A/N: This is a sort of prequel to His Muse. In this, it gives a little bit of background as to Emma and Alexei's relationship. Although I labeled his muse as a one shot, somehow this just came to me. Hope you enjoyed it! Leave a review if you please, it would be most appreciated!

Her Revelation

Three weeks before…

The faint sound of someone playing the piano filtered through, a tiny teasing at her ears. The beret she always had on was pulled down low on her head, half covering the brown hair that hung down to her back. With her head held low, she followed the sound curiosity burning in her dark eyes. The area she was in was a busy one and she could not fathom why there was the sound of piano in the air, no matter how soft it was. She did not remember seeing an instrument shop close by; it was the only reason for the music that she could think of.

The papers held in her hands were forgotten as she followed the sound, the melancholy melody that played on and on, seemingly never to stop. She brushed past people, weaving her way through the crowd. She wondered why she was following it, wondered why there was such curiosity that fired in her blood. It led her, like the pipe piper’s song, luring her to an unknown destination.

A car blasting load music swept by, momentarily dazzling her senses; made her lose track of the piano. She paused, dreading that in the split second the car took to drive by, the pianist had stopped playing. But the music continued on, mesmerizing her. The piece was not one she had heard before. It was raw, broken, agonizing to hear, and yet so beautiful at the same time. She found a depth of feeling in those notes, as if they were speaking to her. But, the style… there was only one person in the world she had ever heard that played like this. She continued on.

Finally she stopped in front of two large tinted windows. She could not see anything through them, but they were slightly open and she took the chance to push them open wider, but not too wide as to be seen. The windows were stiff, and it took a bit of strength to get it to open. Whoever it was never bothered to oil the hinges.

The full volume of the music rushed out to her, settling like warm, heavy blanket over her shoulders. She pressed closer, eager to catch a glimpse of the pianist inside, the one that reminded her so much of one person… eager to see the one who played in such a heartbreaking manner. Carefully, she opened the window wider and was greeted with an image of a room encased in mirrors.

And then she saw him.

Seated in the center of the room, with fingers gracefully drifting over the creamy keys so lovingly was a person she never thought she would see again.

It had been what, three years, since she had last seen him? A similar situation, she smiled. He was always so much in love with his piano. She sighed. He never really saw anyone else.

Emmaline leaned back against the brick wall, listening quietly to the music he played. Her thoughts drifted to the first time she had first heard him play. It was during her university years. She had been wandering around campus when she came across a room, a music room not unlike this one.

He too had been playing, melodies that was unlike anything that she had heard before. She’d always felt as if the notes were speaking to her, conveying those messages that she had not understood at first, but did later on. Fascination had her returning to the place again the next day…again and again she returned, looking to listen to the man who played with such heart, as if everything that was in his soul could only be revealed when he was with the piano.

Somehow, she felt connected to him.

She’d never thought to interrupt him, didn’t feel it was right. That moment seemed like it was his alone, she didn’t want to intrude. So she did nothing, even though she wanted to.

A little smile graced Emma’s lips. He never knew she was there. Often she had leaned against the wall, not unlike this moment, to listen to him. She hadn’t dared to sit down, afraid that he might leave and then she’d be caught. Emma had contented herself with just listening. The music captured her because she could feel it…what he was trying to say, what he wanted to say.

She didn’t know why he was always alone, why he always had that look on his face. That expression he wore whenever he played…so achingly…

She had never figured out what it meant. But she wanted to. Didn’t dare to.

It was so funny looking back now and realizing how awkward she’d been. it was something so unusual to her, the extrovert, who got along with everyone else. A reaction she had never felt before. Awkwardness.

Fingertips tracing the lines on the wall, Emma stared up into the blue sky. Standing here reminded her of so much, memories of him…

A month after she had started to stand outside the music room, she returned again, expecting him to be there. But he was not. She’d smiled it away; he was not there all the time, she knew. So she’d left, expecting nothing, expecting that he would be back the next day. And so he was.

But Emma had noted a change… The absences happened more frequently, a day became two days, then a week, and subsequently a month, and then some.

A while after that… she never saw him again. She had searched and asked around campus as to the identity and whereabouts of her pianist… but no one knew.

March 25th. The day he disappeared from her life. She had been so used to the routine of leaning against the wall listening to him, that by the time she realized that he was never coming back again, it had been too late. She’d always thought that she would have more time. She hadn’t even asked for his name…never spoken a word with him.

And yet… the connection was there.

She’d never forgotten.

And here she was now, looking at the man who had unknowingly shared a piece of his soul with her.

Something like laughter bubbled in her throat. Readjusting her cap, she glanced one more time at the solemn pianist before walking away with a smile on her lips.

The enigmatic man, with his sharp eyes and hands that conveyed so much emotion had enchanted her again.

Just as she would come back the next day, he would never know she was there.

Just like before, she was a passerby who had fallen in love with him, as she did years ago.