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: FLUFF! Well, till the very end, that is. Please read and review!

Chapter 24

I never had a chance to bring up my conversation with Erik to my Aunt, and in a way, I was very grateful. It wasn't that she was being extremely curious about the time I spent with Erik but she seemed always careful about how she talked about him. Reminding me of who he was, and what he was capable of. She also had tried to keep the entire Sunday incident hidden from me, so it made me apprehensive in talking to her about it, even though I was upset with her for lying to me.

The end of my two weeks of rehearsing with the troupe came to an end, and even my lessons with Madame Carrolton were moved to only a Saturday evening affair, if she was feeling up to it. When I went to see her, it would undoubtedly be to rehearse the music for the Opera, so my time became my own again. I had enjoyed my two weeks of rehearsals, and I had heard that there was some talk in finding me something more permanent to keep me occupied during my day, but I assured them that I was quite capable of finding some way of keeping myself busy.

I never forgot Erik's promise and, though the nightmares never stopped, I could imagine him close, watching over me and protecting me like a guardian angel would. It was silly to think of him that way, because he had proven that he was nothing more than a man, no matter how immortal he tried to make himself out to be. My lessons with him became more frequent as my time was now more available and I could devote myself to my own rehearsing without getting overly fatigued. At times, we didn't really have lesson but would just enjoy each other's company. I'd make lunch, and he would ask where I learned to make whatever was on the table. Which I would just simply smile and say that I learned it from my mother.

On one particular day, however, when Erik for some reason said he was extremely busy and everyone else was caught up in rehearsal, I decided to take a walk through the streets of Paris. It was strange, suddenly being alone, but I took it as an opportunity. Four months in the Opera House, and I had gotten to know it very well. Paris, on the other hand was almost as foreign as the day I arrived. So, I dressed in one of my new day dresses, I hadn't bothered wearing any of my new things since I hardly ever went outside. I pulled back my hair in a low chignon, and laced up my black boots. I looked in the mirror, surprised at the change that had occurred in the past month. My eyes seemed brighter, and my complexion fresher. I no longer looked like a girl who worried about her mother, or about the family she left in England. I looked like a woman confident with her future and happy with the life she was living. I laughed at myself, thinking that I had a long way to go to be any sort of confident woman.

Meg and her mother, had been kind enough to write down some directions to places that would they thought would hold my interest. The first and foremost was the Notre Dame Cathedral, a place I had only read about in Victor Hugo's, Notre-Dame de Paris. The novel had been an interesting read, and it was one that I couldn't put down until I had finished it. However, I did find it slightly amusing that Esmeralda was able to hold the attention of four different men. There was no way that such a woman could have been so beautiful and so perfect that she could have such a power over men…especially a man of the cloth.

My walk to the cathedral was uneventful, and I enjoyed the solitude. I got to peek into shops, watch families as they took a walk, and even passed a traveling gypsy tent. It wasn't long, until I could see the tall towers of the cathedral and my breath caught in my throat. I had yet to cross the Seine River, but the sunlight glistening off the grey stone walls was something I could never have pictured in my imagination. I made my way across the river, hardly being able to take my eyes off the imposing structure. I found my steps begin to quicken the closer I made it to the end of the bridge. I maneuvered around couples that leisurely walked arm in arm, with eyes only for each other.

As I made my way closer to the building, I marveled at how architects could have achieved such detailed work all those years ago. Everything, even from afar, seemed so intricate and advanced and I wondered how many lives had been lost in order to resurrect such a powerful building. For a moment, I simply stared up at the building, looking up at the Apostles that were gazing right back at me. The eyes held such a powerful stare, that I was sure it sent the most commonplace sinner running for the confessional.

I slowly made my way up the stairs and made my way inside as another couple was leaving. Mass had apparently just ended and there was some time until the next service. I dabbed two fingers into the basin of holy water, crossed myself and knelt down at the front of back of the aisle right in the center to show reverence of the crucifix hanging on the altar. As I made my way to where the prayer candles sat in front of the Holy Mother, I looked at the brilliant stain glass work, and stunning altar at the front of the sanctuary. The twelve stations of the cross, located on the sides of the sanctuary, were beautifully depicted by intricate paintings. What caused me to almost stop in the middle of the aisle were the flying buttresses above me. To help added support to the ceiling was the main reason they were placed, but they appeared to be such a natural part of the architecture that it seemed that it was the designer's original intent.

I knelt down in front of the prayer candles, and pulled my shawl over my head. I lit a candle for my mother and quietly said a prayer on her behalf. I hadn't been raised Catholic…I hadn't necessarily been raised anything, but my mother put her trust in someone higher than man, and raised me to be the same way. The first time I remember taking me to a Catholic church was not for Mass, but for prayer. There wasn't any place well she was more likely to feel closer to whoever felt like listening to her prayers. She told me that she wasn't necessarily praying to the Holy Mother, rather she was asking Mary to intercede on her behalf. I, personally, didn't feel anything like my mother said she felt when she prayed, but I did feel a great peace settle over me. It was a relief considering everything that had happened in the past week. I knew that mother was happy that I was taking my life into my own hands and living like I wanted to live…not by someone else's rules.

I finished my silent prayer and made my way out of the sanctuary. I was almost near the door when I saw a staircase to my right. There was a clear marked "closed" sign posted over the entry way, and I knew that it had to lead to the bells of the Cathedral. I didn't want to risk going up there, but I thought what a wonderful thing it would be to have all of Paris at your feet. By day or by night, I was sure that it was such a beautiful sight to behold.

I left the cathedral feeling in a much better spirit than when I had arrived and, if I didn't have another place to go see, I would have stayed longer and probably would have attended the Mass that was beginning just as I was making my way through the doors. I managed to bypass any priest intent on getting me to stay and made my way to the Luxembourg Gardens.

I held on to the paper that Aunt gave me which had the directions clearly written out, and thankfully I did not get lost. As I made my way to the gardens and subsequently through the gardens, I couldn't help but let my mind go back to when Mama used to have a garden of her own. Nothing as grand as the one I was walking through, but a small one where she would grow flowers and put them everywhere she could in the house. Sometimes, she would let me hold the basket and she would cut the flowers. A few times, I was allowed to cut a flower if I wanted to give it to Elizabeth, or to Papa. She always seemed happy, out of the house and in her garden.

"In nature, Anne, one can always be free and be at peace. There is nothing confining in nature…there are no walls. But we must respect it, and always be willing to tend to it. Otherwise, Nature shall seek her revenge."

In her garden was where she would read Psalms and Proverbs to me and to try to teach me when my governess was not available. In her garden, it was where I learned to love my mother because that was where she was more than just a wife, or a mother, but a loving human being who cared for everyone and everything. If Papa yelled at her, or she was upset about something, she ran to her garden and breathed in the fresh scent of flowers growing in her sanctuary in order to calm herself and then she would return and fix whatever problem awaited her.

There was one flower in her garden that I was never allowed to go into alone. I only went with her to see her secret walk only one, and that was right before Papa died. There was a private walk way that was locked and she held the only key. She took me by the hand, and didn't let go as she undid the lock, and led me down into what seemed like a maze. There were twists and turns and I got so turned around that I was sure Mama had gotten us lost. But we came to the center and what I saw astounded me. The most beautiful red roses were in bloom and growing all over the gazebo. The buds bounced lightly in the afternoon breeze and it took my breath away.

"This is my secret hide-a-way, Anne. I come here when I feel as if everything and everyone in the world has turned against me. Here, I remember my past and remember a friend that I left behind, and who I shouldn't have."

I had asked her who she left behind and why she went away, but she never replied. Instead, she smiled at me and told me that whenever she made a friend that she cared for more than anything else in the world, that I should never lose them but hold fast to them forever, for they were worth more than titles, than riches, than anything else in the world.

Now, as I walked around the Medici Fountain, I thought of Erik and how he would never be able to enjoy such beautiful sights as these with me…or with anyone. He was forever locked in that terrible prison and would never see anything or be a part of anything other than the Opera House. I sat on the fountain's edge, resting my feet after almost two hours worth of walking, and listened to the sound of running water, being almost completely alone. There were no children, and hardly anyone else around and it was an incredible feeling. The fresh air, the sunlight, it was all a perfect afternoon and although it had brought back memories of home, and of a time that I could never return to, I was grateful for it all the same.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you alright?"

I had not realized that my eyes had drifted shut or that a tear sparkled on my cheek. I quickly wiped it away and stood up. I turned around to face the inquisitor and was surprised to find a woman no older than myself looking at me with quite a curious expression. She had emerald green eyes and chestnut colored hair that was piled on her head in the latest Parisian fashion.

"Yes…I…I'm fine. I guess I got lost in all of this." I gestured to the surrounding in hopes that she would understand.

"Yes…it is a pleasant spot, isn't it? I've only just recently discovered it, even though I've lived here all my life."

"I've only recently moved here, so I'm trying to get a little better acquainted with Paris."

"Where did you move from?"

"England. I live at the Opera House now."

"Do you really? I was a singer there, not too long ago."

"Really? Were you in the chorus?"

She smiled. "I was for a time, but I became the Prima Donna for a time." She extended her hand to me and introduced herself. "I'm the Vicomtess de Chagny, but please call me Christine."

I felt the blood in my veins run cold. So, the little ballet girl had returned to Paris. The one who had left Meg flat when she rose to a higher sphere had dared return to the scene of her crime. I smiled stiffly, and placed my hand in hers.

"Anne," I replied. "Anne Hillcrest.

AN: She's back! :-) Oh, and for those who are aware of the fact that this is also part of my NANOWRIMO, this chapter contains the half point. I am over the 25,000 word mark and am halfway to finishing! I, as a writer, am very excited. :-D