Disclaimer: Do I even really need this! If I had the rights to PotO, WHY would I be bothering myself to write a fanfiction…?

Months had gone by since the events of the Phantom of the Opera had occurred. The year was 1871, and the Paris opera house had yet to fall into ruin. Andre and Firmin repaired the opera house to the best of their ability, hoping that they could get at least one last opera from it. After all… gossip IS worth its weight in gold.
"Somehow I know he's always with me… my angel of music…!" Christine muttered, frightened to Meg. She sat in the middle of a small, round room, dimly lit by the rows of candles surrounding her. Silhouettes of tree branches danced darkly across a stained glass window. Angels long ago painted on walls smiled jeeringly down at her.

"There's nothing to be frightened of, Christine… your angel can't be real! It must be a trick of your mind." Meg replied comfortingly. Her light blue eyes scanned Christine's terrified, pale form, and she sighed. Little did she know the fate of Christine and the angel of music whom she had for so long denied the existence of…

"Meg! MEG! Meg Giry, you shall pay attention, or you shall descend the ranks of the ballet dancers!" Madame Giry thudded her cane against the ground, scolding her blonde daughter. The sharply dressed woman stared disapprovingly at Meg, as the rest of the chorus girls swarmed about, tittering and laughing.

"Sorry, Mother…" Meg muttered tiredly. Her skirt was crumpled at one side, and her bow was askew in her hair. She was dancing, once again out of step, and jumped as Madame Giry once again rapped her cane against the ground. "I've just been preoccupied with everything that's happened. I mean, Christine's the Vicomtess de Changy now! Can you believe it, Christine… Vicomtess?"

"It STILL doesn't give you an excuse to slack off." Madame Giry replied sharply. "You will go to your room and practice until you can run through a simple routine. You're a mess. Wash up as well." She handed Meg a silken black ribbon. "And fix your hair. It's looking dreadful." Returning her attention to the rest of the gossiping girl, she harshly shouted instructions at them, at which they began from the beginning of the number once more.

Sighing, Meg nodded. "Yes, Mother." She took the ribbon, and with a heavy heart, she trudged away.

"Be sure to come right back!" Madame Giry called, her eyes narrowing. Meg walked off the stage and started down the steps to her room. Actually, it was Christine's, as when she had moved out of the opera house to live with Raoul, she had left Meg her room. Walking past the jeering, laughing, and sleeping actors and stagehands, she sighed. Once Christine had left, everything had changed. And ever since the Phantom of the Opera incident… everyone had gotten rather uptight. Even through the merriment, she could still see that the smiles on everyone's faces were really masks. Masks to hide their true feelings.

It's like a masquerade all over again. Hide your face, so the world will never find you… Meg thought, stepping around a large heap of props that had carelessly been left lying on the dusty wood floor. Upon closer inspection, she realized what they were. That's… Christine's dress from Don Juan Triumphant… and… She held out a hand, and touched the black mask lying on top of the pile. Blinking, Meg realized there was a hush, and people began to stare at her.

"I dun thin' yeh should be touchin' those, missey." A rather drunken stagehand said, in a slurred voice. "Ya can't be shertin tha' ol' Phantom… fellow's gone." A few people snickered and him, and turned back to whatever they were doing. Others gaped, horrified at his behaviour.

Meg jumped. "Oh! I'm sorry!" She then realized she'd had the mask halfway to her face, about to put it on. Dropping it as if the mask were on fire, she quickly ran off, quite startled at the fact she didn't even know what she was doing. Or what she had almost done.

Don't be silly, Meg… it's not like putting on a simple mask's going to bring the Phantom back or anything. She let out a nervous giggle, as the other inhabitants of the hallway gawked at the young girl as she fled.

Finally, she reached her room. As she turned the bronze handle of the door, and opened it, she stepped in the slightly dusty room. Her mother had wanted her to clean it herself. Meg let out a snort. Like that would ever happen. Meg walked over and sat on her bed, dance rehearsal momentarily forgotten. She was exhausted from a long day's work. Laying down, she muttered, "Just for a minute…" The next thing she knew, she'd been flown off upon the wings of her own angel. Her angel of sleep. Her hand slumped to her side, the black ribbon fell out of her hand and twisted its way to the ground, before resting on the dusty floorboards.

In the mirror behind her, a face, covered partially by something white seemed to flash from within its reflective surfaces, focused on the ribbon. The face then dissapeared into darkness, as quickly as it had come.

Author's Note: I feel like that was so… short. Bah, it probably is. Ah, oh well. Read and review! Next chapter's already in the works!