News of the Opera's reopening spread like a wildfire. Not that it was much surprise to anyone. Construction had been going on for well over a year; horses bringing building supplies, a large new chandelier being shipped in as well, there was no doubt about what was going on. Most of the aristocracy was thrilled. Their evenings had been filled with little entertainment without the Opera. The remaining Parisians wondered if it was a good idea. They had heard the rumors. While the managers had tried to sell it as a freak accident, everyone with common sense knew. Knew about the monster that had abducted the lead singer the night of the fire.
It was now a horror story that was spread around all of Paris, near enough to match that of Jack to Ripper in England. And yet the Opera announced that it would be opening in a week, right at the peak of the season. There was much to do and still very little time to do it. You might have thought that the managers (Monsieur Firmin and Andre) would be finishing up the preparations, and they certainly took the credit for it. But in reality Madame Giry, the head of the ballet department, was the reason everything was running to efficiently.
No one dared to slack under the instruction of Madame Giry. Her word was law in preparing the Opera. Her job kept her awake at night, took up her all her time, and made her question if what she was doing was right. She lay in bed, playing with her braid and starring up at the ceiling, thinking until she fell asleep from exhaustion. Was is wise to reopen the place that had ruined so many lives? Would this bring back more dangers? Or perhaps she was simply trying to erase the past and rebuild the memories of when the Opera was a home to many, not just to monsters and ghosts.
"Mother, if you keep at this I fear your health will suffer for it."
Giry looked up from her bowl of soup, her tired eyes looking over her daughter. Her pretty face was etched with worry, her blonde hair pulled up on top her head in the latest fashion. She really had grown up to be a beautiful young woman.
"Meg my dear, if I relent in my work, I fear I may be driven mad by memories," she whispered, taking a hearty sip from the bowl. Meg sighed, reaching forward and gripping her mother's hand, blue eyes pleading.
"Then why stay in the place that caused those memories?" she asked. Giry gripped her daughter's hand tightly, trying to offer her a smile. While she was happy that she had taken her life into her own hands, it still pained her to see her only child, one who was so very talented, leave the Opera. But she had expressed her desire to leave the place, especially after everything that had happened.
"Because Meg, I still have hope that I might build some happy memories here again." Meg closed her eyes, slightly shaking her head. She had tried many times to convince her mother to leave and come with her, but each time had been met with the same response. That had been the last time Meg had visited the Opera House. It had been to say goodbye and to promise that should would write. Giry kept up her appearances as her daughter waved from the carriage which rolled away from the Opera, taking her daughter away. She had cried that night, sobbing into her pillow and gripping her sheets in despair. The morning came, and with that morning came more work.
The main problem that Madame Giry faced was finding employees to take on the duties of the Opera. A few performers and cast had returned, but most refused; the same with the maids, the artists and musicians. Giry spent days pouring over ads, sending letters and offering jobs to many a craftsman to come work at the Opera. She was now resorting to hiring off the streets, as well as holding open auditions. As an old fashioned artist herself, she was not pleased with the idea of bringing in street talent but desperate times called for desperate measures. Stress and being overworked had dragged the strict dancer instructor down considerably, but she would never let anyone see it.
Only a week away from opening, with auditions coming up, and still so much to do Madame Giry once again found herself lying awake in bed. After a long while of looking up at the ceiling, something prompted her to get up, throwing the covers back. Tugging on her robe, she lite a candle and opened her bedroom door. The Opera house was dark and lifeless without the staff moved in. She questioned why she stayed there, but knew. It was her only home.
A chilly breeze blew down the hall, making the woman shiver. Stepping out into the hall, she closed the door behind her and walked down the hall. She wandered for a long while before reaching the dressing room where everything had changed. Opening the door, Madame Giry poked her head in, eyes scanning the dark room. None of the candles were lit, leaving her burning wick as the only light source. Stepping inside, she walked up to the large mirror, peering at her reflection. The shadows danced across her face, making her look even older than she was.
"Oh, Giry," she whispered, bringing a hand up to her face. "When did you start growing so old?" Sighing, she placed her hand on the cool glass. A shiver ran down her spine as she starred back at herself. As if possessed by some sudden instinct, Giry latched her fingers behind the sliver of space between the glass and the frame and pulled it to the side. The glass vanished to reveal a man, tall and dark, with half his face hidden behind a white mask, looming over her. Gasping, Madame Giry dropped her candle, the flame vanishing, along with the remaining light in the room.
Suddenly caught in the dark, she fell back onto the couch, moving to the far end. "Erik," she gasped, her voice shaking. "Stay back, don't you come near me or I swear I will scream!" Silence met her, making her heart bang painfully against her ribs. She could just imagine him walking up, a noose in his hands. She closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. He meant to kill her. She knew it. He had returned to enact his revenge. God damn him, the Opera hadn't even officially reopened! Sobbing, Giry waited for her throat to be pulled tight, but instead, she heard a thump and felt something rest in her lap. Blinking and panting, she raised a shaky hand and felt a head resting in her lap, like a child who was tired. Shocked, her entire body froze.
"Giry," Erik whispered. His voice sounded heavy, sad, destroyed. Blinking, Giry left her hand on his head, not sure what to do. "I am…depleted. I did not know where else to go." She felt his hands grip her dress tightly and suddenly realized that the Phantom, the murderer who had ruined so many lives, was sobbing into her nightgown. "A year I tried to forget, a whole year Giry," he whispered. "I traveled, I played many songs, but something always reminded me of her. Something always made me leave. I can not take it. It will drive me mad, the sound of her voice, her eyes. I see them every time I try to sleep." Giry had straightened herself, blinking into the darkness as she listened to all his woes. He sobbed, fingers curling is despair. "There is nowhere for me to go Giry. Nowhere but here. There was never any chance of me forgetting. I will die here and only here." His words tore through her and suddenly brought about the courage that had fled here.
"Erik," she whispered, not able to raise her voice. "You cannot return. Not when the Opera has just begun to heal from your actions. Dear God, everyone I have hired will flee if they even hear rumors of your return!" Erik looked up at Madame Giry, pleading on his face. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that she was able to see that much.
"I will be as silent at the grave," he choked. "Giry, I beg of you. Let me choose my coffin. I only wish to live out the rest of my days in the only home I have even known." Her breath hitched and she stared down at him. She no longer saw the murderer and the monster. She saw the broken boy she had rescued all those years ago, now begging her, pleading even. Closing her eyes, she felt her heart soften. After a long moment, she hung her head.
"Alright," she whispered. "But do not mistake this as mercy for what you have done. If anything happens Erik, anything at all…" She was unable to finish her sentence. There was nothing she could threaten him with, but she seemed to have gotten her point across because Erik collected himself and stood, looking down at her with sadness, but a small smile painted his lips.
"Of course," he whispered. Nodding her head, Giry closed her eyes to suddenly feel a hand on her head and pair of lips pressed against her forehead. Blinking shock, Giry looked up at Erik. "Thank you, Giry." He gave a small bow and headed back to the mirror. It was as if she could see the darkness clinging to him, dragging him back down to his realm of solitude. The mirror slid shut, clicking behind him. Giry starred at the glossy glass for a long time before standing up and turning to leave the room, wondering again if she was doing the right thing.