I watched as you snuck out of the opera house once again. It had been five months, that you silently crept out of Opera Populaire to wherever you were going. It seems that you, Meg Giry, are not as innocent as you appeared to be. I had watched as the months passed and you became more and more exhausted. While I had noticed, no one else seemed to. You were getting unnaturally thin and hardly ever smiled. Wherever you were going, was killing the girl I had known since your birth. For the sake of you, your mother, and Christine, I followed you that night; not knowing you would lead me to the last place on Earth I would ever expect you to go to.
Once you claimed a carriage, I followed you to the darker parts of Paris; to a world that the creatures of the underworld claimed as their own. Whores and beggars lined the streets; both trying to earn money. Where are you going Little Meg? You have changed right before my eyes. You used to be a girl who concentrated only on dancing and nothing else. Now your concentration is getting to your destination. I follow you all the way to the Moulin Rouge, there, the carriage finally stops. I watched as you gracefully stepped out and walked inside without hesitating. I knew I had to keep an eye on you; otherwise you would get yourself into trouble.
I slipped inside, unnoticed, trying to find your blonde hair in the crowd of men. You were nowhere to be seen, until I heard whistling from men towards the stairs; that's when I saw you trying to flee from them, as they tried grabbing your breast or pinching your bottom. What mess are you in now? This is different from the time you tried to hide the kitten you found in the streets. Now you are hiding something deeper and sinful. I tried to quickly keep up with you, but men pushed against me, not letting me through. Women attached themselves to me, offering me a night with them. My only focus was to find you and stop you from whatever it is you were doing.
Finally when I reached backstage, I couldn't find you. It was as crowded as the entertainment hall. You were gone once again. Men snickered at me, I heard women whispered questions about who was the man hiding under the hood, but I ignored them, and continued to search in the endless maze of people. You could be anywhere. I knew I had to find you though, no matter how long it took. I would not just step aside and wait for you to return to the carriage. Are you one of them, Meg? Have you lowered yourself to be one of them? Are you now a whore? I thought you were different. You had been raised with higher morals and expectations. I ceased running and slipped into the shadows, trying to catch my breath. I had to think of the possibility of finding you with a man. For some reason it killed me inside.
Farther up ahead, I heard a girl laughing, while calling out, "See you in a while Meg." I knew it was you. I continued to slip into the shadows, becoming the Phantom I was titled. Once I was sure no one was looking, I burst in to find you putting on make up. Your face turned white in an instant, and there was fear in your eyes. You knew who I was. I was the one you told stories about.
"Phantom," you squeak.
I nod, watching as a silent war played across your face. You are trying to hide the fear that is in your eyes yet it isn't working. You have been caught, and you know it. I could tell your mother, or I could keep it an unspoken secret between the two of us. Finally, after minutes of just staring at you, you finally defeat the fright, and hide it behind an invisible mask. "You shouldn't be here, Phantom. If anyone knew you were here, you could be killed." You finally say. I raise an eyebrow at you, but you don't cower. You glare back at me, the fear you felt minutes ago has slipped away. This is the Meg Giry I knew; bold and fearless.
"You shouldn't be here, Marguerite Giry. If your mother found out, she would never let you out of her sight," I challenged, but you remained expressionless. You already knew the consequences of being here, but I was no fool not to realize that you were secretly afraid. You had to be terrified; otherwise, you wouldn't have looked away. Your hands began to tremble; giving your fright away. Your games were over.
"What are you doing here, Little Meg?" When I called you by your nickname, your gaze returned to me. Those blue eyes that I had known for seventeen years caught me off guard. You were no longer a child, but a young woman; a young woman who was desirable in everyway. Men would worship you with your goddess-like body. You were no longer naïve and bubbly, but strong-willed and serious. Where had the time gone? It seemed as if I was opening my eyes for the first time in years to find you turned into a different person.
"The reason I am here is none of your business." You snap. I glare at you, but you once again hold your ground. "If you tell Mama, I'll tell Christine you aren't the Angel of Music, but the Phantom." You blurt out. You instantly regret what you said for your hands clasp over your mouth. That's when I took your boldness no longer. I step towards you and finally the mask slips off and all your fear is written across your face. You stumble backwards, only to hit the vanity. I continue coming closer, your eyes are in alarm, yet you don't scream. You are afraid, but not afraid at the same time. You are scared of what I might do to you yet for some reason you know you are safe. You are complex Meg, and you know it. Men have tried to solve the mystery of your whole being for a long time, but not one of them has succeeded. I am now inches away from your face. You look straight into my eyes searching for something I am not sure of.
"Are you afraid of me, Marguerite?" I ask; my breath lightly touching your skin.
"Yes," You say shyly.
Once again you took me off guard. I had expected pride to take over your body, seep into your bones and you would deny being afraid, but what I did not expect was you to tell me the truth without hesitation. As if it had a will of its' own, my hand reaches for your chin. I slowly move it to make you look at me. As if you were purposely keeping me off guard, your trembling hands came to caress the left side of my face. My eyes close, and I breathe in your sweet scent. You were intoxicating, sweet, but dangerous. Our lips were coming alarmingly close when suddenly a young dancer came barging in. "Meg…" I instantly pull away and watch as you scrambled to get up, coming back to your senses.
"Oh Meg I'm sorry. I didn't know you were with a client." I watch as you blushed which made me smile wickedly. You stay silent, but look at your friend embarrassedly.
"Now that you realize Meg is with a client, will you please let us get back to business," I say with a smirk. You glare at me, but do not protest. The dancer giggles and leaves. I waited until I was sure she was gone before teasing you, "Now tell me Meg, how much do you charge?" Your face grows even redder from anger and embarrassment.
"I cost too much for you." You coolly say before turning around, walking toward your wardrobe. I continued to watch as you went through your many dresses; trying to select the right one. "How did you find me?" You ask as casually as if you were talking about the weather.
"Like your mother, says, 'the angel see, the angel knows'." I reply. You say nothing. I walk towards your vanity to find your many ribbons you wear in your hair. I secretly smile. It was typical for you to have them. "This is no place for a well brought up girl, Meg. You need to go home, get in your bed and forget about this place." You laugh. I turn around to scrutinize you.
"You think it's that easy? You think I can leave when ever I want?" You turn around to stare me in the eye. You begin to slowly walk over to me, forgetting about the dresses while saying, "I have wanted to leave this hellhole many times, Phantom. When I came here I thought I could make a little extra money to help my mother and me. I came here thinking I could be only a dancer and nothing more, but when they threw me into a bedroom with a man, I knew they had more in mind. I have my regrets and I already know I shouldn't be here. I could be thrown out of Opera Populaire by my mother and ruin everything I have worked for. I think about it every time I walk out that door to go on stage to perform. Don't tell me I shouldn't be here. I already know the consequences." You stop right in front me. I finally see the sadness in your eyes. I can see all the misery you have been through and how it has hurt you so. You are a broken swan. You used to be graceful, happy, and strong. Now you are weak, sad, lost.
"It's funny. When I first thought of coming here I thought it would be to help my mother. Then I thought…" You stop speaking. You have to take a deep breath; afraid to reveal more than you should. "I thought that I could finally get my chance at the spotlight. I could finally dance on stage and people would say, 'That's Marguerite Giry, the dancer!' I had hoped that I would finally be pulled out of the shadows and out into the light. No more being just a ballet rat, but something more. I was such a fool to believe that something good would happen to me. Now, God is punishing me for my selfishness." Tears began to stream down your sweet face. The truth was finally being revealed. I should have known your secret desire for the stage and admiration. You have wanted it since you were little. Christine took it from you. No, I took it from you. It was my entire fault. I was the reason for you being here. If I had never taken Christine under my wing, leaving you behind in the shadows you could have soared higher than the stars. Christine wasn't ready for all of this, you were. You were ready to take on the stage and introduce yourself to the world beyond the opera house's walls.
For the first time I feel helpless. Who are you Marguerite Giry? You have made me feel helpless, off-guard, worried. What woman can make a man feel so….weak? Your eyes are shining with tears when you look into my eyes. You look confused. I walk away towards the door. I felt like fleeing, escaping from the helplessness I was feeling, but I stop; knowing I could not leave you behind.
"Why did you choose her?" You ask suddenly. I knew what you were talking about, but I refused to answer. You continued, "What made you choose her, Phantom? Why couldn't you train the both of us? I would have listened to you. I would have never doubted you. I would have been an obedient student..." You kept on giving me reasons of why you should have been chosen, I listened, but I remained silent. I could hear your steps grow closer to me until I felt a hand snake onto my shoulder. I inhaled a deep breath. "Why not me instead of her?" You whispered softly, letting the words glide to my ears. I looked down upon your hand. I gently took it and pulled you close as I swirled around. Your head lightly hits my chest. Your eyes shut. My eyes shifted to your champagne color hair. It was shining in the candlelight. I lightly touched it; enchanted by its own beauty. What is happening to me? As if you finally woke up from a dream, your eyes fluttered open and you looked into mine. What can you possibly want from me?
Your hands slowly glide to the unmasked side of my face. We are once again in the same position as we were when we got caught by that girl. You were playing with fire Meg. You were too smart not to know what you were doing. I was a dangerous man yet your angelic touch, touches my face. My eyes closed trying to fight off the desire that begun to slip inside of me. How could I feel such desire for you? I was in love with Christine not you, but yet I had been unable to resist you. You were a sweet, intoxication. I knew we were heading on a dangerous path into somewhere deep and dark. You then whispered alluringly into my ear, "Why not me?" I lost all control after that. You had been toying with me and I could resist no more. I grasped your hips to pull you as close as I could to me. My hands then reached for your face and I clashed my lips to yours. You instinctively wrapped your hands around my neck. I held on to you as if you might slip away.
From there on we did not stop. We clung on to each other; afraid the other might evaporate. "No regrets," I had whispered into your beautiful ear, before we lost ourselves senselessly into a dark bed of passion. We let out all our rage; all our hurt and sorrow. We poured out all our emotions into not only each other's bodies, but into each other's souls. We were tired of hiding the beings we were. We were tired of wearing a mask. We were tired of not being loved. Maybe we were only fooling each other. As we laid on the ground, our clothes protecting us from the floor, I thought about this. I had never known such passion, such desire. It was confusing me. Then I had thought of where I had lost the young girl I had known. I had lost you somewhere when Christine came and she had cried for an angel of music. My attention turned from you to Christine, leaving you behind; a faded memory that I would possibly loose.
I remember when you hungered for the glory. You told your mother you would become Prima Ballerina. You had stayed up late at night practicing until you collapsed on the floor and I had to carry you to your bed. I had never stopped to notice the change in you. In my eyes, you were still the little girl who starved for attention. You had been demanding, but sweet. Wild yet always obedient. You wanted nothing to do with the ballet tarts. You had sworn to your mother you weren't like the other girls. You promised you would not loose your innocence, you promised you would not become the scum like the girls on the streets outside the window I had looked out of, but all those promises had been broken.
You must realize all of these crimes you had committed. You can not be so foolish to not know these things. I want to be mad at you for becoming one of them, but when I think of your glorious face, my anger seems to slip away. You were everything that Christine was not. You were experienced, while Christine was still an innocent. You were mature while she was still childish. You were strong while she was weak. You were brave while Christine was scared. You were determined while she was unsure of many things. You were independent while she was still tied to her youthful dreams. You were grown up while she was still growing up. You were a rose while she was still blooming. You were definitely not Christine. And is this not why you are so refreshing to me to this day? You were new, complex, a puzzle I wanted to solve. No wonder why men have taken it hard when you denied them your love. You were Marguerite Giry who was born to become an empress.
The sun was then slowly peaking out. Morning was drawing nearer. I had to get you home before you were caught. I gently sat up, trying to let you sleep a few minutes longer, but you woke instantly. You smiled sleepily at me and then slowly you began to remember the night before. You look terrified, but you took deep breaths to make it disappear. You stood up before me, wrapping your dress around yourself to shield your heavenly body. I watched as you went to your wardrobe, picked out a dress, and changed. You had done this before, I noticed, but obviously not here. You turned around and gave me a look, telling me to get up. I lazily got up and dressed in my attire from the night before. We eyed each other, but said nothing. You then began to pace back and forth, thinking hard. You didn't even realize that I was by then standing behind you, until you bumped into my chest. You looked up at me and smiled weakly. "Come we must return. If you are found missing your mother will be worried." I calmly said.
We hailed a carriage and rode back to the opera house. You were quiet and I knew it was best not to disturb your thoughts. You continued to stare out the window, seeing nothing, lost in a world of your own. You must have realized my attentions for coming after you were not supposed to lead to us making love. That was the last thing I would have ever expected. You had awoken new feelings inside of me; a passion that scares me even to this day, though I would have never admitted it to you. Though I had always remembered that night I had never let it continue. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us. I know you would not have been happy. You would have felt even guiltier, but do not forget Marguerite Giry, no regrets.
Finally the carriage came to a stop. You aroused from your thoughts and gazed at me, but said nothing; the fear in your eyes shone bright. You only nodded your head and begun to step out. I took hold of your hand which made you stop in your tracks. You looked at me questioningly, but I remained soundless. Afterwards, I gently moved your hand towards my lips and kissed the top of your hand tenderly. You smiled warmly and the fear in your eyes vanished. You were an angel in every way. I had remorsefully let go of your hand and you left the carriage, but your eyes that I could trust so much did not leave mine until you disappeared inside of the opera house. I lied back in the carriage and sighed. A feeling of lost had begun to set inside my heart. How could I feel so powerless? I was a man who was not weak, but dominant. I wanted to forget you, Meg Giry; it was the only way to save myself from weakness.
That day had occurred many years ago. I am an old man and you are gone. The day I had returned you back to Opera Populaire was the day Christine sung her first aria in the production of Hannibal. It was also the day that was the beginning of the ordeal that would lead to the lost of Christine and the home I had known for years. You had been a faithful friend, helping Christine get through the madness that I created. I pretended not to care about you, though I was only lying to myself. You came searching for me behind the mirror many times, but then you had either been stopped by your mother or by your heart. For some reason though, you came searching for me on the night of Don Juan. I had watched as you found my mask and begun to continue your search for me. You then foun We were only inches away. I could feel your presence on the other side of the cloth that separated us. You were going to pull it off, but you thought better of it. I waited for you to leave, but you didn't. I then saw your hands sneak under the cloth, carefully pushing your cross pendent onto my side. More tears streamed down my face. I never went looking for you again after that. It would only bring more pain to the both of us.
I had not seen you again until the day of the auction at the opera house. I had watched as you fought for the music box I had made when I was a young boy. You look just like your mother and the auctioneer has made the mistake of calling you "Madame Giry". I then saw you leave afterwards with the Vicomte de Chagny; the man who I had hated for so many years. You say your goodbyes and then for some reason you came back in. I silently followed you as you made your way to the backstage, the practice room, the ballet dormitories, your mother's room, and finally Christine's dressing room. Your hands glided over the mirror and you stared at it with hate. I had a feeling you knew I was there with you, but you know I am not behind the mirror. You continued to look around the room smiling mischievously; gibving me a glimpse of the girl you once were, before taking an old candle holder and thrusting it against the mirror. As each blow hit the mirror, the room vibrated dangerously, showing me your anger, frustration, and misery. You continued to strike the mirror until it finally shatters, revealing the passageway. Slowly, you fell to floor crying. "No regrets." You whispered softly. I had longed to reveal myself yet I knew I couldn't. The phantom was dead even if you knew I wasn't. You carefully stood up, shaking visibly. You then gracefully walked towards the door; your hand was on the handle. You turned around looking from the floor to the walls, then at the shattered mirror. I could see the tears in your eyes; all the hurt you were feeling was written all over your precious face. With one final glance you left. I never saw you again after that.
Now you are gone, up in the heavens looking down on me with Christine. I cry for you every now and then. I was a fool to let go of you, but I knew you deserved so much more. Your mother wrote to me, telling me you became Prima Ballerina in London. A few years after that she had send me a letter telling me you would be married. I had yearned to go, but I knew I would not have left without you. Some how Meg Giry, that night I had fallen in love with you. I do not understand why I did, but I had. Yes, I had still loved Christine, but the reasons why I had loved you were different from the reasons why I had loved her. But when your mother sent news, you were expecting a child; I gave up on you all together. My love for you faded and somehow, I reluctantly moved on. I went on to travel the world becoming a composer for little theatres and opera houses. All hope on love vanished. I came back to Paris a few years before you died. If you look down upon your grave now you will find your cross pendent and a faded crimson red ribbon I had taken from your vanity that night. I kept it to remember you were not a little girl, but a woman. Unexpectedly I had not needed the ribbon to help me remember you were not a girl, instead you had showed me how much of a woman you were. After that night I used to just hold the red ribbon in my hands while I cried over my despair. When you left you took a part of my heart along with you. My heart is now cold, dark, and empty. I had made the mistake of not taking you with me when I had the chance, but as I said, "No regrets." I lived my life alone and I will die alone, but not without remembering I had once been one of many who had loved you, Marguerite Giry.