Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters.
A/N: This is my first POTO fan fiction ever. I had this idea after watching the film for the first time in ages, and remembered how much I loved the story. I also then bought the book and am two chapters from the end. Anyway, this story is a one shot based upon the line: 'Those who speak of what they know find too late that prudent silence is wise'. In essence it is a back-story to one of the accidents caused by the infamous Opera Ghost and the effect that it has. Feedback is much appreciated, and all criticism is welcome. Please take the time to review if you would be so kind, and let me know what you think? Enjoy :)
"Mama! Mama!" a small voice cried fearfully from behind the painted backdrops that cluttered the wings. A pitter-pattering of hurrying feet resounded across the recently polished floor, thus revealing the appearance of a rather disheveled ballerina; her dress in disarray and her eyes wide with fright. Madame Giry, the Ballet Mistress of the Opéra Populaire, looked across the stage to see her little girl running towards her, blue ribbons billowing behind her.
"Meg, we are in the middle of a rehearsal!" she scolded, waving the older girls away with her hand as she temporarily dismissed the class. "What could possibly-"
She could see the unshed tears in her daughter's eyes, and the way her voice trembled as she spoke. "It is from the Phantom". Swallowing hard, Madame Giry took the note from her daughter's shaking hand and read it. A note always brought with it the same sense of dread – a disobeyed order, a misunderstanding…
Madame Giry,
It is with the greatest displeasure that I now find myself writing to you on such a grievous subject, but I believe there is a small matter that must be adhered to. Upon listening to the girls in your care I have found that I have become a common subject that is exposed to their ridicule. You know that there are consequences for such behaviour. If this matter is not addressed there will be another accident, you have my word. See to it that the Opera Ghost is no longer the talk of silly little girls and their whimsical imaginings.
I remain your obedient servant,
OG.
Madame Giry fell into a nearby chair, her hand pressed to her temple. What folly had her girls gotten themselves into this time; what madness had possessed them to speak of such nonsense? Countless times she had told them of the Phantom's mercy and generosity, and yet still they persisted with idle gossip. Meg placed a soft hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mama, what is the matter?"
Madame Giry frowned, and looked up to meet her daughter's wide eyes; so innocent and unaware of the dreadful events that had occurred, and continued to occur, around her. Taking her daughter's hand, the ballet mistress rose from her seat and sighed. There was much to be done.
.o.0.o.
They were indeed many silly little girls within the Opera House; most were old enough to know better. Some spent the days dreaming of a different life, whereas others thought of the things they ought not to; except, of course, for the few that were too young to understand – like Meg, and Christine.
"I always thought of the Opera Ghost as a handsome fellow" one had spoken, dramatically sweeping her hand over her head in mock admiration. The girls laughed.
"Don't be silly!" another had cried. "He must be hideous!"
"Enchanté, Mademoiselle! I do apologise, but I cannot show my face because it would be far too upsetting for you".
"Beast! Get away!" one shrieked in response before falling onto the floor in fits of laughter.
Madame Giry quickly entered the dormitory with her usual air of stern intimidation, and closed the door behind her before much more could be said. The girls immediately scattered, and sat on their beds, whispering to one another. Walking towards the middle of the room, Madame Giry wondered how she could possibly address this issue – albeit one that seemed insignificant in the wider spectrum of matters. The consequences, however, would be far too great for such young souls to pay.
"You should not make fun of those whose lives are less privileged than your own" she spoke harshly, her brow furrowed in an unimpressed manner. "It's not proper for young ladies to mock; unkindness is not a virtue after all".
"Why should we not have fun?" one girl asked, much to the horror of the other girls. A pupil never spoke out in such a rude manner - especially not to Madame Giry! Meg slid onto the bed next to Christine, watching as her mother's features flickered between anger and compassion.
"Because, Carlotta, there is no fun in making a mockery of a human being. You are old enough to know better, and the Opera Ghost is not someone who takes ridicule lightly".
The girl scoffed. "He can't hear us!"
"You may not think so" Madame Giry replied calmly. "But he is always listening. And you would do well to remember that".
Christine shuffled closer to her friend. "Do you really think he can hear us, Meg?"
"If Mama says so; yes, I do" Meg whispered back.
.o.0.o.
It had been one week since the note incident, and nothing untoward had occurred – much to the relief of Madame Giry. The girls had ceased to talk about the Opera Ghost, or at least at the times she could hear them. Otherwise, the days had gone surprisingly smoothly. Ballet classes and rehearsals had gone on as normal without any interruption, so she could only assume that the Phantom had been appeased. Unfortunately, she assumed wrong.
Upon counting the number of girls in her class, Madame Giry felt a sudden dread building up inside her heart as she found that one was unaccounted for. "Meg, where is Christine?"
Meg stepped forward, her hands wrung together nervously. "I do not know".
Nothing was out of order; no, she was only jumping to conclusions. Smiling through her fears, Madame Giry turned to her daughter and told her to go and find her friend. Meg at once fled across the stage, unaware of the figure standing above, watching them.
.o.0.o.
She found her standing above the stage, ready to cross the bridge. Her hair was tousled and loose from the neat braid it had been in earlier; her eyes wide and excited.
"Do not come any closer, Meg" Christine whispered, clinging to the rope that steadied the bridge. "You must be very quiet or you will frighten it away".
Meg bit her lip anxiously. "Mama is looking for you".
Christine paid no attention, and stepped onto the bridge carefully. "Come! We will not be gone long".
Looking at her friend's outstretched hand, Meg cautiously made her way over to the bridge and stepped onto it. Her mother would be absolutely furious if she knew what she was doing.
"Why are we here?" Meg asked, clinging to Christine's hand as they slowly made their way across. She tried not to look down. Christine laughed. "There is a shadow - just there. I am following it".
"Following it?" Meg asked incredulously. How could one follow a shadow? Christine walked on, humming to herself. "Do you think the stories are true? About the Opera Ghost?"
Meg hesitated a little, wondering why she was chasing an imaginary shadow. "No. I don't think so".
"He must be a strange fellow, I think" Christine replied. "Imagine, having parchment for skin!"
Meg shook her head. "That's only what Monsieur Buquet said".
"And only having one eye too!" Christine continued as if in a daze. "Surely that would bring him some discomfort? How do you suppose he lost it?"
"What?" Meg wondered. "His eye? Monsieur Buquet said that it never grew in the first place!"
"Do you think he is real?" Christine queried, hardly paying attention to what her friend was saying. It was all far too exciting and, unfortunately for Christine, far too short lived.
"Girls! What do you think you are doing?" a voice rang out from the other side of the bridge, stern and unforgiving. Meg cringed. It was her mother.
"Come off there this instant!" Madame Giry scowled, her eyes creased in a worrisome manner. "You could fall!"
Christine shook her head. "We will not fall, Madame".
The ballet mistress held out her hand, neither accepting the girls' answer nor paying attention to her own safety. Meg grasped her mother's hand, and pulled Christine along with her. She daren't look into her mother's eyes – she could always tell when she was lying. "We were just…"
"We thought we saw something" Christine piped up, oblivious to the fact that they could have both caused serious harm. Turning round, Madame Giry considered the small brunette; her smile was wide, her eyes bright, and her hands clasped together in almost joyful anticipation. Leaning down, the Ballet Mistress placed a gentle but firm hand on the girls shoulder, and quietly asked. "What did you see?"
Christine could hear the knowing tone in the ballet mistress' voice, and knew that it would not do to lie to her. She hung her head, and frowned at the floor. "Only a shadow".
Sighing with relief, Madame Giry took both of the girls hands and led them back down towards the stage, certain in the knowledge that had she turned round at that moment she would have met with the fiery and ever watchful gaze of the Phantom.
.o.0.o.
Despite Madame Giry's desperate attempts to stop the two little girls from talking about the Opera Ghost, she more than often caught them discussing him. What did he look like? Was he really so ill-mannered? Where did he live? What was his real name? Such curiosity was natural, but on a forbidden topic it was considered rather precarious. Again and again, the ballet mistress had tried to halt their excessive amounts of questioning, but to no avail. Whether by sheer stupidity or by callous curiosity, the two ballerinas had set themselves on a course for disaster, and Madame Giry could only hope that the Opera Ghost could be persuaded to be lenient. Curiosity did, after all, kill the cat.
Hiding her fears away, the ballet mistress continued teaching her pupils with as much enthusiasm as she could muster in order to protect them from the worries that she knew would consume her. Thankfully, nobody noticed. Madame Giry had always felt alive when she danced; never feeling discouraged or vulnerable. Dance was her forte, and every rehearsal brought her the same calm and grace she needed to get through life. In one moment, however, her fears were enough to create the most distressed of feelings and set her mind in turmoil. Standing aside from the bar, she could see that yet again one of her pupils was missing, but this time there were two: Christine and Meg. She felt sick.
.o.0.o.
"Christine, what are you doing?" Meg whispered angrily across the bridge, racing towards her friend without a thought of looking downwards.
"I thought I saw him again" Christine replied casually. "I can't stop thinking about him, Meg".
Meg tried to grasp her friend's shoulder and steer her back to the wings, but the girl was determined. "Mama will be angry!"
"I want to to see if what they say is true" said Christine, watching as the shadow crept around them. "I want to know".
"Let's leave him be" Meg begged, but Christine was having none of it. Stepping onto the next part of the bridge, she could see the soft flap of a cape billowing in the shadows' wake.
"What do you think he looks like?"
"I don't know!" Meg answered, fearful that the Opera Ghost could appear at any moment. "Someone once said he had the appearance of a pig".
Christine laughed amusedly. "A pig! Really? Do you think he'll have a face? Carlotta said he hadn't one at all! How can one not have a face?"
"She also said he didn't even have a nose!" Meg giggled.
At that moment, a snapping sound echoed across the stage followed by a horrifying creak. Before either of them could react, the girls found themselves clinging to the bridge for dear life as the entire walkway fell to one side.
"Meg!" Christine cried, grabbing on to her friend's hand before she could fall. Looking up she saw the black figure standing above, watching them. She knew who it was.
"Mama!" Meg wailed, swinging her legs to try and keep herself upright. Her grip on the rope was lessening, and Christine was struggling to hold on. Madame Giry looked up from teaching her lesson and covered her mouth with her hand to stop the scream that had lodged itself in her throat. The entire stage erupted in terror as actors, singers and ballerinas fled in an attempt to find a way of saving the little girl dangling from the broken bridge.
"Meg, hold on!" Christine cried, trying to haul her friend back on to the bridge, but it was no use. Meg's grip was slipping, and the only way she could help her back up would be to grab her with both arms – in which case they would both fall. A pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped themselves around her waist, and she felt herself being pulled backwards. Meg screamed as she felt herself slipping, and in a state of panic Madame Giry ran towards her terrified daughter.
It all happened in a blur; a small white streak falling abruptly through the air only to be caught by her mother below. The impact was hard, and Madame Giry heard the crack before she felt it. Gripping her daughter tight to her chest, she kept her arms around her until she was certain that she was alive and unharmed. She did not know how she had managed to catch the girl – she was only grateful that she had.
And then everything began to feel strange.
Turning her head, she could see Monsieur Lefèvre rushing towards her, his arms flailing in the air as he ordered the stage hands about. A slow dizziness worked its way into her mind, and a high pitched screaming filled her ears. Voices muffled together, and the only words she could make out were 'safe' and 'broken'. Neither word, she thought, went hand in hand, until she finally realised what had occurred. Meg cried into her chest as the pain crept its way from her leg to her hip, and she cradled her daughter in her arms, watching as the tall black figure above carefully carried the sleeping brunette back to where she belonged.
.o.0.o.
It had taken ten long and painfully slow months for Madame Giry to fully recover from the ordeal on that fateful day. Nobody was entirely sure about how exactly it had all happened and little Christine was fully convinced that it had all been a dream. No more notes had appeared, and for a while it seemed that the Opera Ghost was once again a figment of their imagination. Standing alone, a walking stick keeping her upright, Madame Giry watched her girls practise their routine once more. She could feel his presence before she saw him, his stride silent and quick.
"You seem to be much better" he stated, a soft tone of concern hidden beneath his daunting mask of mystery. She did not reply – thinking it much better to wait for something along the lines of an apology, rather than giving him the satisfaction of answering. He held his hands behind his back, his mind reeling. "You should not have let them get away with it. They needed to be taught a lesson".
She sighed; slightly irritated at finding that even after ten months he could not bring himself to express regret at what had occurred. "They were too young to understand!"
The Opera Ghost scoffed. "They knew what they were doing".
"You could have easily killed them both" Madame Giry retorted. She may be fragile, but she could quite easily match him in his game of words. The familiar shooting pain worked its way into her hip, and she bit her lip in an effort to conceal it. It would not do to attract attention.
"You tried to save them, didn't you?" she asked in an attempt to break the silence in almost a whisper, remembering the way he had carried Christine back to the dormitories. Strange, she had thought at the time, that he would even care, but deep down in the blackness of his soul she knew he had a heart. The Phantom did not reply at once; he merely nodded and hesitated. "I went too far".
Settling her eyes on the far side of the stage, she tried to ignore the intense gaze of the Phantom, his eyes searching her features in an attempt to discern her feelings. He looked down at the stick in her hands, his brow furrowed slightly. "I did not mean for you to get hurt".
"If it means protecting my girls then I will always get hurt" Madame Giry frowned in reply, swiftly glancing in his direction before turning back to watch the rehearsal. She could see that he was still staring at her.
"How long will you be needing that?" he gestured to the stick.
"However long it takes" Madame Giry replied, knowing that in truth she may never be able to dance properly again. "Besides, I may keep it as a reminder".
He smiled. "I'll be watching".
The Opera Ghost was gone as suddenly as he had arrived, but she could not forget the lingering touch of his hand on her shoulder.
"Mama, who was that man you were talking to?" Meg asked as she ran over to her mother the moment the rehearsal had ended. Madame Giry smiled at her daughter, smoothly down her hair with a gentle hand. "No one you need concern yourself with, my dear".