Disclaimer: POTO's not mine, unfortunately….

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for taking so incredibly long, my schedule was so hectic that I was happy to get three hours sleep, let alone a minute to write something! I read my previous note, that I would write every two weeks, and laughed at my optimism. But I'm back! The updates will still probably be erratic, but I know where I want to go, so they will come, and (hopefully) get longer. Thanks to all those who haven't given up on me, especially you, Duelist's Heiress: this is for you, thanks for getting me moving.

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Lydia relaxed as she sliced the bread for supper, it was running low, she would have to buy more. It was lucky that she still had her job at the composer's manor, otherwise, she and Georgy would be back to the thin gruel that they had survived on last winter. She was glad that Georgy didn't seem to be too suspicious about the man, it would make things so much more difficult if she decided to make a fuss.Nevertheless, Lydia also hoped that Georgy wouldn't get too interested in him, either, that could prove even more problematic than if she was suspicious. Lydia sighed and shook her head, wishing that she could just stop thinking, even for a minute.

"What's the matter?" asked Georgy, startling Lydia,

"What? Nothing."

"Are you sure? You just heaved that 'My brain is too full' sigh" Georgy laughed at her own expression, "I think I'll keep that, 'my brain is full'"

"You are easily amused," replied Lydia, attempting a scathing tone, but ruining it when she dissolved into fits of giggles herself. They passed the meal happily, laughing at each other and spooning up plain soup, soaking the last of the bread in it. When they finished, they ran, gasping, to the only other room in the house, racing each other to the beaten piano that stood there. Lydia slowed, letting Georgy win, as she saw it, a huge contrast to the one she had played some hours before. It was a sorry sight, paint chipped and peeling, keys cracked and yellow, out of tune, wheezy and clumsy, but it was theirs- hers and Georgy's. Their parents had beggared themselves in buying it, desperate to please Georgy. They had always blamed themselves for the way she turned out, but Georgy didn't know that, she just reveled in the gift, and in hearing Lydia play for her.

"Play the one that starts soft," begged Georgy, "My favorite one, please, Lydie?" Lydia played it, then, as an afterthought, began the one that she had found in the house, remembering the warm, rich tones of the piano in that dusty room. When she finished, Georgy faced her, smiling wonderingly.

"That was a new one, wasn't it?" She asked, "It was amazing, oh Lydie, you have such an incredible gift."

"I got yelled at for it this time," Lydia pointed out, then cringed,

"What do you mean?" Asked Georgy, "Who yelled at you?"

"Everyone always does, at one time or another, after hearing me play," Lydia pointed out, thinking quickly, then let out a huge yawn, "Anyway, it's about time for me sleep, I tired myself out, cleaning that house." And refusing to pursue any conversation that could turn to dangerous subjects, she crossed the room to her shoddy bed and got into it, wriggling to find a comfortable spot. Lydia could see Georgy's shadow as she shook her head, went to the lamp and blew it out, before climbing in next to her.

"Good night, Georgy," whispered Lydia,

"Good night, Lydie," She whispered back, turning over, and almost immediately, falling asleep. Lydia listened to her sister breathe, hoping, as she did every night, that she would be strong enough to care for them both.

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Sleep also eluded the composer. Erik had sat alone in the dark in a numb shock, losing all track of time. He could not believe that, with all his wariness, he run right up to someone and faced them, maskless. Nor could he believe that he had gotten no reaction, the girl had been young, he should have seemed like a monster to her, but she didn't look like she had noticed at all. Her surprise had come only from his abrupt treatment of her, and even that didn't last long. Erik smirked slightly at remembering the way she had lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him. It had reminded him very much of Madame Giry, who had treated many men in this manner, even him. Though this serving girl lacked the fear in her eyes that the Madame always saved for him, he thought bitterly, attempting to rise from his cramped position. Remembering that fear, he berated himself, he had let some worthless servant get to him, when she would only run screaming in the end. Erik tried to regain the cool, apathetic demeanor that he had worn for nearly a year. Besides, he realized, she probably wouldn't come back, not after seeing his face. Erik was surprised when that thought bothered him. It's just because she could play, he thought stubbornly, then grumbled, he would have to find another maid.