Madame Giry, had always made sure to clarify to her daughter that the "Phantom" was only a man, simple and plain, but with the mind of a genius. He… whoever, whatever he was, could do absolutely anything and everything he wanted. The man, a child in a way, was stubborn, hurt, and ready to kill whenever he saw fit. Meg had been the ballet rat who spread the tall tale, that he was a ghost, someone who once was. Now that spirit haunts the grand Opera Populaire, and plays tricks on it's many inhabitants. Meg made up those stories to protect someone she'd never met, but knew for a fact existed. Maman, unfortunately, never let her forget it.
There was only one night that Meg Giry was actually afraid of this so called Opera Ghost. That fateful night, the night she knew the sickening crack high above her head was due to the anonymous man. In her terror the blonde bolted for the roof. Meg had no inclination as to why she chose the roof, but that is where her talented, trained feet were taking her. Taking the long staircase up, Meg never noticed the couple behind her, nor did they even attempt to see her. Swinging the heavy door open and only stopping when she was at the corner of the roof. Fortunately for her she was accidentally hidden behind a large statue. Not even the warm summer air could calm her. In her attempt to calm herself, the couple bolted through the door on their own.
"Why have you brought me here" said Le Vicomte. Without hearing another word, Meg felt one hand on her throat. Holding with a pressure that dared her to scream, The other clamped over her mouth. The owner of these hands had their entire body flush to hers. Keeping them still, so that neither would be seen by Christine professing her plight, and Raoul who wasn't trained in the art of comforting just yet.
So they stood, one listening, the other with a humming noise in her head. Megs eyes focused on nothing in particular. After what felt like an eternity for the two behind the statue, the other, happily in love couple finally fled back down to the stage so that the show could finally begin again.
The Opera Ghost, now shown to Meg in full moonlight, left her figure to flee to another corner of the roof. Megs eyes never moved, they were trained on the expansive line of buildings front of her. The city of Paris was glittering in the warmth of a late June night, but it was a blur in her eyesight. The lights were mesmerizing, her senses were barely employed, she couldn't hear anything but her heart thumping. Meg could barely see, but she felt the warm wind passing over her body as she moved toward the door. Along the way she collapsed on her knees.
When he was done and ready to leave, he turned from Apollo in rage, Seeing what he never thought he would. The figure of Marguerite was illuminated in the moonlight. She was absolutely… Unsettling. Staring forward on her knees, eyes glazed over and wide, breathing heavily. The Sylvan Glade costume was pooled around her. The ballet woman's daughter was like nothing he'd ever seen.
"And what do you think you are doing here" he said without thinking. Giry turned her head slowly in his direction "Hmm?" She still couldn't focus on anything, It was all too much, too much. When she looked at his seething frame, most of her composure had returned. He expected her to tremble at his harsh tone, but she was still trying to comprehend what he was saying. Her unaffected reaction caused the heart broken man to grab hold of Meg's arm, hoisting her up. His body was radiating with anger.
"You will leave. Now." A slow dazed response came in the form of
"Gladly." The numbness went away, she could feel his hand like electricity. It was different and cold. Walking away toward the door, her arm slid out of this grasp slowly "The show must have begun again." Then she disappeared down the stairs, Ghostly like himself.
Meg didn't know it, but there was a light bruise on the way to her neck. Thankfully no one cared enough to notice. In all her true talent, she surely became a wallflower when she wanted to. So she danced Il Muto, and took her bow. Meg snuck away from the after show chaos, and screaming patrons who had completely forgotten about poor, unfortunate Bouquet. After Christine's second great triumph, no one cared for the unlucky stagehand. Luckily enough for the managers, the fatality that night was just a stagehand. They would never be able to live through injuring, or god forbid, the murder of an incredibly rich patron in the so-called "Accident!" With hardly anyone noticing, to her room the dancer feld.
Meg once decided that she wanted her room to be as far from her mother as possible. Their relationship wasn't picturesque, it wasn't horrible, but they were never close. They kept a normal ballet-mistress, ballet-girl relationship, and outside of work they hardly saw each other except for the occasional meal. When she was younger they were quite close, mostly because Meg kept to herself, and hung on her mother's skirts. When Christine came to the opera, Meg flourished, the two young girls became so close and were almost never seen alone. Meg became a butterfly, and Christine happily followed. Meg reflected on her relationship with both women as she made the long walk to her room.
All of the ballet girls were scattered in good sized rooms. When Meg was allowed to move into one of her own, away from her mother. Meg quickly found one and claimed it for herself, and kept it that way until Christine was admitted into the opera. Meg and Christine shared that room on the far end of the opera house, two levels between them and the ballet mistress. Christine had moved to her own room down the hall a year or so before, then left the hall for a dressing room near the stage.
Other girls their age in the corps have been leaving as the troop as a whole grew older. Some marry, most move on to more scandalous endeavors, some become too scared of the ghoul who wreaks havoc on every department of the opera. The younger girls were forced to stay in rooms much closer to Madame Giry. As older members of the corps continued to leave, the upper halls became scarce, and now there was a few rooms between Meg and anyone else.
Making her way to her door on the far end of the hall, Meg unlocked the door that led to the lodging that became her sanctuary since Christine's first great triumph. Locking the door behind her, She dropped the pointe shoes that were slung over her shoulder, now dirty from running all around the opera, on a little table by the door. Meg slowly made her way to the vanity, pulled her hair from the secure ties, and draped the accenting ribbons over a peg attached to the large mirror. Meg sat in relief and began to brush the ends of her hair that was like a curtain of blonde waves shielding her away from the world. Meg loved her hair, and kept it down unless she really had to put it up, for performances.
She avoided looking in the mirror, but Meg knew her stage makeup was a mess from the tears and she ached to remove it, or it would wreak havoc on her well-kept complexion. So she then reached for her cold cream, and removed the makeup, only looking at her reflection to make sure she went over every part of her face. She reached for her bowl and pitcher, pouring the water into the bowl she took a washcloth and wiped the makeup and cream away. She looked back up to the mirror only to find the bruises, now fully formed, dark and blue.
With a little gasp, Meg couldn't help but bring her hand to line up with the large finger marks. Another little gasp came from her when a little jolt of pain came from the marks. She held her gaze on her neck for a while as she inspected the spots that came from the Opera Ghost himself. After a while of staring at herself, a movement caught her eye in the mirror. The so called Ghost she'd previously met now stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back, and his expression much too smug for her liking. She wanted to scream in fear, but that's what he wanted, so she kept what little composure she could. Keeping her eyes glued to his in the mirror, she gave a light laugh to disguise her fear.
"Come to finish what you started?" She spun around on the stool to face him, raising her head to the ceiling to show her neck. Keeping her eyes on him, she saw the intimidating man shift uncomfortably. This was the second time that anyone had ever unsettled the ghost the way Marguerite had. The Phantom stood in shocked silence.
"Yes?" Meg gave an exasperated sigh when she received no answer. Turning back to her dressing table to put everything back into place from when she made it a wreck before the show. It was therapeutic for Meg to put on her makeup, and equally as therapeutic for her to put back all of the products she moved.
"Yes. In a way." She hadn't noticed how close he became until he grabbed her waist, while placing one of his hand over her mouth. Within a few moments of struggle her world became dark, and the struggle was over.