Dear Reader,
The story starts when Meg takes Erik's mask (I know, so cliché, but it fits the story). Please read and rate.
Sincerely,
Serafimo's Pretense
I made my way back to the ground floor of the Opera house, clutching the mask under my shirt protectively. I pushed my way through all the debris from the fire and made it out into the fresh air. Everyone was in a confused frenzy. I searched the crowd for a familiar face. I finally saw my mother sitting next to a stunned Christine. I walked quickly to my mother and Christine. Mama looked up and embraced me.
"Oh, Meg, I was so worried," Mama said, giving me a stern look.
I smiled weakly and said, "I know."
I turned to Christine who sat as still as a stone. I had mixed feelings for my best friend. I felt angry that Christine would betray the Phantom like that after all he had done for her. I felt pity for my friend having to deal with all this. I felt jealous of the love both Raoul and the Phantom had for Christine. I also felt relief to see Christine alive. I walked to Christine's side and hugged her tightly. Christine finally responded to something for the first time since emerging from the theatre.
Christine hugged me back fiercely.
"I'm glad it's over. He is out of my life once and for all. Now we can all put this horror in the past and Raoul and I can live happily in peace," Christine said into my hair, joyfully.
Bitterness washed over me. I wanted to strangle Christine for saying such a thing without remorse. Mama saw the change in me, but Christine took no notice.
"Oh, I can't wait for the wedding! And we must go shopping for the flowers and your dress! Oh, Meg, you'll look wonderful in lavender! I'm so happy!" Christine practically shouted.
Obviously, you ungrateful, cold-hearted slut! I faked a smile and nodded. Raoul appeared out of the crowd and smiled warmly at me.
"Raoul!" Christine squealed, leaping into his waiting arms.
I turned away in disgust. Dear God, give me strength not to scream.
Raoul reluctantly released Christine and turned to address me.
"Meg, I'm glad you made it out alive. I would have been very sad if you hadn't," he said smiling again.
Raoul took a step forward and gave me a tentative hug. I stood unmoving and confused. Raoul let go of me with an uneasy cough. I raised an eyebrow at him and then glanced at Christine. She gawked dreamily at him. I felt sick to my stomach.
"I'm sorry to leave in such a hurry, but our carriage is waiting," Raoul explained to Mama.
"Of course," she replied.
Raoul and Christine walked away hand in hand.
"Come, Mon Cherie, we too must go," Mama said, steering me to the nearest carriage.
I climbed in and collapsed on the seat; my mother however entered gracefully and gingerly placed herself on the seat opposite of me.
"Now, Meg, a great dancer always moves with grace," Mama teased lightly.
I rolled my eyes and sighed. Mama looked at me with great concern.
"What is it that troubles you, Daughter?" she asked in a distressed tone.
"It's…" I began.
Should I tell her? Well, what's the harm anyway?
"It's Monsieur Fantome'. I'm worried for his safety, Mama," I confessed.
"You needn't worry, mon petite ballerine. I will see to it that he is safe," she replied confidently.
"Mama! It's too dangerous!" I protested.
The carriage stopped. We had arrived in front of our flat.
"I'll manage. Now go inside, I'll return within the hour," Mama said.
"But…"
"No. Go inside," she said sternly.
I sighed in frustration and stomped into the house.
It seemed like it had been an eternity since Mama had left. I changed out of my costume and into a comfortable green dress. I paced the kitchen in anticipation of Mama's return.
Finally, I heard the sound of hooves stopping and of footsteps approaching the door. I opened the door with relief, which quickly turned to surprise. Mama was not alone; there beside her stood the infamous Opera Ghost. I regained my composure and helped Mama support Monsieur Fantome' to the nearest chair. He slumped into the chair with a vacant look in his eyes.
"Mama, where was he?" I inquired.
"Later, he needs to be attended to. You should get some rest," she said quietly.
I looked at Mama. She seemed so old then, so weary.
I gave her a hug and said, "No, you've done enough Mama. I can handle it."
She looked at me with a sad, tired smile and went to bed.
I turned back to Monsieur Fantome' who sat paralyzed, eyes still vacant. His breathing was irregular, hair disheveled, unmasked face, soaking wet clothes, and to top it all off he had a cut on his upper right arm. Oh, boy. I walked over to him and knelt in front of him. He only seemed slightly aware of my presence.
"Monsieur Fantome'," I said softly.
His eyes moved from the wall to my face.
"You have to get cleaned up," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded numbly and stood up. His looming figure swayed as if he had drunk too much wine. I steadied him and draped his arm over my shoulder. I slowly led him to the washroom. Once inside, I closed the door and analyzed the situation at hand. Without further ado, I began to remove his tattered and wet clothing. He seemed to wake from his dream-like state and grabbed my hands. His piercing eyes stared fiercely into my own.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"It seems obvious to me, monsieur," I replied smartly.
He frowned and said, "I can bathe myself, thank you."
He tried to stand up straight but swayed and had to lean on the sink for support.
Tears welled up in my eyes and I moved my hands back to his shirt.
"Please," I pleaded.
He looked at me with confusion but made no further attempt to stop me. Once he was fully undressed, I allowed myself the pleasure of taking his beauty in. When my eyes returned to his face, he had the biggest smirk on his lips. I blushed a deep crimson and he laughed loudly at my sudden shyness. I smiled broadly and motioned to the filled tub. I helped him slip into the tub and started to lather soap in my hands. I washed his hair thoroughly then grabbed a wash cloth. As soon as I touched his skin, he tensed up.
I whispered in his ear, "Monsieur, you can trust me."
I began to massage his shoulders relieving stress; soon he was putty in my hands.
"You, sir, are clean and cannot sit there forever," I joked lightly.
He chuckled and leaned on me for support while getting out. I dried him off with a soft cotton towel and tenderly wrapped it around his waist. I led him to my room and set him down on the bed.
"I'll be right back. Don't go and escape on me," I said playfully.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he teased back.
I fetched a pair of my father's old sleeping trousers from the trunk and hurried back to my guest. As I entered the room I saw him turning over the mask in his hands. I left it on my dresser! The floor squeaked as I approached him, he whirled around with his hand covering the deformed side of his face. Damn! I placed my hand on top of the one covering his face and looked him straight in the eye.
"Monsieur, I have seen your face and it does not scare me nor disgust me," I said.
I gently tugged at his hand, and he reluctantly lowered it. I raised my hand to touch his deformity but stopped short and looked into his eyes, asking for permission. I took his silence as an assent and began tracing the flesh and scars. He shivered under my touch and leaned into my hand. I gathered all my courage and brushed my lips across his cheek. He jumped back, surprised. I lowered my eyes in embarrassment. Foolish girl! I kept my eyes trained on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Before I knew it, he was holding me tightly, burying his face in my hair. I returned his embrace and we just stood there holding each other. Let me love you... He broke away and I turned the other way as he began to change into the sleepwear. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He looked terribly exhausted and not only from these recent events, but exhausted from living the life he's known. I made a move to leave, but he grabbed my wrist.
With one word, he broke my heart, but also made it leap out of joy, "Stay."
I fell asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart matching mine.