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

AN: Reviews are very welcome as this is my first published work of fanfiction. Don't be kind but don't be rude. Your opinions are greatly appreciated, and very much looked forward to! Thank you to those who have "favorite" this story, "follow" the story, and "review" my work. I dedicate this chapter to you who have read/reviewed thus far!

Chapter 3

It was so beautiful looking down at everything from Box Five. Though it was a little inconvenient to see everything that happened in the wings on stage right, I could see why the Opera Ghost would favor such a seat. The faces of the performers were so clear…the emotion appeared so real. It was beautiful, in its own way.

I leaned back in the red velvet cushioned chair and sighed. I looked around the auditorium. There were seats upon seats, and my eyes drifted up to the chandelier hanging from the hand painted ceiling. Nothing gave evidence that there had been a fire just a few short years ago.

As I sat in the velvet seat, I couldn't help but let my mind drift back across the miles of sea to my mother. It was Wednesday, so Mama would undoubtedly be working on her scripture studies. Wednesday was always her day to study her bible and she would pour over it for hours. Usually, I was with her. We would read Psalms together and she would teach me great things from Proverbs. Sometimes, Mama would read the Psalms and we would sing them to each other. It was one of the few times I sang, since Papa's death. What would she do now, without me there? Who would sing with her? Who would she teach?

I felt the tears running down my face before I realized that I had been crying. I fumbled about for a handkerchief and, frustrated at not finding one, I used my hands to wipe my face. I missed home, so terribly. I slipped my feet out of my shoes and drew my feet up into the chair, resting my chin on my knees. I closed my eyes and spoke softly a prayer.

"O God," I whispered, "who are the only source of health and healing, the Spirit of calm and the central peace of this universe, grant to my such a consciousness of Your indwelling and surrounding presence that she may permit you to give her health and strength and peace, through Jesus Christ our Lord…"

"Damnation!"

I leapt up from my curled up position and leaned over the banister to look down at the stage. One of the backdrops had fallen and crashed onto the stage. No one was hurt, but it had caused quite a ruckus. There were screams and whisperings from each member of the troupe and the orchestral conductor was throwing up his hands in frustration.

"What in Heaven's name...?" I turned and ran out of Box 5 but as my foot crossed the threshold I heard a voice whisper in my ear words that were meant as a warning.

"Welcome to my Opera House, mademoiselle."

I stopped and turned around to see who was speaking to me, but I saw no one. "Who is there? Who is speaking to me?" Anyone walking by the door to Box 5 would have thought me mad for talking to the air. No one was there and I couldn't hazard a guess as to where that voice had come from. I slowly backed out of the box and then quickly made my way down to the stage. I had to know what was going on.

"He's here! The Phantom of the Opera," I heard Meg whisper as I reached the stage. She shot me a look that I chose to ignore. Phantoms do not cause mishaps such as this. I looked at the backdrop that had actually torn down the middle as it fell. Hours of hard work destroyed in a matter of seconds.

"The ties must have come undone." I turned to my aunt who was trying to do everything in her power to calm the ballet corp.

"What's going on here?" The troupe turned as two very well dressed gentlemen made their way to the stage. The two men couldn't have been any different in physical appearance. One was tall and willowy with light coloring and green eyes. The other was short and very fat with dark hair and dark eyes. Both appeared to be quite friendly and have very enthusiastic manners. Though they were quite concerned with the accident they did have a look of confusion as to I was and what I was doing in their Opera House.

Aunt Giry put her hand on my back and guided me to the gentlemen. "Anne, these are the Opera Populaire's managers. Monsieur Armand and Monsieur Laurent. Monsieurs, this is my niece Anastasia Hillcrest."

"Please, call me Anne. Everyone else does." I dipped a respectable curtsy and the two gentlemen bowed.

"We were wondering when this niece of yours was going to arrive, Madame Giry," Monsieur Armand gave me a quick once over that I found laughable. "It's a pleasure, mademoiselle."

"Thank you," I replied. "But I see any other further introductions will have to wait." I pointed to the fallen backdrop. "You seem to have a bit of a mishap on your hands."

"Yes, I say Faucher!" Monsieur Laurent yelled up into the rafters. "For God's sake man, what are you about up there?"

I looked up and saw, to my great shock, a young man no more than thirty appear in the light. From my place on the stage he appeared to have blonde hair and was fairly well built. "Forgive me, Monsieurs!" Faucher yelled down. "I don't know what happened! I turned my back for one moment and then…"

"And where is Madame Carrolton?!" Monsieur Armand yelled from behind me. "She was supposed to have been here a full hour ago!"

A man holding what appeared to be the orchestral score spoke up. "I think Monsieurs, that Madame is ill today. She begs a leave of absent."

And that was all. I was pushed to the back of their minds and I became an onlooker of the pandemonium on the stage. I watched as the managers, despite their attempts at a friendly manner, grew angrier and angrier by the minute. To be sure, I found it quite amusing as none of it had to do with me, but I could easily tell when my presence was no longer needed, and would be a hindrance if I stayed.

I turned away, attempting to make an escape when I caught a glimpse of the ropes. They had been cut! I saw something flicker to my right and my eyes were drawn to Box 5, where I had just left. I saw a flash of white and a gloved hand just briefly before both disappeared. I opened my mouth to say something, but found no one who would listen as everyone seemed preoccupied.

I made my way out of the auditorium going through the house instead of through the wings on stage. I ran my hand along the red velvet cushions of the house seats and tried to picture the place filled with men and women of the best of society filling up the house to its brim. The ladies would be in their best dresses wearing their finest jewels and the men who would be in their best suits trying to stay awake. I have never felt that men could truly understand the power of music and of art. It was something that only women could truly master, since we generally tended to feel greater than men.

My footsteps led me, not surprisingly, to the main entrance of the Opera House. I had never seen such exquisite art and architectural design that had gone into one room. If I had entered through the front of the opera, I would see immediately beautiful white marble floors that were interlaced with gold marble. My eyes would naturally see beautiful white pillars that would resemble any Grecian temple. A rising staircase started just over halfway into the entrance that rose to the second floor which had beautiful banisters overlooking the scene below. There was a third floor above that I could not see how to get to, but my eyes kept going farther and farther up until I could see a beautiful golden chandelier that had hundreds of lit candles. The color scheme throughout this entrance was all white and gold and there were at least twenty different golden statues on the first floor and undoubtedly just as many on the higher floors.

Standing there, beneath the chandelier, I felt suddenly very insignificant and very much out of my comfort. I looked down at my black skirt and white shirt. I did not belong amidst the wild splendor of the Opera House…at least, not to the part that was always visible. Despite my love of music and art, I had no desire to be in front of an audience, to sing or to dance or to do anything that would really draw attention to myself. That was Elizabeth's job.

"Always make yourself useful, Anne." My grandmother's voice played in my head. "It is your responsibility to be at a service to everyone. Never put yourself forward. Let your sister, Elizabeth, make all the headway. She was born to greatness. She was born to great things. You, are to make sure that happens."

I put my hands over my ears trying to block out the harsh and unloving words. I felt, in that moment, that leaving England was probably the best thing for my sister but where would that leave me? What would become of me? I knew that grandmother wanted me to be here so that I could marry someone, but she had no love of the French so I was just a blight on her road map of securing a match for her favorite granddaughter. But what of my happiness? Wasn't I worthy of having someone to love me just like Papa had loved Mama? Wasn't I worthy of happiness? Of joy? My heart screamed that I was, but my head told a far different story. To be of use…that was my purpose.

"Miss Anne?"

I looked up and saw Jane staring at me with confusion and great worry. I let my hands fall away from my ears. "Yes, Jane. What is it?"

"Begging your pardon miss, but I thought you might want to rest a little bit. We were on the ship for such a great time and the carriage was not too comfortable either."

I smiled. Jane was always looking out for me. She was close in age to me, just a few years older, and had been with me since my formal education under Grandmother's guidance had ended.

"I should perhaps like to lie down a little Jane." I felt a small rumble in my stomach and I chuckled. "Would you be so kind…"

"Say no more, Miss Anne. Let me take you to your room, first."

I was surprised that Jane knew her way back to my room so soon after our arrival. But then, Jane tended to be a very observant person. She always knew where to find me and what mood I was in. It shouldn't have come as a great shock that she should be acquainted with the journey back to my room.

I tried to commit the route to memory but knew that only practice would commit it to permanence. I fumbled along as well as I could and smiled at Jane when she opened the door to my room. She had me situated me on the divan.

"I'll be right back, Miss Anne. You just rest, now."

I nodded, truly feeling comforted with Jane's honest and friendly face. We never were truly close, not like the best of friends tend to be, but we were companion for the other. We never complained but told each other of the fleeting moments of happiness that had occurred in our lives which always tended to outweigh the bad.

I rested my head against the arm of the couch and closed my eyes. I heard the soft click of the door as Jane left and smiled. She would probably not be bringing tea as she knew I would probably fall asleep. Indeed, she was right. I succumbed to sleep just moments after welcoming a brief dip into dreams which was one of the rare pieces of happiness I could find.