, and his eyes were full of every pain and sorrow of the world.
The man backed away from her, lifting a hand to cover his face. Anna smiled at him and took a small curtsey. "Monsieur, good evening. I was wondering if… you…" The strange man still was backing away from her, disbelief painted on his would-be handsome features. She noted that he was trembling slightly, and he appeared about to bolt from her. "Am I scary?" she asked warily. "I must ask you not to run, I need your help, monsieur, if you please."
"Help?" the man echoed, and hearing one word, Anna sighed. His voice was so… hypnotic. Low, melodious, she could only imagine how… How could she let herself be so distracted? She needed to get to … somewhere, anywhere safe to stay for a while.
"Yes, help," Anna repeated. "My name is Anna Devereux, and I… Need to find a place to rest for the night. I haven't any money, though…"
"I… I can't…" The man swayed slightly, took in a sharp breath, steadied himself. "The Opera Populaire, it's…"
"Is that the place burning?" Anna took a closer look at the man, taking a single step towards him. "Are you alright monsieur? You look… very pale."
"You're not afraid…" he muttered, almost, she thought, as though it were the strangest thing in the world.
"I'm not afraid of very much monsieur."
"Erik Claudin," the Phantom muttered, lowering his hand. Anna took in that he was only in black boots and breeches, with a white dress shirt, loosened due to swift activity. What activity, she could only wonder.
"Monsieur Claudin." She curtsied again, feeling very odd performing such formalities in the rags she had taken from someone before having to sell her only gown to afford food.
"Mademoiselle Devereux, I'm afraid…"
"No!" Anna cried, folding her arms over her chest, attempting intimidation, knowing her voice had cracked and she probably looked as though she were about to burst into tears. She was. "Please, monsieur, I have nowhere else to turn. Please, I beg you. I could stay where you are headed. I do not make noise. I could cook and clean if you like. I could earn my keep. Please monsieur, I can't live on the streets the way…" Anna swallowed, let down her hands, steadying her breathing. She noticed that Erik was staring at her strangely. Everything about him was strange, really, but that the pot calling the kettle black. Street urchins did not curtsy. That much she knew.
"But that's the trouble," Erik said. He felt odd without his face being covered. He felt odd that this girl was talking to him. He did not hear screams. He was not hiding. And she was not running. "I don't know quite where I'm going." His voice dipped sadly as he said this. He had always planned ahead. He was a genius; he should know what to do. But this was not his lair, his opera house. He didn't have his trap doors or secret strings or hidden passageways.
"We can find where to go together." Anna caught herself and gaped at her boldness. This man was probably some sort of noble, judging by the fineness of the material his breeches were made of. How dare she ask, as a ragged beggar girl on the street, for him to accompany her? Had her parents known she had done such a thing, her father would have slapped her. Surely... Surely he would be offended, he would leave, and she would have to find another man to ask where to go. This one seemed rather lost, anyway.
"Why would you want to do that?" Erik asked, tilting his head slightly. "I'm hideous."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Anna replied quietly, turning her face down, ashamed of herself.
Erik was quiet for what seemed a long time, too long a time. He had officials, theater folk, a mob after him with torches and garrotes. She had an angry old woman and her family, and possibly the police, searching for the dirt-crusted beggar. Surely neither had time to spare. Eventually, Erik spoke. "Then… we might seek lodgings together." Erik watched her eyes light up with hope. "I have… some francs left," he said, though in truth he had quite a bit left. He would have to be careful how he spent it, now that he did not have managers.
"That's… that's great! You're serious! Do you know where we could go?" she asked.
"We must leave the city immediately."
"Oh..." Anna groaned loudly, massaging her forehead, not even caring at this point whether it was rude or not. More traveling and hiding out. She was thankful that a nobleman was taking her up, paying for her shelter, but she couldn't move around anymore before she collapsed from exhaustion.
"I can arrange for a carriage," Erik said, still looking at her. After moments' consideration, he added "You may sleep on the ride, if you like."
The Phantom was wary of the girl. No one he'd witnessed in his life, that being many, many people, saw him without terror in their eyes, looked at him without contempt or disgust, except Christine, and even she, sometimes. He could see nothing in the girl's eyes but desperation and hunger and lack of sleep. Maybe she was lying, and she was part of the mob sent to kill him. Maybe she wasn't, and plotted to kill him simply because he was a dirty mark on the face of the pristine Earth. Maybe she would simply leave without a word, which would probably work out best for all sides. In any case, he reached the miserable place he was in then by isolation. Even death would be welcome at this point… and if that was not what awaited him, then he could at least try to live happily.
The Opera Populaire, Christine, and his art had been his life. He wrote, he drew, he taught Christine, he laid plans and built models… all of that was gone now, left behind in his need to flee.
He thought not of this "Anna Devereux" as a young girl, nor what it would look like were they to travel together. He thought only that whatever was to become of that travel would be better than living or dying alone. Anything would be better than that wretched, pointless existence.
Anna followed the man silently, mechanically, simply her body carrying her along until the point where she could simply lay down and sink into sleep for a week, sweet sleep. Maybe food, real food, not just scraps and handfuls of meal. She did not question him as they entered a stable and he led out two black geldings, as he took a cloak from the tack room and donned it, as he hooked the horses' bridles to one of the carriages outside. At this hour of night they were not being watched, and though she was sure they were tethered somehow, the man seemed to have broken those bonds. It didn't matter.
Erik swung up the driver's seat and told her to get in, and she obeyed readily. Her stiff, plain dress was less than comfortable to lie in, and the seat was hard as well, but none of that mattered either. Only that there was a promise of shelter and food with a sad nobleman who had been played a rotten hand by fate. She knew she should be more cautious, seeing as just falling asleep in the carriage with a man she did not know, nobleman or not, at the head, was probably the stupidest thing she could do. It was also quite the opposite of what she'd been trying to do before.
She did not know what it was about this man. Perhaps it was the normal half of his face. Perhaps the boundless pain she saw in his eyes. Perhaps the way his voice slipped under her heart, enveloped it, and made it soar, more than any of the singers she'd seen in the operas before the fire could. She did not know why she trusted him, but she did. Anna heard the reins cracking and the horses' hooves clacking on the cobblestone. The carriage jerked into motion, rolling a little bumpily along the road.
She read a lot when she was a child. Education for women was not so common a thing, but her father taught her anyway, thinking one day it would come in handy for her. Her favorite tales were those of the Greeks, where heroes in capes and sandals, with swords and shields, traveled great distances and battled great monsters, often for love's sake. She knew that each and every person, too, had a story, some interesting, some not. She wished she knew what brought such pain upon the man in the driver's seat. Her brother's disfigurement caused him great pain as well, but never could she see it so deeply in him as she could in every tone and gesture of this man, Erik.
As Anna Devereux's eyes reached the weight of stone, as she slipped into the sweet embrace of sleep, lying in the back of the carriage, she swore to herself that she would hear Erik's story before they parted company.