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It was almost sad that the residents of the warlock school couldn't hear the graceful tune of Clair De Lune. It was like a lullaby to both Anastasia and Michael's ears now, and every night they visited the room together, door locked and room silenced. The girl laid on top of the piano, her eyes focusing on the ceiling as her hair laid sprawled out like a wild rose bush. She wore a long, black dress; her face relaxed in a state of calm. Michael was seated beside her, his ringed fingers playing the notes of the song with ease. He was a fast learner, and had it mastered with in two days. She usually liked to play it herself, but it seemed so ethereal when he played her song. Well, perhaps that was silly to say it was her song, but it sure felt like it was. It held meaning to her, in both parts of her life, new and old.
If someone were to a walk in, their set up would seem to be like a renaissance painting. The warm fire and dim light, the piano and her snow skinned complexion against it, the angelic looking creature who created the song with simple movements of his hand. Michael had never really listened to music before Ana, and only had when she would make recommendations for him. He had never liked them, but he was different then, and was always too afraid of saying something and hurting her feelings. And he still didn't listen to music, but the song he played now had grown on him. They were more than notes to her, he could see that. So, when he played, he poured his love into the keys his fingers danced upon and hoped they would soothe whatever troubles her tormented soul tried fighting off.
And it calmed him too, and his shoulders laid relaxed as he played the tune for his sleepy lover. His teachers decided to give him their own version of the seven wonders, a pretest, if you will. Besides John Henry, they all believed he possessed the power of the new supreme, and they all loved the idea of Cordelia Goode no longer being in charge of things. That was a few days away, and even though he knew he would pass their "pretest" without so much as sweating, he was still nervous. Because when it came to Ana, things could never be less than perfect.
He was missing Ms. Mead terribly, and he longed to see the woman he adopted as his mother figure. Ana felt the same, and she too, was missing the strangely odd company of the woman. The rich smell of her perfume, the syrupy scent of her french toast. She wondered if she was feeding Sheldon like she had promised, and she hoped there reunion wouldn't be her finding him floating in the tank. Although, she figured it wouldn't matter if she were to see Miriam, because she was still under that spell, and not a single soul knew who she was.
Michael's eyes slowly went to Ana's form that laid in front of him, her arms laying on her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. She looked at total peace, not a single muscle in her body moving as she breathed deeply. She was exhausted, he could tell. She had another nightmare the previous night, and had woken him up when she shot up in bed with heavy pants. She never really talked about them, but he could fill in the blanks. He felt guilty because of them, though he knew it wasn't his fault, nor was he responsible for what her subconscious could conjure up.
