Chapter 2

Erik found himself in a ball of stress. He marched up to his office and scattered through the files in his messy cabinet, retracing the letter he had received 15 years earlier. He sighed; Erik had... learned to leave her. He knew he would never see her again, but alas, that was a lie. She was coming... with her children and husband. What would she do when she realized her own kin and her old lover retreated at the opera house? He realized she would have a murderous break down in agony!

Meanwhile, Anastasia was surrounded by little ballerinas. One giggled, while the others held a grin.

"What is it, young Sirens?" She asked. Anastasia called the girls 'little Sirens' because they were beautiful, had the voices of angels, and would most possibly excel in dancing.

"Are you ugly under your mask?" One girl asked. The girl was only 4 years old... she quite literally wouldn't understand Ana's struggles.

"Of course not! If i would take this off, you would stare into literal light! Now, young Siren, I would not want to blind your small glacier eyes!" Anastiasa giggled. She tried to understand she was once curious as the small girl. Little giggles swarmed her ears. She just assumed that the girls were talking about something more interesting – possibly boys, gossip or dolls. But she was incorrect. Small hands grasped the very shell of which concealed her deformity, and whisked it off! She put a hand on her face, grabbing her mask back.

"Young Sirens! I am much disappointed in you all! I will be telling Madame Giry about this this instant!" She huffed, her face flash of red.

After she told Meg, the girl walked into her fathers office with shame. He could tell what happened, just by the look on her frail face.

"Ana – I'm so so sorry... who did this to you?" Erik asked in anger.

"Father, there's no one to hurt. But the little ballerinas definitely to have a mind unlike their mothers and fathers." The Ballerina stated, sitting down in one of her fathers chairs.

"So, besides that – did you hear anything? Any gossip about the world known Soprano, Christine Daae?" He asked in hesitation. Anastasia raised her eyebrows.

"No– father, why?" She asked.

"Well... I have some explaining to do about her, child." Eriks heart started racing. Anastasia nodded, telling him to carry on.

"Well... I've known her ever since she was almost about 10... and I taught her music. I sang with her. But she never knew it was me. She thought it was the spirit of her dead father.. then, in 1881, I remember telling her who I really was... and I was living in the Opera cellars. Soon... I realized she was an obsession for me. My god, I thought it was love... but it was really just a dangerous form of desire.. and I... did things I wasn't suppose to. But she was in love with the Vitcome de Chagny... and I made her choose. She choose to love the Vitcome.. and after that, she met with me one last time because she thought she was about to divorce the Vitcome. And we did something so dumb, so stupid. And then I remember... you showing up on my doorstep. And... you know how I've never told you who your real mother was? Well, it's her... Christine De Chagny." Erik sighed. The story on Anastasia's face was not a magnificent one.

"Father – you told me I descended from the heavens! That an angel delivered me to you!" She huffed.

"Yes – and I wasn't lying." Erik stated, rubbing his face. Anastasia's expression was priceless.

"So you're – the Phantom of the Opera?" She began to become breathless.

"Yes, sweet child. I was. Yes – I did shed the lives of 3 men.

But they were out to get me. I had to do what I had to do, sweet child." He signed. Erik could already see the look on his daughters face.

20 minutes later...

The De Chagny's started to come off their carriage and into the light. It had been 15 years. Just 15 years after their descendent from the Paris Opera house. Christine was greeted with bows and smiles, while the rest of the family went on a tour.

"Mrs. De Chagny!" Someone called out. Christine looked to her side to find a fairly old redheads woman stood before her.

"Yes, Madame?" The Soprano greeted her.

"Monsieur Destler wants you in his office... about.. now!" The woman smiled. She knew exactly where the office was... but who was 'Monsieur Destler'? Likely just an old man she knew. When she got to the door, she knocked.

"Come in, Daae." A very familiar voice responded. She opened the door to find a man... it was Erik. The very man she remembered. And beside his desk was a young girl with a mask on the left side of her face. Maybe... it couldn't be. She sat down, taking off her hat. The man sat very strictly in his chair and he... demanded business. She had no memory of him.

"Monsieur Destler... What is this meeting about?"

"I have a few things in mind. But first... I very much want to meet someone." Christine looked up at the man. This girl? Who was she?

"Christine... Anastasia... Christine, this is your daughter, Anastasia." He kindly smiled. Then she remembered. It was him. The man she had got away from. He was back.