The Phantom of the Opera has always been one of my favorite musicals, and after I got to see it live on Broadway, I fell in love all over again. But Meg always bothered me. I didn't like how she never received any character development, and yet still managed to play an important role in the story. So, this is my take on Meg's story, from the beginning...

I never intended to endanger my best friend. Mother has told me time and time again that it wasn't my fault, that it was bound to happen sooner or later, but all I have to do is recall Christine's sad, frightened eyes to know that I was the cause of her troubles.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

I was six years old and running down the hallway of the opera house, searching frantically for a good hiding spot. I could hear Marie's high-pitched voice from the next hallway over, counting down the seconds until she could begin searching for me.

It was just a few short days before Christmas, and most of the performers had left to join their families before the holiday. Alphonse, the elderly stage crew director, had brought his granddaughter, Marie, to the opera house for the day so that we could play together. Hence the game of hide and seek.

The opera house was nearly empty, providing a multitude of good hiding places. I wanted to find a good spot, though. Someplace that Marie would never suspect. I was contemplating the little space behind a tapestry that was set into the wall when I heard my mother's voice. Startled, I halted and pressed my ear to the door from which I had heard her voice.

"…I know that you have been wronged, Eric," she was saying. "But hasn't this extortion gone on for long enough?" A man's voice answered her, his words made unintelligible to me from the thick wooden door that separated us and the anger in his words. I frowned and eased the door open slightly, confusion and curiosity tangling with a pinprick of fear. Who was this man? What did Mother mean by "extortion"?

I realized that I could almost see them now. Mother's heavy skirts blocked my view of the stranger, but I had the eeriest sensation that he could see me. I ducked out of sight, wincing as a few of my golden curls snagged on the rough wood.

I could hear Marie faintly, still counting, but I ignored her and returned my focus to the room before me. "You cannot keep demanding so much money from us. We have been struggling to keep the opera house open for a while now, and your exorbitant fees have not been helpful!"

I cringed. I hated it when Mother talked about money. I couldn't understand much of what she meant, but it usually wasn't good. This time, it seemed, was no different.

"Madame Giry." The man's voice was rising, presumably in anger. "My affairs are none of your business. Yes, I owe you for what you did for me all those years ago, but that does not mean that I am bound to you."

There was something about his voice that tugged at me, drawing me closer to the door. It had such power…. My naïve mind was no match for it, and I pushed the door open a little farther in spite of myself.

Mother whirled around as the door creaked, her face startled and a little afraid. My eyes barely grazed her, though, drawn to the man in the corner of the room. He spun as my gaze fell upon him, reaching towards the full-length mirror that hung on the wall. He moved so quickly that I only caught little details of his appearance; a long, dark cloak, pale skin, and dark eyes that seemed the burn out from the white mask that hid every other detail of his face.

Then, he was gone, vanished into the mirror like a ghost. Like a phantom.

Mother rushed to me, enfolding me in her arms as I stood there, limp with shock. "Do not speak of this to anyone, Meg." She whispered into my hair.

I stood there, huddled against her, for a long momentbefore I spoke. "Who was that man?"

"His name was once Eric, but now, most know him only as the Phantom of the Opera."

I think I shall be haunted by that memory for the rest of my life. Not only because of the strangeness of the encounter, but because of the power of the Phantom's presence. I never dared to speak to Mother about him. She only did when we were alone, usually late at night, telling me about how she had met the Phantom, rescuing the broken child and bringing him to the one place where he might be safe.

"You must never venture down to the underground lake, Meg." She told me more than once, smoothing my long blond curls. "It is his lair, and God know what may happen to you down there."

When Christine Dae arrived at the opera house, I protected her as best I could; telling Mother that she would make a wonderful chorus girl when I knew that she could easily outshine the hateful Carlotta. Mother had told me before that the Phantom was some sort of musical genius, albeit a crazed one, and I knew that he could never resist a beautiful voice like Christine's.

I don't know what drove me to volunteer her for Carlotta's role after the flustered star rushed off of the stage when one of the backdrops fell, but the words just seemed to slip out of my mouth. Maybe it was because I knew that I could never gain such a major role, and I wanted to live that glory through Christine. Or maybe it was because I was tired of seeing my innocent friend huddling in the wings-a mere chorus girl! - because of me, when she could outshine Carlotta without even the slightest effort.

"Christine Dae can sing it, sir." There. The words that I had held back for years were finally released, and there was no taking them back.

Of course, everyone loved my sweet, beautiful friend. How could they not? The notes that swept from her pale throat were pure perfection, and she stepped into her role as though it had been made for her.

Someone else had been aware of her talent before that glorious night, though. Christine called him her teacher, her "angel of music". I tried to convince her that he was simply a dream, knowing that it was futile. The Phantom of the Opera had found her, and there was nothing I could do to save her.

When she disappeared that night, I huddled in my bed and shivered, cursing myself for not doing more, for being too afraid to keep my dear friend from following the Phantom into his lair.Coward, I berated myself. Faint-hearted weakling. This is your fault!

I could have wept with joy when Christine returned the following morning. But I could tell something had changed in her. There was a fear in her dark eyes that hadn't been there before. She sang perhaps even more beautifully than before, but I noticed the way that she avoided the shadows of the stage, how she would glance behind her when she thought no one was watching.

When I learned of her engagement to Raoul, I thought that the Phantom would be deterred. I was wrong, however. The Phantom appeared in the middle of the opera house's Christmas masquerade ball, brandishing an opera and a warning.

I recognized his presence the moment that he took the stage during the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, and I felt nothing short of terror as he and Christine sang. The Phantom loved her in his own, twisted way, and she loved him back.

I felt as though the floor had dropped away from my feet when she removed his mask, revealing his hideously disfigured face for all to see. Then, chaos ensued as they plummeted through the floor, vanishing without a trace. As the opera house erupted into pandemonium around us, Mother rushed me to the room where I had glimpsed the Phantom so many years before.

"Go, Meg!" She urged as the mirror swung open, revealing a dark passageway beyond. "I know you can find them. Do it, please; before it's too late!"

I swallowed my fear and obeyed, rushing into the shadowy corridor before I lost my nerve. I had failed Christine when she needed help the most, but I wouldn't fail her now. If she lingered in the Phantom's lair, then she would never leave.

By the time I reached the lake, it was over. The island beyond the grate was dark, with only a single shaft of light falling upon a red, high-backed chair. I slipped through the grate and slogged through the murky water, clambering up the slippery rocks to the chair.

A mask lay on the seat, startlingly white against the blood-red velvet. I lifted it slowly, cautiously, hardly daring to believe this final message from the Phantom of the Opera.

He was gone. We were safe.

That was very satisfying to write. Meg is one of my favorite characters, and I really enjoyed delving into her thoughts and emotions. Tell me what you think! And, for you Percy Jackson fans, don't forget to check out my other story, An Oath to Keep!