She ran.
Meg Giry raced ahead of everyone else who had come to capture the Phantom of the Opera with their torches and hatred. But she ran for another reason entirely. She was worried about her dear friend, Christine, who had been taken down into these very catacombs by the hideous man with the voice of angels. The dark waters splashed beneath her tall boots and her golden hair flew lightly behind her as she approached the chamber lit by candles and draped with soft curtains. Meg slowed down a bit to stare in awe at the place, a vision of elegance and refined taste. She had always imagined what the Phantom's inner chambers would look like, and she had imagined meeting him as well.
Madame Giry knew him, and knew his pain, though she had always been careful to shield her daughter from the Phantom, letting him love Christine instead. However, she could barely shield Meg from the Phantom. Meg had been obsessed with him ever since her mother told her his story. Throughout Christine's entire ordeal with the Opera Ghost, Meg had always wondered what she would do, were she in Christine's place. Secretly, she had imagined the dark man's arms around her instead of around Christine, and sometimes, if she listened, she could hear him singing in his catacombs, a lonely mourn, a call for someone to hear him. She heard.
Memories of what she knew of the Phantom flashed through Meg's mind as she explored his room, decorated with various artistic venues and touched with depictions of Christine around the desks. He had truly loved her. Meg looked around, her blue eyes searching for something she could not name. She had wanted to see him for herself, this man that had so captivated her friend. She wanted to stare into his sad eyes as Christine had done, and try to understand him, but he was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, she saw it, the spotless white mask lying on the table near the lake.
Meg walked over wonderingly and picked it up. She felt as if he were watching her, and she looked up, half-expecting to see those sad, piercing eyes, but there was no one there. She walked towards the broken mirrors as she heard the voices of the others growing nearer, and before they could see, she slipped behind the cracks of a tall mirror that looked like a doorway.
The voices grew fainter in the distance as she walked on. It was a threshold to a dark tunnel, much like the one she had previously tried to enter, long ago when Christine had first been taken by the Phantom and Meg had gone looking for her. This tunnel had no torches to light the way, and the damp walls were slick and foreboding, threatening to close in on her. She was undeterred though, and something compelled her to keep moving forward. Meg was curious, and she was brave, though she appeared to be a fragile girl, she was a headstrong woman, like her mother.
A rat scurried by her foot and Meg cried out, her voice echoing through the dark tunnel. There was no light anymore, no illumination whatsoever. She was soon encompassed in total darkness. However, she was lucky, for the tunnel did not have any turns or dead ends. It continued in a straight path, and presently, she began to see an opening encased in blue light. She slowed her pace, not wishing to be showered by immediate brightness after traveling in bleak darkness for so long.
Meg found that she had stepped into a room, though it looked more like a cold cell. There was a barred window ten feet high from which the moonlight shown through and the gleaming walls were radiating a bluish hue. Suddenly, Meg shivered. She turned to her left, hearing a slight sound, and to her astonishment there was a figure huddled on the floor. She almost screamed from her surprise and fright. The figure did not move, and she was afraid she had stumbled upon some sort of corpse. However, she saw that the shape was moving, ever so slightly, the form rising up and down in breaths. So it was a person.
With shock, Meg realized who it was, the man she had been longing to see, to catch a glimpse of in private. The Phantom. Perhaps he had not realized she was near? Meg frowned. She had been fairly quiet walking in, but her footsteps had made plenty of noise nonetheless, and a man such as he, with musical talent and a fine ear, would surely have heard her. She wondered if he even cared anymore.
Gathering up her courage, she stepped forward towards the huddled figure, kneeling beside him hesitantly. She cocked her head to one side, leaning in closer to him, her golden hair falling like a curtain. With a shaky voice she murmured, "Excuse me, Sir?" and she waited for his reply, but none came. She frowned a bit, her soft cheeks slightly burning from embarrassment and shyness. With trembling hands she brought his mask closer to him. "I have something of yours," she began, a bit more confident, "would you like it back?"
Without lifting his head, the man spoke with a hollow voice, "I want nothing from you. There is only one thing I now desire," he paused as an image of Christine came into his mind, her large brown eyes close to tears as she gave him a last, pitying look before she left with her lover. Then he spoke again, "and that is, to be left alone."
Meg's lips parted slightly and her eyes brimmed a bit with tears, though they did not fall. She could not remove her gaze from his broken form, a man reduced to such tatters. It was not his clothes that were in tatters, it was his soul, his heart, and even his voice. He was a broken man, who now wanted to be left alone, not because of his face, but because of his shame and guilt at what he had done. Without thinking, Meg said, "Erik," softly but tenderly, and the man gasped, surprised at hearing his real name uttered on her lips.
His head rose up to look at her, and she saw that he had been crying, the tears still fresh on his face, gleaming on his cheeks, both the smooth one, and the ghastly one. Upon hearing his name spoken aloud his face had changed, as if he were begging her for something, looking up to her beautiful face as the moonlight shone behind her, making her appear to glow, like an angel in the darkness. He could not speak, he only stared at her, a pained expression on his face, the need to be forgiven plaguing his heart.
Suddenly she smiled at him. A warm, genuine smile. Her soft cheeks glowed and her eyes twinkled merrily, making him feel unworthy of such light and beauty. She was not as deeply beautiful as Christine had been, but Meg Giry possessed a happy spirit inside her that shone like a beacon in the darkness. Erik almost cried again, though he only sobbed without tears. He didn't know how it happened, but he soon found himself in the girl's embrace, her soft arms wrapped around him in protection and her head resting on his right shoulder, so close to his deformity. It was then that he allowed himself to cry, fresh tears streaming down his face, dripping onto the cold stony floor.
He felt the girl trembling and realized that she was crying too, she was crying...for him. His heart ached when he realized this last fact and his soul was warmed by the notion. She was crying tears of sorrow for him, tears of pity and love. She was holding him like a wounded animal in the wilderness. He sighed deeply, contented, releasing all his pent-up anger and pain through the tears that were rapidly streaming from his eyes. She cared. She was here, now, comforting him, letting him cry. Why, why hadn't he met someone like her years ago, when he had been wishing desperately for someone to hear his cries of anguish? Where was she when he had been tortured and beaten, or when he had lain alone in the dark catacombs of the theatre, huddled in the damp cold without anyone to care for him.
She had a good heart, this girl. He smiled a bit. Meg was so much like her mother.
Blinking hard, he tried to stop his tears now, and he lifted his head a bit to stare into her eyes. They were very close now, his face so very close to hers, and still she did not flinch or turn away from his ugliness, nor did she stare it. By no means did she try to avoid looking at it, and he was confused by the way she was looking at him. Not quite at his deformity, but not quite at his handsome side either, she was seeing him for who he was, she saw all of him.
"Little Angel," he finally spoke in a hoarse whisper. It was nothing like his usual seductive voice, dark and overpowering. This was a timid voice, full of vulnerability and innocence. Meg's hand dropped his mask on the floor and rose up to hold his face. Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead gently with soft lips. They both closed their eyes at the contact and he sighed.
Then, Meg guided his head towards her lap, and he lay down as she stroked his soft hair soothingly. Closing her eyes she whispered, "Stay with me tonight, and I shall protect you. For this moment, let go all your pain, for I shall forgive you for your sins. Let me hold you in this first embrace, so that you may rest without thought or worry. Rest now, dear friend, forgive all, forget all."
Erik obeyed like a lost child, and he didn't know what to make of her, this...this beautiful girl. She was like a mother protecting her baby, a sister looking out for her brother, a friend caring for a friend, and a woman embracing her man. He did as she told him, forgetting everything for that brief moment, for this one night. He would stay with her; he would fall asleep in her arms.