Disclaimer: I do not own Erik. I mean...have you tried owning him? It's hard!

AN: I want to thank everyone who reviews my chapters. I love getting the e-mail notifications when someone has reviews or favorites my work. The notifications usually come when I least expect or, like today, when I'm really upset! Everyone who reads/reviews/favorites is the reason I've gone this far and the reason why I'll keep going! Black ribbon roses to you all!

Chapter 19

"No! That's wrong!"

I lifted my hands off the keys for the umpteenth time, my frustration finally getting the better of me. "I'm sorry, but how can it be wrong if that's how the music makes me feel? Interpretation is all about perspective!" I stood up and walked away from the instrument feeling as if I had to deal with one more of Erik telling me how it should or should not be played I would do serious harm to the black wood and ivory keys. Our first lesson had started off well, with him listening to my technical work with scales, arpeggios, in all the keys, and then how I played Bach. Bach was as dry as the desert, but if played correctly could astonish everyone who listened. It had taken me quite some time to like his work. However, our lesson had taken a complete nose dive when he asked for me to play a waltz written by Franz Schubert.

"And how can I feel anything really deep about a simple waltz? There's no room for rubato or interpretation!" I picked up my skirts so that I could show him what I meant. I did a few simple one-two-three steps, dancing around in a circle. "One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three." I put the emphasis on one probably a bit too emphatically but I had to prove my point. "It's a dance that moves with strict rhythm and timing. There is no chance to change anything because you carry the dancers."

He sighed and rubbed at his head. "This is not going well." He sat down in the chair next to the bench, hanging his head in his hands.

I dropped my skirts and walked over to him. I sat on the bench and took his hands away from his face. I waited until he looked at me before I spoke. "Only because you expect me to take your word blindly without any say of my own. Interpretation is subjective and based upon what I know. I cannot feel as deeply as you, and cannot see the music as you do, because your experiences have been different from my own."

He smiled weakly and shook his head.

"What are you thinking? I am not a mind reader, you know. You're the one with the bag of tricks." I smiled up at him still holding his hands in my own.

"This is not going well," he repeated.

"We've been at this for well over an hour and a half. My hands are not used to this kind of work. I mean, it's been a while since I've practiced so much." I looked down at my fingers still entwined around his and marveled at how his hands felt. They weren't rough and extremely calloused, but they were hands of a well seasoned musician who played more than just the piano. I took a moment and examined his fingertips finding there to be small calluses on the left hand but not the right.

"You play the violin, don't you? Or at least, some sort of stringed instrument." I turned his hands over and looked at the black onyx ring he wore on his right hand. Hard working musician, and elegant gentleman was a balance uncommon in my knowledge.

"Yes…" he whispered, answering my question. "I think I've played violin longer than anything else."

"I was once tried to learn the harp, but found it to be a little too much for my hands."

"You probably weren't positioning your hands properly. You have long fingers which would do well with the harp. You already have quite a reach on the piano."

I laughed. "Yes, my last tutor said the same thing." For a moment we both sat there in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Though I was uncertain of my companion's thoughts, I was felt a strange breathlessness sitting so close to Erik. His mask, something I tried not to stare at, was white porcelain and it perfectly hid whatever deformity scarred his face. His hair was black as midnight and it was currently smoothed back on his head and he appeared to have every single meticulous detail in place. It was his eyes, however, that gave it all away. His brown eyes reminded me of the chocolate sweets my mother would sneak me when I had been a good girl. But they held unspeakable sadness and pain that I was sure I had never experienced. Unrequited love was one of the most difficult hardships a person could live with. Or at least, so I had read. "Perhaps we should call it a day?"

"Giving up?" He turned his hands in mine and held them.

"No, but I'm not going to do what you want me to do either. Who knows. Tomorrow is a new day and I could probably play it flawlessly."

He laughed and I was surprised to find how much I liked that sound. It was deep and rich, but I could tell from the way he spoke that his voice was not low enough to be a bass. I wondered what it would be like to hear him sing. Everyone was pressuring me a bit to be a part of the choir, and I think even Erik wanted to hear what I could do with a couple bars of melody, but I refused.

"All the same, I should probably be getting back. Aunt is going to be wondering where I am." I started to get up, but he retained his hold on my hands. I looked back at him, confused. "Erik, what is it?"

"You will come back, won't you?"

"You think because of one disagreement about music I won't come back?" I couldn't tell if he was in jest or in earnest. "Erik, when we get past our differences in how we see things, I'm sure our lessons will run along smoothly. And I'll come back tomorrow so that I can keep you company. Rehearsals will be done at one and I shall have the rest of the evening to myself and I will come down then."

"I'll meet you at the chapel then."

It had become our meeting spot. He would come for me there, and I would return there. I could easily find my way back to my room from the chapel and no one would really wonder too much about a girl going to say her prayers as often as I did. I was still in mourning for my mother, so it was a fairly good way to avoid any suspicion that I was sneaking off.

"I'll keep my usual practice regime since I now have so much music to learn."

"That'll change in a few weeks. You're being paid of course."

"Yes." It wasn't much but it was enough to keep me alive. And I was grateful to be at least receiving some sort of monetary means. "And I also have my fee from being Madame Carrolton's accompanist."

"You have enough?"

I glared at him. "I will not accept your charity, if that's what you're implying."

"Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to."

"I thought you weren't a mind reader."

"Well, only when it's such an easy read."

He sighed. "Come on, let's get you back to your Aunt. God only knows I don't need her worrying about some terrible thing I wouldn't do to you."

I stood up, only to realize that he had not let go of my hands, which was a pleasant thought to me. It seemed as if we were becoming friends, which was I'm sure what mother would have wanted for me to do. Erik didn't deserve to be shut out from all human converse and from all society. What he did deserve was kindness and for someone to at least listen to him and to make him feel as if he wasn't the only person alive in this darkness. I was only too happy to oblige, and I was sure that Mama was somewhere up there smiling down on my good deeds.

Erik deposited her quite gracefully into the chapel and only until the last possible moment did he drop her hand. She had reached out to him, to hold his hands, and he did not want to let their time end so quickly. True she had told him that she would come back, but he found letting her go to be quite difficult to do, considering he had no real guarantee she would return.

"Until tomorrow?" He asked, catching her just before she reached before the doorway.

"Are you so afraid I won't return?" She turned and looked back at him, and he saw only curiosity lying in the eyes that, in the candle light, were nearly white.

Erik couldn't bring himself to answer her. She walked back over and she stood so close that he could smell the subtle scent of her jasmine perfume.

"I'd like to think of us as friends." She took his hands once more and he was tempted to not let her go. Human contact of such a kind and gentle nature was foreign to him and he wanted to hold onto it forever. But wasn't that how he'd lost Christine? By keeping her against her will?

"Friends?"

"Surely you've had at least a friend before…" she whispered.

He looked away uncomfortable. Friends had always been a commodity he had no time to make or to keep.

"Well, you shall have one now. And I'll be back tomorrow. I promise." She smiled and dropped his hands. She turned away and walked towards the door. Just before she crossed the threshold she said, "I'll be practicing late tonight. You're more than welcome to drop by." And then, she was gone.

Erik's thoughts were confused and in a little bit of a mess as he returned to his underground home. As he entered the music room, he could already tell a change had been made. Maybe not in him, but definitely in the place where he lived. When it was apparent he wasn't looking, or had gone to get some music, Anne had unconsciously tidied the piano and his organ. He looked over to where she had sat and found that she had left the black shawl she wore in mourning for her mother. A visit to her late night rehearsals would definitely be in order so he could return it.

In just two days, Anne had proved herself to be a woman that was completely unlike anyone had ever known. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She did remind him of someone he remembered. Someone from long, long ago that he would have probably considered a friend. His thoughts were not of Christine as he walked past the room that still had the mannequin, sketches, and paintings. He walked into his room and opened the drawer of his nightstand. In it were possibly the only things that connected him to a past he had rather forget. There was one thing that he sought for. It was a photo frame that within held a photo…well, more of a self-portrait. The portrait was done by a young lady that had once been in the ballet corp. They had been friends, and nothing more, but she had made sure that when she had married and rose to places he could only dream of, that her dear friend, Erik, had something to remember her by. There had been no letters after she had left the Opera House for England. Only Madame Giry to tell him of what happened to her, and after a few years there was nothing to be told as even she lost contact with the woman who was drawn in this portrait. He poured over the picture trying to find some resemblance of Anne but couldn't find any. The spirit was definitely the same, though, and as he put the photo away he wondered why Anne wouldn't look nothing like her mother.

AN: Bam! What do you think of that twist? Well, it's not much of a twist but it's an idea I've been toying with for a while. I'm hoping I've not stepped into anything by going down that plot train. Be on the look out! We'll have blasts from the past coming soon!