Introduction: An Artistic Domain
Ever since I was very young, I've lived at the Opera Populaire. I've known little else of a home, besides this opera house. It has been my life, my dreams, and my artistic domain. I've grown as an artist, in this sacred place. If anything happened to it, I would be the first to rage war on they who caused any damage to my home. On the same note, I have always been a little afraid of this place. Ever since I was four, young enough to run around the entire opera house, but not old enough to understand the consequences of such actions, I knew there was something wrong with the Opera Populaire. I'd been to other opera houses, many of them, with mama, not one of them was as eerie as the Opera Populaire. Mind you, it looked like ever other opera house, a large wide stage, opera boxes on each side of the large auditorium, seats lined up in front and large red velvet curtains. I contemplated the difference all the time, every moment I could. Yet I could never discover it, until I heard of the tale of the Phantom of the Opera. I became instantly fascinated by a man I had never met, a man I had only heard of. I wanted to know more about him. He sounded so interesting, Christine was less than thrilled at the prospect of a phantom; she was too busy worrying about her Angel of music. I was too young, perhaps, to be in love, but I fancied him, the phantom. He was dark, he was mysterious and although he was rumored to be from hell, I did not heed to that. To me, he was not from hell; he was just a man like others, only…better. I began to build myself routes through the opera house, trying to find my way around the place.
Now I think about it, perhaps I had been foolish to assume he would be visible enough for me to see. I was so anxious to be so many things. I wanted to be the one to tame the Phantom, I wanted to be the one to triumph over all the other ballet rats, I wanted to be the most known ballerina in the Opera Populaire's history, I wanted the Phantom to notice me. This last was perhaps the most childish and ridiculous, but it was the most important. Especially once Christine Daae came to the opera house, and I knew she could sing, and I knew the Phantom took an instant interest in her. This is my story, the story of my home, Opera Populaire, and the story of my Phantom, Erik. I will not pretend this is a cheerful tale, full of laughs and romantic nothings, without a care in the world. No, this is a true tale, and therefore, a tale full of joyful sadness. It is not pure despair, nor is it pure happiness. It is the truth. And that is all I will say.
Meg Giry, 1920
A/N: This is my FIRST POTO fic so I hope it's not too bad. The chapters will get a lot longer, but this is just the intro. Of course, it'll be an implicated Meg/Erik, but mostly focus on what I think happened during the course of Meg's life at the Opera Populaire. I know it's weird I'm doing this all at the end, but I didn't wanna interrupt your reading at the beginning.
I don't own POTO or any of the charries, I own a bit of the plot. Yup.
Please read and review, I'd love if you do. 3