Meg picked up the mask tentatively, checking to see if the mob was watching her. They weren't, being to occupy trying to find out where Christine had gone. Meg didn't much care; as she was sure Raoul would have saved Christine and gone already. The smashed mirrors were testament to the Opera Ghost's rage at Christine leaving.
As Meg wandered among the Ghost's possessions, taking time to stroke a little music box monkey, and draw the curtains over the mannequin of Christine. When she turned around again, she found that the mob had gone, leaving the curious Meg alone.
Feeling more confident now, Meg played a few notes of 'Don Juan Triumphant' on the huge organ, then left off to explore the cavern, singing the last song she had heard, "Point of No Return". She found that the cavern echoed pleasantly with her sweet voice. Meg knew she wasn't Prima Donna material like Christine, but many had told her that her voice was lovely. Perhaps the Opera Ghost would think so too.
Meg had always wanted to meet the elusive man who wrote the haunting music that seemed to resound through her soul on every hearing. Her friend Christine had never understood her attraction to the darker songs. Christine enjoyed the lighter love songs, ones with themes of honor and joy.
In her moments of introspection, Meg could see that, had not her mother told her stories of the Opera Ghost when she was growing up, Meg might have been exactly like Christine, loving only what was beautiful on the surface.
Making her way back to where she had left, Meg decided to walk through the water. The heat from the burning opera house above was beginning to penetrate through the stones of the foundation. Fear of being burned didn't frighten Meg though. There was nothing for the fire to burn down here. She was probably safest right where she was.
While the dancer walked through the thigh-high water, her foot snagged on something, sending her down into the water with and undignified squeak. After flopping about, encumbered by her loose shirt, Meg got to her feet. Following along the rope that had tripped her, Meg found a noose.
Gasping and dropping the weapon quickly, Meg's mind went to the warning that came after every one of her mother's stories.
"Just remember my dear, that though he is a genius, murder is not a moral boundary to him."
Holding the noose had reminding Meg of that, and had made her realize how close someone (probably Raoul , the hopeless fop) had come to dying. She laughed a little, recalling his reasoning for trying to trap the Phantom, "I love her!" he had declared, "And nothing should come between that love!" Meg had giggled then, and now she laughed heartedly at the stupidity of his declaration. Love had no power to conquer. Love had deserted a relationship when commitment was required. Love leaves a little girl wondering why her father had left without even meeting his little girl. Love betrayed you as surely as Christine had left the Opera Ghost behind.
Meg's lighthearted laugh trailed off with a bitter twist. Her musing had left her with the feeling of wanting everything Christine had left behind.
The curtain behind which Erik was standing gave him an ample view of the young woman invading his domain, his sanctuary. He hated that so many vagabonds had smashed their way into the heart of his home. This ballet rat was the remnants of the destroyers. Touching his personal possessions and poking her petite nose into his bedroom!
A flash of heat washed over his body when he realized exactly what the woman was putting her hands on. She was examining the swan bed in which he had laid Christine. Her blonde hair was fanning out and actually touching the pillow where his only ray of hope had laid her head.
He watched her scowl as she drew the curtains over the Christine mannequin. The scowl puzzled Erik. Christine's reaction was to faint. Anger wasn't an emotion he could connect to the mannequin.
Then she started singing. Erik wasn't prepared for the pain that stabbed through him as the woman's innocent voice sang his opera of passion. He decided then that something so pure should never sing of sexual passion.
The notes trailed off, leaving the echoes bouncing off the walls and into Erik's mind. He drew back from the curtain and leaned his head against the rock, feeling the cold seep through his back, chasing away the heat.
Splashing noises drew him back to the curtain. The blonde was making her way through the water. This was Erik's first chance to study the face of the woman. He did recognize her, but couldn't say the name. It was right there; right on the tip of his tongue but the day wouldn't come.
It was her fall into the water that nearly broke his resolve to stay hidden. But she rescued herself, standing back up with a fluid grace.
Erik flung himself back against the wall, breathing so heavily that is was a wonder that she didn't hear him. Now not even the cold of the rocks could combat the heat coursing through his body. Her entire bodice was soaked, the white material translucent and clinging to her fit body.
He vowed not to look again, for in a streak of memory, Erik had remembered who the blonde was. Meg, Madame Giry's joy. He was a dead man if Giry caught him here.
Madame Giry was the one person who Erik held in his heart as a mother. And Erik had built his values and morals around what Madame had taught him. And she had taught him very strictly about his interactions with Meg. Erik knew that Giry would list ogling her daughter as a very bad interaction.
Against his better judgment, Meg's laughter drew his back to the curtain. She was holding his noose and laughing! Erik could not comprehend her reactions. Things that had terrified Christine provoked laughter or anger in Meg.
Meg reached the shore wanting dry clothes. She figured that there had to be something here. Ignoring the desk and the mannequin, she made her schwelching way to the room with the swan bed. Rounding the corner, she found a niche that served as a closet. Finding no dresses (what could she expect, after all, this was a man's home), she claimed a white shirt and black vest out of the plethora and was then stuck on what to wear for bottoms. Her own pants were soaked, so she couldn't wear them for much longer. Even with the heat from the burning Opera House above, the cavern was still a cold place for the saturated ballerina.
After a search, Meg found some black slacks that were still too big, but small enough that she wouldn't be wading in them.
Meg looked about the cavern, suddenly apprehensive. No matter where she stood, the water and the mirrors were still in view. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Meg stripped off her wet clothing. Then, after tying her equally wet hair, she swam into the white shirt and black slacks.
While in the process of tying the black slacks on with some ribbon, Meg noticed that the front of the shirt didn't button all the way, leaving a good deal of her chest exposed. Blushing, she grabbed the vest she had selected and put it on, making sure that it covered what the shirt didn't.
Erik tried not to look at Meg while she put on his clothes, for Madame Giry's instructions were strict on that point, but the voice of Don Juan, the cursed voice that had lost him Christine, broke his concentration, telling Erik that just one peek wouldn't hurt. That one peek turned into staring for the entirety of the changing session. Finally, after Meg had buttoned the vest up all the way, Erik tore himself away, slipping to the floor in a crouch.
He had just decided to leave when Erik realized that Meg had no idea how to get out of the labyrinth. He also remembered that Madame Giry had expressedly forbidden him from letting Meg see him. In his mental confusion, those were the rules that Erik clung to.
Erik wanted Meg out of his sanctuary. She was poking her nose where it didn't belong, particularly his affections and reactions, and Madame Giry had to be frantic by now.
Getting her to leave would be the tricky part though. Already the curious minx was opening drawers in his desk, finding his study journals, each inscribed with a different person's name from the Opera Populaire. Erik watched her rifle through them, and then give up when she reached the bottom of each drawer. He was puzzled as to what she was looking for. More mysteries…
Being careful not to get wet, Meg made her way back to the desk, under the myriad portraits of Christine. After putting on his clothes and exploring his home, Meg had realized that she still didn't know anything more about the Opera Ghost then she did before. Remembering the desk is where most people keep their secrets, that was the perfect place to start.
Shuffling through the various notebooks proved to be useless, as all the journals were about other people! Meg couldn't help but wonder what the Ghost might think of her. Searching with a frantic need to find the book inscribed with her name in flowing script. Her search was in vain. In all the drawers in the desk, there wasn't a journal for her or her mother. To her disgust, there were several for Christine.
Flickers of light in her peripheral vision caused Meg's head to snap up towards a tunnel. Sliding the drawers shut, she ran towards the bedroom to grab her dripping clothing. What if it were the Opera Ghost? Meg was finally feeling the first traces of fear.
But her dread turned to panic when the torch-bearer turned the corner with a swish of skirts, revealing the worried face of Madame Giry.
The voices in Erik's head al said a variety of profane words while the music took the frantic and erratic beat of his heart for a tempo.
"Erik?"
The quavering voice echoed out into the cavern.
"Erik, I need you desperately, please be here."
The next sentence was a whispered plea.
"Oh God, please let him be here."
A sob broke through.
"Erik! She's gone Erik, Meg's gone and I can't find her, and I'm so afraid that…"
Madame Giry broke down completely, sobbing and looking about her desperately.
Meg's shock rendered her immobile for the duration of her mothers sobbing cries.
"Mama?" She asked, stepping cautiously out of the niche where she had hidden herself.
Madame Giry stood there for a moment, then dropped her torch to burn uselessly on the damp stone floor as she flung herself at her daughter, crushing the girl into a tight embrace.
"Oh my dear", Giry murmured, "I should have never left you behind. I thought I had lost you!"
Erik listened as his friend crooned her love into her daughters hair. The pain of the day was lashed into bleeding anew. His heart ached for that comfort, for someone to love him as Giry loved Meg. Christine had almost been that comfort, but the love wasn't there. She could only see the demon, not the music. Christine could not hear the music on her own.
Tears coursed down his face as Madame Giry's comfort music soothed his own distorted cacophony.
Madame Giry pulled away and inspected her darling for any injury. Her eyebrows rose as she registered the dripping hair and loose, distinctly male clothing.
"What happened?" she asked, looking about more carefully then the first desperate glances.
Meg blushed and looked down, not sure if she should tell her mother all of her epiphanies.
"I fell in the water and got cold." Was all she said then.
Madame Giry looked suspiciously at her daughter, but accepted the explanation.
"We shall return the clothes later then. We must go my dear, before anyone comes searching."
Meg allowed her mother to lead her away, making sure to try and memorize the way back.
Erik stared at the retreating figures. Don Juan waged war with the small scrap of sanity left in the cacophony of sensations shouting. Don Juan lusted and imagined Meg's body lying on the sheets, glowing with passion. Sanity smothered the pleasureful pictures with thoughts of Giry's revenge.
Christine had betrayed him, left him for the passionate fool, Raoul. Meg had no one to take her away, and Giry had not the resources to send her away. The "Music of the Night" was destroyed with the return of his ring, but a new melody was playing softly throughout his mind.
This music was more graceful, no words yet, just the gentle swish of skirts and tap of point shoes now. But he had only seen Meg for a short time. Music must be seen through, and Erik wondered what more inspiration Meg could bring him besides this simple, sweet melody.
Weeks later, despite constant attempts to compose around it, only the simple melody remained written down, discarded scores crumpled around the organ at which Erik played. He could not add a harmony to it, but could only add to the melody.
Frequently, his cries of frustration rang out over the still lake. Joy only came when he played the melody alone. Erik began to realize that the melody was not the beginnings of an opera, but a ballet. A Ballet for a Ballerina.