Disclaimer: I am not Gaston Leroux, therefore, I do not own the characters. Although, I'd totally own Erik.
I know this is the place to put BOOK fictions, but I couldn't find the Phantom in the movies. This is about the movie. I have read the book. It rocked. Out loud. And I'm done. Read on.
Meg:
The roar of flames had been unheard since the second cellar. The smell of the animals was past them, still in the fourth. Down in the seventh of seven, Meg trudged along the underground river. 'Finally,' the thought, 'it's my turn.'
Why was Christine getting all of the attention? Sure, she could sing, but why was that so great? She was just supposed to be a chorus girl, like her. Even Madame Giry was proud. Didn't Meg exist? And now, with the opera ghost? Again, couldn't he have taken an interest in her? You could call is jealously, but in reality, it was much more.
'I'm there!' She thought, as she stepped onto the concrete. Her trousers were slipping down again. Male clothing was so over-rated for women. Looking around this small house on the river, Meg felt at home. The hundreds of candles lit around the room gave it a secrete glow. The other men were now walking around, looking for the ghost of the Paris Opera House. Meg smiled to herself. 'They'll never find what they're looking for.' It was true. The phantom was a pro at hiding himself from the world. A real Trap-door lover.
Carefully stepping onto another floor, Meg noticed a white mask sitting on the table, next to many scrawled pictures of Christine. It felt cool against her hand as she picked it up and hid it behind her back. Coming back into the main entrance of the lair, Meg saw that there were only a few people still there, and they were leaving.
"They're not here, Monsieur!" she called to one.
"We know, silly girl. Mme. Daae and M. de Changy took the boat, claiming that the opera ghost has left." The rather large man turned back around and went on his way, torch in hand.
-CLINK- came a sound from behind a curtain. Meg looked around, knowing no one was there. She slowly lifted the thick red velvet to see a broken mirror revealing a pathway into darkness. Gripping the mask, she stepping into the dark. The curtain fell behind her, and she was left in utter darkness. Finding the wall with her hand, she pressed on towards the unknown.
After what seemed like ages, but was only about fifteen minutes, Meg heard an angst-filled grunt and a crash, as if someone threw some object in an angry rage. Silence. Then, sobbing. Quietly, the sobs filled the tunnel. 'The Opera Ghost!' Meg thought, hopefully. Suddenly, there was a squeak of a rat beneath her foot. She gasped loudly, then instantaneously regretted it.
"Who's there!" demanded the voice in the darkness. "Who's there!"
"M-Meg Giry, Monsieur," the frighten girl answered.
"What do you want, -Meg-?" He asked, putting a rude emphasis on her name.
"You're mask. I brought you your mask." A flame lit up, and she saw the distorted half of his face.
"My mask?" He walked toward her. She could tell that he had been crying. "And why would you bring me my mask? What is there to hide? Am I –ugly-?" He seemed angry as he approached her.
"No." she answered quietly, and looked down at the mask. She let go of the white and it gracefully hit the stone. She looked up into his in the light the flame. "I came to find you."
