On Second Thought
Meg Giry had never been so terrified in her entire life. She frantically threw the door to her room open, breathing heavily. Considering she had just run up flights and flights of stairs, she thought that she had a very justified reason to be panting like a dog. She had barely stopped once getting here from down in the dark realms below the opera house where the Phantom had lived, and where men were still searching and stealing from. Meg didn't approve of the fact that they were looting from the creature known as the Phantom, but she had no time to bother them with her morals. She was more concerned with the fact that her step-sister, her step-sister's fiancé, and her own mother had gone missing since the last time she'd seen them as the opera burst into flames.
Men were extinguishing the flames as she had streaked past them, but she had barely taken notice of them. She was all too worried about her mother and the others. But as Meg burst breathlessly into the room, she felt her stomach knot up. The room was vacant of any life, and instead of her heart slowing down from running, it stayed at it's fast tempo. Meg's moans were choked as she flitted about the rooms, clutching the Phantom's mask in her hand tighter. "Mother? Mother, please tell me you're here! Christine? Raoul? Oh, Mother!"
She couldn't help but bite her lip as her throat began to burn up. She tried to not cry, and blinked a few tears away. Meg closed her eyes and silently prayed that everyone was safe. Marguerite Giry was not a particularly religious girl, but she felt as if God was the only person who could help. Meg was frantically trying to remember some of the prayers that she had been taught when she was a child in Sunday School long ago, when who should burst into the room but her own mother.
Meg heard a shuffling noise, and opened her eyes in surprise as she saw her mother hissing for her, supporting a man. Meg sighed with relief, feeling her racing heart considerably slow itself, and stood up without a word, going to help her mother with the man. Only when they had set him down on the couch did she realize that it wasn't an unconscious man that needed to be helped, but the pitiful and broken body of the very man who had started at the trouble tonight.
"The Phantom," Meg whispered with fear lining her voice. Her mother nodded, and Meg stared at him with horror as her mother only looked quite annoyed and a bit pitiful towards the man rather than revolted and horrified. Madame Giry glared at the girl who had a disgusted look plastered on her face and frowned.
"Meg, go fetch your most important things, quickly," she hissed. Meg turned back, surprised.
"Are we going somewhere?" Meg whispered.
"Yes... for a while," her mother said, looking back to the man. He was still breathing, but he didn't move. Meg, still shaking out her wits, hurried to her room and packed away all her essentials. Dresses, a bottle of perfume, a few books she refused to leave without, and, of course, a pair of ballet slippers. She stuffed all of these into a bag she used for toting around costumes and makeup. Meg then dragged it out to the small sitting room, where the Phantom had collapsed on the couch.
Meg placed her bag down and looked to the couch. She nearly squeaked as she realized the man was conscious. He had sat up, and was staring at the wall with a blank, far-off gaze, as if he were dead. But Meg knew that he was breathing, and he blinked every once in a while. Meg had to tear her gaze away, biting her lip from screeching at the hideous face before her. It was the worst she had ever seen, and she had no wonder that he cooped himself below the opera house, away from the world. No one would be able to accept him without his mask.
Suddenly, it dawned on her that she was in possession of that very object. Meg bent on her knees and reached into her bag, searching for the eggshell coloured mask that she had tossed in. Her hands met the cool smooth surface of the mask and she pulled it out, standing again. She turned towards the man, but closed her eyes and bit her lip as she once again saw the mangled flesh covering his face. She tried to keep herself calm, and slowly walked up to the creature, only daring to open one eye. He stared at the wall the entire time, and she had to clear her throat as she reached him. He didn't look, as if he hadn't heard her, but Meg continued anyway.
"I-I believe this belongs to you," Meg said, trembling as she held the mask out to the beast in front of her. His head snapped in her direction, and Meg saw the full effect of his face. She gasped and closed her eyes, biting her lip. The man growled wildly, but she felt the mask snatched from her hand. Meg turned around instantly and it took all her being not to run away as fast as she could from the man-beast, whatever he was.
Madame Giry appeared back in the room, two bags of her own in her hands, and nodded at Meg. "Are you ready?"
Meg bit her tongue, knowing not to ask where they were going. The curiosity was killing her, but she held back and just nodded. Madame Giry sighed and grabbed her cloak, pulling her hood up, and Meg copied the act. The elder woman placed a hat on top of the Phantom, and Meg marvelled at how it looked like she was placing a hat on a statue. The Madame then took the Phantom's left arm, and looked over at Meg. "Help me."
Meg had a wave of horror overcome her again. She wrinkled her nose. "We're not taking him with us, are we?" she asked with disgust, as if her mother had asked her to carry a corpse. The likeness was uncanny. The Madame grew very cross.
"Marguerite Giry, stop being such a selfish child! The man is coming with us, and you're going to help," the Madame snapped, and the coldness in her eyes made Meg stiffly walk over and muster up the courage to take the man's right arm. She stifled a cry of panic and tried walking out the door, balancing helping the man and her own bag.
Once they all made it out the door, the two supported the Phantom down past the hallways, and Meg wondered if she would ever see any of the opera again. They hurried past the men who were battling the last of the horrendous flames, and Madame Giry signalled a cab as quickly as she could this late at night. Luckily, it was a busy and eventful night, and plenty of cabs were around. She opened the door and Meg crawled in first, helping lift the limp man up into the carriage. It took both of them working as hard as they could to lift the muscled man up, but they succeeded in the end. The Madame hopped in behind them and closed the door, but not before telling the driver, "To the docks, please."
The horse's hooves began clopping against the stone road, and as the carriage jerked forward, Meg's eyes became huge in the blackness. "The docks? Where are we-?"
"Shh," her mother hissed. The Phantom was sitting upright on the northern side, and the two Giry woman were hugged closely together on the south side. He wasn't looking at them, but shut his eyes and looked as if he was dead. "We're going to America, if you must know."
If possible, Meg's eyes got even bigger. "America?"
Madame Giry nodded. "Your aunt Andrea makes home there. She married an American man, and she often writes of how life treats her well there. I suppose if we take this man out of France, America is our best bet."
If Meg was shocked one more time, she might pass out. "Out of Paris?" she squeaked. "He's the most wanted man, now! Oh, Mother, what happens if we're caught? Why should we help this-"
"Hush, Marguerite!" Madame snapped, her face red with anger. "I owe this man nothing more, but being a Christian-raised woman, my conscience would not have leaving him to rot away. He has a fortune stashed away, and we will live off of it in America. Whether he lives when we get there or dies is no matter to me. I'm doing my duty, and anything else is at his cost. He will stay in our house until he leaves or dies."
The Madame said this in a hushed voice, and Meg was silent. She looked to the Phantom, who's mask covered the ruined side of his face. She stared at the creature. There was a new expression, different from the blank stare he used to have. This was new, a face full of pain. The only expression, pain. As if someone had lit a torch and was slowly burning his body with it, but he couldn't cry out. The thoughts haunted Meg as she slowly drifted off to sleep by the lulling movements of the carriage.
Meg made her way up the staircase, carrying a tray of food with her: A cheese and meat sandwich with a cup of water and an apple on the side. Meg sometimes wondered why her mother tried so hard to filled his tray with what little of the food she did. She knew the Phantom would barely touch it, anyway. Meg wondered if they should just let him waste away in his room until they could dispose of him for good. It might makes things easier, and make the feeling of the whole house less tense and uptight.
The Giry women and the Phantom had arrived in New York three years ago, and were permanent citizens now. The Phantom's massive fortune had been treating them well, and they had found a cozy home outside of the big city. It had two floors, a downstairs with a sitting room, kitchen, dining room, and a bathroom, and an upstairs with fours bedrooms. Three were occupied by each individual, and the fourth was used for storage. The home would have been a breath of fresh air if it weren't for the shut door of the Phantom, who's room was directly across from Meg's. Whenever she passed, she shivered for no reason, wanting to get away from the room as quickly as possible. She knew the beast lurked in there, and only on rare occasion did she see him come out.
Meg rounded the top of the staircase and began walking down the short hallway to his room, knocking four times with her knuckles. It was an unspoken rule that had been settled last year that Meg would bring his food up three times a day. She would rap on his door and announce food, and he would grunt or make some way known that he had heard her. Sometimes, Meg secretly wished that she wouldn't hear a response, and the Giry women could breathe a sigh of relief that he no longer lurked about their home. "Lunch is ready," Meg called out, but as her knuckles kissed the heavy wood of the door, it creaked open. Meg was stunned silent for a moment. There was no answer from the Phantom. The door had been slightly open, and opened upon the contact.
Being the very curious girl Meg was, she decided to take this chance to glance about, or to see if the man had really died and was lying on the ground. Carefully and cautiously, she took a step into the room. There was a lone candle flickering on a desk, barely lighting the windowless room. She set the tray down next to the candle, and grabbed its holder, lifting it higher so she could see. She'd never been inside before, and she took in the whole room. It was certainly bigger than her mother's and hers, though not as big as the sitting room. It was messy, with paper, quills, pens, pencils, and even some paint splatters littering the floor. But it was not the mess that surprised her so much, it was the masterpieces.
She gasped as the light danced across photograph-perfect portraits of her step-sister Christine. There were tons of them, small ones, large ones, ones with colour and others with just charcoal. There were many expressions too, some of Christine smiling, and in others she looked serious, or daydreaming. There was one where she was asleep, looking so peaceful in her bed. The portraits were breathtaking, and Meg only tore her eyes off of them because the flicker of light had caused a glimmer of some kind to her right. She turned her head and held the candle out, seeing an instrument. She walked slowly up to it, half reluctant to part from the realistic paintings.
It was a violin (Maybe a viola? Meg wondered if there was a difference between the two.), glimmering in the soft candlelight. Meg remembered her mother bringing home the instrument case one day, and telling Meg that the Phantom had requested she bought one for him. Meg sometimes thought she heard him playing when she was in bed, and it always sounded sad to her. Resting beside the lovely instrument were music sheets scattered everywhere. Although these music sheets were not like those from her Opera days where she'd glanced over at the orchestra music, which was all a blur of black and white scribbles. These were handwritten, crafted by the Phantom himself. She knew he had composed Don Juan Triumphant, as she had danced as a chorus girl on the part that was preformed so many years back.
She carefully brought her fingers down, running them against the bumps in the paper, in some places the pen brought down very hard, like he was in a rut, or was not pleased with the note. In other places, there was a span of light writing, as if the paper didn't have a hint of ink staining it. He must have been in a hurry to put this part on paper, so he may not forget it, she assumed. Just by the look of all the note, seemingly in all the perfect places and the rising crescendos and soft diminuendos, the whole thing looked like a dance in itself.
No matter how terrified she was of the creature, her curiosity went wild, and she dearly wished she could hear him play it. That's when she remembered she was trespassing on his property, and Meg wondered once again where he was. Whipping her blond hair around as she turned, Meg gasped as she was suddenly face to face with the man of whom she'd been thinking of. With a sharp intake of breath, the light suddenly flickered out, undoubtedly by him. Her heart began to pound, and although he had been in the same house as her for a few years now without causing the Madame or Meg any visible harm, she was still haunted by the memories of Joseph Buquet, hanging right above her head.
"You shouldn't be in here," Meg heard his commanding voice break the spell of silence. She felt suddenly minute in the huge room, next to the Phantom who towered over her.
"I-I'm sorry, Monsieur. I knocked, and the door opened, I was checking to see if you were okay," I trembled.
"I would appreciate it if you did not come in again," He growled. "I do not like anyone looking at my work." Although any other girl in her right mind would apologize and leave in a hurry, scared out of their wits, Meg was rather naive, and instead, responded to him.
"Please forgive me, Monsieur, but might I say that your work is... beautiful," she said, still trembling a bit, and a bit confused with herself. Why was she staying when he had clearly said to get out? But she continued when he did not respond. "Your paintings of... her. They are lovely. I never knew you created art besides music."
But instead of the growl or angry words Meg expected, it was silent for a moment. There was a small, sudden flicker of light, and the light travelled to the candle, relighting the wick and the room was illuminated enough to see the man standing in front of her.
He was wearing his silky raven coloured hair flipped back messily, and he was wearing only two colours, black and white. Black pants and black shoes, although his shirt and mask were startling white. His pale face nearly matched the colour of the mask, and Meg didn't doubt that he hadn't spent quality time in the sun for a while. The Phantom set the candle down on the table beside his plate of food, which he seemed not to take notice of.
"Thank you," He said slowly, as if he was testing the words on his mouth, like he'd never spoken them aloud. "I'm not used to people praising my work."
"Am... I the first to see these?" I asked slowly, amazed at how tame this conversation turned out to be, no growling, no sort of murderous glares, but like I was actually talking to a human man. Granted, a human man with a Hallows Eve mask on, but nonetheless, a human man.
"Not these, I haven't shown anyone my art in a while," he said, looking at one of the beautiful portraits of my younger friend, although she looked my elder. Her dark curly hair that I longed for looked just as I remembered it, maybe even better than my mind let me. Her fawn eyes were big and beautiful, and her lips parted slightly in a soft smile. The only thing that made me look older was my generously gifted bust, but I often wished I could trade it for Christine's beauty. It was awfully hard fitting in dresses with a big top and small waist.
"You certainly have a beautiful inspiration, and she looks even more lovely when you draw her," Meg praised. He didn't look to her.
"Yes, very beautiful," He said half to himself. They stood in silence for a few moments before she glanced back over to the music strewn across the table.
"Monsieur le Fantôme?" Meg asked. "Is that your music? I mean, is it an original composition?"
He unwillingly tore his gaze from the portrait of Christine on the wall to the table covered with music sheets. "Yes," he answered, then paused. "I've just completed that piece in particular."
"Would you-?" she began to ask, but the words turned to ash on her tongue and she shut her mouth. The Phantom turned to her with his visible eyebrow raised. Meg took a deep breath. "Would you... play it for me?"
"No, do not look at those. They are of my utmost privacy," he said, striding over to pick up some of the music sheets that had fallen to the floor. "You should probably leave, Meg. Go out in the sunshine, this dark room is no place for you."
"But-" she tried to argue, but he turned to her with fury in his eyes.
"GO!"
"Yes, Monsieur," she squeaked, like a mouse who had just been roared at by a lion. Meg rushed out and carefully shut the door. She was still for a few moments after she shut the door, standing outside it. She heard a sigh from inside, then scuffling as he walked around. After a few minutes, she abandoned the door, and drifted downstairs to eat her own lunch.
"Okay, children. We're here, but you mustn't run off just yet! Remember, you must be with either an adult or buddy at all times, we don't want to loose you here," Madame Giry said to the small crowd of orphan boys and girls, who were barely listening and instead gawking at all the tents, sights, smells, and everything but her. She tried not to take notice. "We will all meet back here at eight, so you all have four hours. And if any of you are late, you can expect no supper tonight. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Ms. Giry," they all responded loosely, like an echo repeating across a mountain. Madame Giry seemed to be satisfied by their response and smiled.
"Now go run along! Have your fun," she smiled as the kids bolted with coins jingling in their pockets that would surely all be spent in the first half-hour. Madame Giry chuckled, watching the kids run off, then turning to the glum looking figure on the bench and the more feminine one standing a close distance away, leaning on a flagpole.
"You two as well, go run off, have your fun," Madame Giry said. "Meg, darling, here. Take these coins with you. I have to go help the Sisters with the younger children, but have a good time. And try to at least get him to have a little fun and loosen up."
Meg stood straight and walked towards her mother, taking the coins her mother poured into her palm. The coins jingled as they clinked together and Meg pocketed the money, smiling up at her mother. Her mother's face had gotten brighter and rosier than it had been so many years ago, stressed and pale-faced as a teacher. But now, as a volunteer to help the Nuns, she had brightened up so much.
"Thank you, Mother, remember to keep Kyle in line, you know that little troublemaker," Meg said with a knowing smile. Her mother grinned.
"I'll be sure to. Now you two go have fun, I'll see you both back here at eight o'clock sharp." Madame Giry waved to them and then walked over to rejoin the other Sisters with the younger children, leading them directly over to a circus tent.
For the past few years, Meg would pop into the Phantom's room as often as she could, to get a good look at the fascinating portraits he would create. He would always have different inspirations, like one day his wall would be covered with beautiful paintings and sketches of Christine, and the next week it would be a wall full of abstract art, angry red thrown across nearly them all. But there was a little portrait of Christine he would always keep there, his best work, she thought. They had a few conversations, mostly with Meg praising his latest work, and time and time again asking him to play her his music. But time and time again, he would refuse and send her out.
It was not until now, seven years since they had arrived in America when Madame Giry, who was now an active member of the Catholic church, decided to help out the Sisters with their annual orphan field trip. They had a home for the orphans by the church the Madame went to every Sunday. Madame Giry was not exactly looking to becoming a nun, but she would help out with the orphan house any way she could nowadays. Their field trip was to Coney Island, a huge seaside fair just away from the city. When the Madame told Meg they were going, she'd asked her who 'they' was. The Madame just laughed, saying the whole household was going.
Needless to say, the Phantom was a bit angry. He had no intention of going to somewhere like Coney Island, filled with barfing and sobbing children with the smell of grease covering everything and everyone. Madame Giry had just told him to wear a jacket with a large hood, and there would be so many people that no one would take a second glance at him. Although he was most likely two hundred pounds of muscle and she was only one hundred pounds of small bones, he grumbled a "Fine," and Meg had to restrain a giggle at how defeated he sounded.
"Well, do you have anything in mind?" Meg asked the Phantom when they were gone.
"I wish I could go back home," He said from inside his hood, grumbling. Meg sighed. Was it so impossible for him to be happy for once?
"Well, how about we go to one of the magic shows?" Meg suggested. "You knew how to pull off a few tricks at the opera way back, huh? I bet you can guess how all their phony magic tricks are preformed." He looked up at Meg from the hood, his mask gleaming in the sun.
"As long as we stay away from the delightful clowns," He sighed. "They seem a bit too delightful to me." Meg bit her lip and giggled.
"Clowns? You're scared of clowns?" Meg giggled, trying to stop. He glared at her and she covered her mouth with her hand.
"I'm not afraid of clowns," he snapped, then looked down. "They just seem too delightful."
"Alright," Meg giggled. "Well, I've never been here before, but I'm sure we can find our way to the magic show." So the two got up and began walking where Meg thought the magic show might be.
Within twenty minutes, they had wandered all the way nearly out of the park and were more lost than ever. Meg plopped down on one of the benches, defeated. "I give up! This park is against me!"
"Apparently," The Phantom chuckled for the first time that day, sitting down right next to her. Meg always felt happy when he chuckled. It was such a musical laugh, a genuinely nice laugh that made her smile. "This amusement park has bested the both of us."
"I'm not very amused right now," Meg sighed. There was a small silence, and an idea crept into Meg's head. "Why don't we ask each other some questions?" she suggested slowly.
"Questions?" he asked, raising his visible eyebrow.
"Yes, you know, like getting to know each other? We have lived under the same roof now for seven years, and I don't even know the simplest things about you," Meg cracked a small grin. "I can start. Monsieur le Fantôme, do you-"
"Erik," He interrupted.
Meg blinked. "Erik?"
"That... that is my name. You sound much to formal when you address me," He said slowly. Meg realised he'd probably never told anyone besides his mother and possibly Christine his name. She smiled, feeling elated that he trusted her.
"See? You're already jumping into the game! Erik... I can't say I've heard it often. But I like it. Now, Erik..." The two went on and on for a maybe an hour or two just asking questions and telling stories. Meg would share about the time when her mother and her encountered a drunken man running naked through the street and he would answer a question about his artwork. Or he would tell the story of how he learned to play the violin, and Meg would answer a question about her favourite songs. The two lost track of the time, because before they knew it, the sun was going down on the beach, although the fair was livelier than ever.
"It's getting awfully late," Meg said, rising and stretching from the bench. "I wonder if my mother is on the lookout for us, maybe we should go now. Oh, and thank you for the wonderful conversation, I think we both learned a lot," Meg smiled. Erik rose as well.
"I'd almost forgotten that I was miserable here," He smirked. "Maybe Coney Island isn't too bad of a place, I guess." The two began walking and Meg laughed.
"Maybe you can have your own sideshow, we could call it Phantasma!" She said, waving her hands before herself in a show of dramatic flair. He scoffed.
"Phantasma?" He chuckled. "What a foolish idea, Meg Giry." She shrugged as they kept walking.
"I'm just making suggestions," She explained as the flagpole came into sight. She stopped dead and raised an eyebrow. "Funny, I don't recall our walk being so short. You don't believe we were walking in circles, do you?" She looked up to him and they stared at each other for a few moments before breaking out into laughter. To fancy that they had been wandering aimlessly for minutes on end, and had only gone a hundred feet!
Meg's mother soon came back nearly ten minutes later, with the sleepy kids in tow. Once all the children were accounted for, they made their way back home slowly, and Meg got to bed, thinking. About Erik, the man she'd know for so long as 'The Phantom.' To think that he actually had a name was actually sort of nice, for now she could address him correctly.
Cheerfully, Meg hopped up the steps, one tray of food in each hand: A small bowl of noodles with salt and creamy butter on it, topped with a sprinkling of cheese. Meg was in a humoured mood, ever since yesterday, when she had convinced Erik to come out to the marketplace to shop for the week's food. He would wrap gauze bandage around his face, and Meg would tell curious passersby that he had a wound he was recovering from. They had done this a few times before over the past year, and yesterday was no different. Meg just enjoyed the close company of her friend as they laughed and shopped together.
The two bonded quickly after their side trip to the fair, and every day Meg would knock on the door as she brought the food in, followed by the often cheery "Come in!" She would walk in with meals for both of them and he would be busy sketching or working furiously at his music. Other times he would have his nose buried in one of the books from Meg's ever expansive collection. They would eat lunch together and talk, like old friends. Only rarely did they speak of Christine, and very carefully at that.
Erik had nearly forgotten, or learned to just put it to the back of his mind, everything that had happened in Paris. Truthfully, it took a lot of strain for Meg to remember that far back, nine years ago. Yes, Erik was at his happiest he had been in years, and Meg could visibly see changes. He looked healthier now, not a deathly pale or yellow, but had a nice glow to him. He would share every lunch with her, then work all day on a painting or music or just read. Eventually, Meg began taking tea with him as well, and occasionally asked him to come to the market with her. At first, he declined for a few months, but recently, she had enjoyed his company.
Things were looking up and Meg cheerfully kicked the door lightly four times. "Piping hot noodles, right outside the door!" But instead of the normal, "Come in!" or "Open the door yourself, you're a big girl.", the door opened and Erik popped only his head out.
"Oh. Meg, if you could just let me take my lunch alone, I'd be very much obliged, thank you," he said, reaching for his tray as every corner of Meg's face showed shock. He pulled the tray inside and shut the door with no explanation. Meg stood there for a moment, unable to move. Her face twisted up angrily and she turned the handle to get in. The door opened a few inches, then something slammed it shut from inside. She pursed her lips, irritated. "Erik! What are you doing? Let me in!"
"I'm sorry, Meg," came his muffled voice from inside the room. "But you can't come in. Just leave the food outside my door like you used to and leave me be." Meg took a step back from the door, as if slapped. It felt like a slap, his words. She had thought they were getting along so well, especially after yesterday and the chickens. She might've smiled at the bizarre memory of Erik chasing chickens if it wasn't for how hurt she was at the moment.
Without a word, Meg retreated from the door into her own room, closing the door gently. She left the tray of food on her dresser, losing her apatite.
It was a week later, and while Meg was in the kitchen fetching herself a glass of water, she heard a person running down the stairs. Interests perked, she turned to find Erik suddenly appearing from the staircase, excitement plastering his face. "Meg," he greeted like he had not just shunned her and completely forgotten she existed for a week. "Meg, I'm sorry I've been so secretive this week, but I think I've finally completed it."
Don't take the bait, she pleaded with herself, but she was never one for following rules, even her own. "Completed what?" She asked, curiosity overcoming all.
"Come with me," he said and grabbed her hand. She shivered as his hand met hers, and blushed subconsciously. He led her up the stairs without a word, and she couldn't help but be overcome with curiosity at why he had been cooped up for no reason. Was he planning some big surprise? A sculpture or amazing new piece of artwork? Her heart began to beat faster with each step. They entered the room and she couldn't help but suddenly be disappointed.
Nothing had changed. Not all the candles were lit as they usually were, only one, so she could only see a portion of the room that was lit up. Her heart sank a little as he let go of her hand and walked over to the case of his violin. He opened it and pulled the violin out, almost lovingly and caressing it. Her heart began to beat faster all over again. Was he finally going to play for her? He moved one of his desks over so that it was separating the two of them, and he put multiple sheets of music onto it. Looking up at her, he gave her a small smile.
"I call this piece, Variations on Concerto #5: Symphony for Meg," he announced as she gently closed the door behind her and sat down in front of him, her heart leaping. He launched into the music, which began softly, then crescendoed into a lively fiddle-like tune. She was captured in it the whole time, and heard not a single sour note. It made her want to get up and choreograph a dance right there on the spot. She swayed to the simple, but happy sounding next bit of the song. He was the most beautiful player, and she was nearly crying as he played the last note. Meg stood up from her spot, clapping as fast as she could and grinning with happiness.
"Bravo!" She yelled, laughing. "Encore!" He smiled and set his violin down.
"Joyeux anniversaire, Meg," He said, smiling. Her smile faded suddenly, as she realised that she had forgotten her own birthday. He laughed. "You looked surprised. You did not think I remembered?"
"No, it is not that, it is the fact that I'd forgotten it. You remembered the date of my twenty-sixth birthday, and I completely forgot," Meg smiled, brushing some of her hair out of her face and behind her ear. "That was very beautiful, I'm glad to finally hear you preform."
"Merci, it is a pleasure to have such an enthusiastic audience," he said back, packing his violin away back into it's case.
"I do have one question, however," Meg asked. Erik looked up.
"Yes, Meg?"
"So, it's entitled Variations on Concerto #5. But what exactly is Concerto #5?" she asked. He gave her a half-smile.
"Ah, so you caught that, didn't you?" he grinned. "Concerto #5 was a piece I wrote a while back, and it sounds a bit like the one you heard, but a bit different, and less lively."
"Would you play it for me?" Meg asked eagerly. "It's my birthday, after all!"
He chuckled, packing the rest of his violin away. "Remind me tomorrow, then it will be even more special for you."
Meg sighed, knowing she would forever remember the song that he had composed for her. She looked up at the man, who would always hide his face behind the mask. Truth be told, he was devastatingly handsome on his uncovered side. She blushed and looked away at the very thought, and looked up to the wall of Christine. But to her surprise, she stared back into her own face.
She gasped and grabbed the candle, holding it up to the wall that she hardly recognized. There was only one portrait of Christine, the small one that always stayed there. But every portrait had been replaced with ones of her. There was one in the middle that caught her attention the most, a big one of Meg smiling like she was about to laugh, looking hopeful and sweet. The others were mostly of her smiling, and there were only a few where she looked serious, and even then most of those looked more like a teasing smirk than seriousness.
"It's... it's me," she stated, surprised. She felt Erik come up behind her and felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up.
"It's time that I finally painted another thing, I needed a new subject. I hope you do not mind them, do you?" he asked from behind her.
"No," she breathed, looking intently at them. "Not at all. They are... amazing!" She whipped around and hugged him tightly. "Oh, thank you, Erik! This has been the best birthday I've ever forgotten!"
He tensed up suddenly, obviously not expecting the embrace. But he loosened up a bit and patted her back in a friendly way. "You're welcome, Meg."
She released herself from his arms and smiled up at him, her eyes practically sparkling. He looked at her closely, and after glancing at the floor for a moment, smiled back at her with a hint of colour to his face. "Meg, would you mind joining me for tea, today?"
Meg grinned. "I have all the time in the world!"
After that day, Meg should have known something was different between the two of them. She would still go in every day for lunch, but now he would play for her constantly, and ask criticism on his work. Although, she was honestly not much of a reviewer, since by her, everything was perfect. She would constantly be in his room, not just for their daily meal or tea time, but any time she really could. They would spend a considerable amount of time just talking, or debating things, asking each other the never ending game of questioning. Meg learned that Erik had a last name, Destler, but he hadn't even told this to her mother. Meg swore she wouldn't tell a soul. Another year sailed by, but all the time, there had been something more than friendship sparking.
Their friendly conversations grew slightly more awkward, and Meg found herself confused that the two seemed a little less open to each other. Truth be told, she would start feeling nervous around Erik, giggly, even. Maybe it was just her, though. Maybe she was the awkward one. And Meg knew why. She had been trying to figure it out ever since he played that song for her on her birthday, but she finally knew what she was feeling.
Love. Adoration, jittery excitement. Meg Giry was in love with Erik, and she couldn't explain how it had happened if she wanted to. Nearly ten years ago, she had been revolted at the idea that such a vulgar appearing man would accompany them to America, and now, she catches herself wondering how it might feel if he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace, or if he would stay with her forever, given the option.
Of course, she didn't know he felt the same way. Erik had on more than one occasion fumbled over his words in front of her, or would almost too eagerly ask if she would stay and chat for a bit. Lately he had taken to reading some of her books, a bit of the author Sir Arthur Connan Doyle and his detective, Sherlock Holmes, or a bit of an older author, Shakespeare. Whatever mood he was in depended on what he read. Meg would always be curled up with a Jane Austen book, or sometimes fighting over Erik for the Shakespeare. Occasionally, she'd pull out Mary Shelly's Frankenstein when she was in need of a good fright. She let him read the Sherlock Holmes, saying that she had long since memorized each plot. Shakespeare was harder to work with. Erik would have given her the book, but he found it amusing to see her angry with him.
One day, Meg and Erik were sitting downstairs in the sitting room, each curled up in their own book. The sitting room was painted a cream colour, and the rose-printed couch fit in nicely. There was a small table beside the couch, rose coloured to match, and a small set of china resting on top of it. Meg was lost in Pride and Prejudice, nearly finished, and Erik was frowning as he continued through Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, when Madame Giry walked brightly into the room with two plates.
"Anyone hungry for chocolate cake?" she asked, gliding in and seeing the two entertaining themselves. "Ah, you two and your books," the Madame said, placing the two china plates down on the rose coloured table. "You need to get outside more, have your own adventures, not just read about them."
Meg looked up and placed her marker in the book, closing it. "I'm still trying to figure the whole plot out, and how these characters intermix. The whole William Collins proposing to Elizabeth, then ends up marrying Charlotte, when the whole time, he was the cousin of Elizabeth's father!" Meg sighed. Her mother rolled her eyes.
"Drama, drama, drama, you can't even escape it in books," the Madame smiled. She looked over to the china plates. "I made some cake and thought you might like some."
"Thank you, Antoinette," Erik said with a pleasant smile, so much different from the scowl that had plastered his face years ago. He reached for his plate and started taking forkfuls into his mouth.
"Yes, thank you, Mother," Meg said and started eating from her own plate. The Madame smiled down at the two, then walked back out of the room. "My mother is in a good mood today," Meg commented once she left.
Erik nodded, swallowing a piece. "Yes, life seems to be treating her very well. All of us well, really."
Meg looked up at him and smiled, shyly thinking that life had been very good to her the past year or so. She looked up at his eyes, the one nearly hidden by the mask, and the one that was out in the open. They were such a brilliant shade of golden-green, not unlike her own emerald eyes. Meg found herself staring, and bashfully looked away, nibbling some more on her cake.
"So are you enjoying Julius Caesar?" Meg asked as she took another bite. Erik, already finishing up the small piece of cake, swallowed, and looked to her.
"It's very good, actually. I'm surprised I've never read it before. One of his best works, I'd say," he said, looking at Meg, but scarcely interested in the plot at the moment. He was busy looking at Meg's long, pale blond hair, and how it gently fell over her shoulders and chest. He shook his head, knowing he shouldn't be looking at something he couldn't have. Christine still haunted him, like a ghost that might never go away. It was those two things that restrained him. But Erik sometimes caught Meg's glances and bashful looks, and it had dawned on him days ago that she was fond of him too. Ever since then, it took all he could to keep his eyes off of her, and try to make the hissing reminder of Christine go away. However, Erik thought that he could restrain himself no longer. It was now, or never.
"I haven't gotten around to reading it either. Maybe when and if I finish this one," she said, shrugging, and finishing her own cake. She set the china plate down on the table next to Erik's and looked back up at him, smiling.
Erik stared at her in concentration for a second, then scooted closer to her. "There's a bit of chocolate on your lip," he said. Meg felt her face catch fire and brought her hand up to her mouth, embarrassed. "No," Erik stopped her, grabbing her arm and taking her hand away from her face. His hand brought hers down to rest on both their laps because of the close proximity. "I'll get it."
Meg was suddenly aware that the space between their faces was closing quickly, but she didn't try to stop it. Ever so gently, she lifted her head so that their lips touched for the first time. It was gentle for how long they'd both waited. The passion for each other that had built up ever so slowly over ten years wasn't unleashed in some huge, extravagant kiss, but was expressed through the precious moment, each being careful not to break it. Erik wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her even closer in. The only logical thing she could to to respond was throw her hands over his shoulders and around his neck. Eventually, the two came back up for air, and Erik drew his face back a few inches. He still held on closely to her hand. Erik's mask had fallen off, and Meg didn't notice until now. She still paid no mind to it, because it wasn't of any importance.
Breathing as heavily as she had all those years ago at the opera, running up to her room in fear, Meg let her, smile expand. "Erik!" she gasped in a shocked, almost scolding voice, but Erik heard the slight delighted tone in her voice. He grinned mischievously.
"Got it," he said, referring to the cake on her lips. Meg wanted to stand up and slap him for kissing her so freely, but she was glad he had done it, in ways. She bit her lip, still feeling the taste of chocolate in her mouth from the kiss.
"You are a very lucky man that my mother didn't see that," Meg squeaked, half-surprised at her own voice and cleared her throat.
Erik smirked. "I'm a very lucky man, anyway. And you're a very lucky girl to just have been kissed by me." Meg couldn't help but grin.
"Come here, you arrogant brute," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck again and reaching up to kiss him again, this time paying not mind to staying gentle. Surprised at the sudden assault, Erik fell backwards from where he sat and knocked down the books from the couch. But they took no notice, and only delighted in each other's company more intimately than they ever had before.