Disclaimer: I may have the phantom singing in my head, but I don't own him!
Meg Giry was five when her mother finally decided to introduce her to the 'phantom' that she always spoke of.
In all her child like wonder Meg was a fair mix of excitement and trepidation. She didn't know what to expect with a 'phantom.' It was both thrilling and a little scary.
The otherworldly sensation was only heightened by mother making them go well after sunset. Meg wasn't very fond of the dark, but having mothers strong hand guiding her made it better.
She kept tugging at the hood of the cloak she had been forced to dress in for this small excursion, the chill of the dead of the night biting at her nose and making it numb. Her curiosity got the better of her, she kept asking mother 'when they would get there, where it was, why so late at night, why they had to wear the cloaks.' After her mother shushed her for the fifth time to no avail she finally stopped her fast stride and turned to her daughter, leaning down to be face to face.
"Meg, please. Cease this endless flow of questions. I can't answer them."
Meg tipped her head in confusion, "Why?" Mother had always answered her questions before, she didn't see why this had to be any different.
She sighed, it condensed in the chilly night air and made a shape like a bird, meg noted absently. She gripped her shoulders, looking very sternly, but with that caring edge that was mothers norm into the little girls eyes. "Because my darling, this must all be a secret."
Meg's eyes widened, mother had always told her never to keep secrets, this was becoming more confusing by the second! "Why mother?"
"I can't tell you right now my dear, but you must understand that where we are going and whom we are going to meet must be kept from everyone with the utmost secrecy. I believe you are old enough now to be trusted with this. Do I believe correctly?"
She nods fervently. The acknowledgment of her age and trustworthiness are all but gold to her little five year old ears. "Yes mother."
The corners of her mothers mouth soften into a small smile. "Good. I'm so proud of you Meg, my big girl." She affectionately pinches her cheek-pink from the cold-and Meg giggles in response to the playfulness that is so rarely shown by her dignified mother. "Now the hour is late and I do not wish to be out on the streets for longer than necessary, we must hurry."
They start off at a quick pace, Meg's little legs moving as fast as they can to keep up with her mothers long strides.
She's getting tired, the excitement taking a back seat to her base needs. Eyes drooping despite her constant movement. Her legs are going numb from the cold now. She's just about to ask mother if they can simply go home when she suddenly stops. She bumps into her back and rubs her eye, peering up at her. "Mother?"
She turns, "We're here."
Her eyes go wide and all the sleepiness from seconds ago has evaporated. Her legs, unfortunately, have not been so easily revived. She hopes they can go inside soon.
Finally taking into account where all their walking has gotten them she notices the opera house right beside them. She brightens, perhaps they will be able to go inside after all!
The little girls hopes are dashed though, as her mother starts tugging her in the opposite direction from the grand opera house. They are headed towards the lake instead.
She looks wistfully back at the grand building, accepting that the full use of her limbs will not happen right at this moment.
"Wait here." Her mother commands, letting go of her hand for the first time since they left home.
Taking the opportunity Meg brings her hands to her face, the chubby little fingers a faint pink. However the one mother was holding hurts a little less than the other. She blows hot air on them, rubs them together to spark the feeling of life once again. She repeats this several times, looking around at the shadows surrounding her. 'I wonder what this phantom will be like.' Finally her mother comes back.
"Mother! Where on earth did you get that boat?" She asks, running to her side. She simply puts a finger to her lips and she accepts it as one of those 'secret' things that she's old enough to keep now. Though she honestly has no idea what's even going on, much less why it has to be secret.
"Climb in now Meg, hurry, and sit down. The waters freezing and I am on very reserved terms about diving in after you."
She gets in, settles down, and soon mother climbs in too. Holding a long oar. They leave the shore with a big push, rocking the boat and Meg gasps. She's never been on a boat before, not even a small one. And she certainly has never been on a lake before. Her childish mind runs rampant with the monsters that could be lurking just beneath the surface. Just waiting to drag her to her watery grave. She keeps her hands very close to herself.
They were about halfway across the lake when the boredom of sitting completely still and compliant won over her imaginations own evil creations. She leans over ever so slightly, peeking at the glistening water below. Patches of fog are rolling around them, gliding just above the waters surface. It looks beautiful, and magical, and mysterious. A perfect setting for this 'phantom.' She wonders briefly if they will meet him in the midst of the fog. His apparition hovering just like the fog.
She catches something moving beneath the water and she jumps back. Taking a couple of deep breaths she is not long deterred and leans forward again. More so this time, but with more caution. Her eyes are searching, ready to meet whatever they may find. Is what her little adrenaline, sleep deprived mind thinks, but truly she would be scared witless to find something lurking there, and would most likely scramble back crying to her mother.
Then she sees what frightened her before and she smiles at her silliness. It was only her reflection. Though she can't blame herself for not recognizing it before, she does look different, reflected back from the waters glassy surface.
The moonlight has lit the pale skin of her face below her eyes, making it seem like porcelain, while her green eyes remain in shadow from the cloak. She tips her head at the image, it doing the same. She tugs at her curly blonde hair, taking it all in. She feels faintly like one of those beautiful performers at the opera house, with powdered faces and gleaming eyes. She stares at herself for a little while longer, focusing on it till the ripples of their movement jumble the images. She's too young however to feel the full impact of this moment, of finally feeling beautiful.
She focuses more on the water itself now. It's dark, murky, and she wonders if its really as cold as mother said. Slowly, glancing back at her mother to make sure she was securely focused on rowing she sticks her hand out, letting the tip of her pinky break the glassy surface.
Meg pulls her hand back a bit, still a bit surprised at the biting cold the water has to it despite her mothers earlier warning. Tentatively she sticks her finger back in, still the pinky, but deeper this time. She starts to make lazy circles with her finger, enjoying the patters they make. To get a better look she starts to lean over more, "Meg." Her mother snaps and she flinches away from the edge of the boat, bringing her hands to her lap. "Sorry."
Unwilling to raise her mothers ire by attempting it again Meg stays where she is, absently petting her wet finger.
They finally reach the other side of the lake, by this time mother is huffing from the effort of rowing. Meg looks up at her, distantly worried. "Mother, are you ok?" She waves her off.
"Yes, but you won't be unless we hurry inside. You're shaking and the last thing I need is for you to come down with pneumonia."
Her brows scrunch down at that, until she realizes her body has broken into uncontrollable, constant shivers. She hasn't even noticed when she started. "Come now." Mother grabs her hand again, and they finally appear to be going inside!
Her happiness at a chance for heat and rest are at odds with her prickling senses, sending the hairs on the back of her neck on end. Something...just does not feel right about this place. Her intuition tells her.
Then she thinks of who they are going to see and she rolls her eyes. 'Silly, of course a phantom wouldn't live in a place bright and filled with color.' She chastises herself. Still, her nerves don't quite settle at that. Or perhaps that's the frost bite setting in.
Right as she thinks they will finally go in her mother stops her, turns her bodily and kneels down. She has the most serious expression she's seen tonight, since father left and she told her she would have to be strong. It makes her stomach do uncomfortable jumps.
"Now listen, my dear, once we enter into his lair their are a few things you must do." Her tone is dead serious and all little Meg can do to respond is nod.
Her mother doesn't acknowledge that, just moves on. "The first thing you must do, is keep your hand at the level of your eye." She demonstrates this, and Meg mirrors her.
"Like this mother?"
She nods grimly. "Yes. Next, you must never speak in his presence unless he speaks to you. Not even to ask questions." She says in response to her mouth opening, to ask if she could ask questions. "Third, do not wander from me, stay by my side for all the time we are in there."
She quickly stands up, Meg is not expected to answer or agree, simply follow. Their will be no deviations on following these instructions.
She opens the door, and a world of ominous darkness stares back at her. She gulps audibly and puts a shaky hand to the level of her eyes. Her mother merely glances down once, making sure she is complying. Then they enter the lair of the 'phantom.'
Mother picks up a lone candelabra on a table near the entrance. It does little to help with overall visibility, but it makes it possible to not trip on ones own feet. With her other hand at the level of her eyes that leaves no hand for Meg to hold.
While she's trying to be brave on the outside on the inside she's panicking. Without the firm grip of her mothers hand she feels a little like she may get absorbed in the shadows. Like one could take a fancy to her and decide to steal her away. She opts for grabbing ahold of her mothers dress, and taking what little comfort she can in that.
The place smells like must and stale air. She couldn't imagine anyone inhabiting this place; not anyone alive anyways. As they wander down a seemingly endless hall she starts to hear something. 'Shrieks, monsters, ghosts.' Her fear riddled brain offers.
While she would be inclined to listen to her mind on any other day for now she waves those thoughts off. Listens closer, trying to discern what they really are. It hits her suddenly, it's a melody.
As they keep walking she starts to discern individual notes here and there. They are beautiful, but make her inexplicably sad. They reach a dark staircase, plunging down. Her mother pauses, takes a deep breath. She thinks she's going to speak, remind her of the rules, or tell her to be brave. Instead she continues on and Meg briefly wishes how she would have. She doesn't feel ready for this, whatever this is, and would really like to turn around.
The only things that stop her are the fact that she doesn't want to disappoint her mother, and that she would like to hear more of that beautifully sad melody, and maybe see whoever is playing it. 'Who says it's a person?' That over imaginative part of her young brain queries.
She gulps and readjusts her hand to make sure it's at the level of her eyes.
The music is prominent now, louder the farther they go down. She can see light up ahead and that is a relief even if she doesn't know what's waiting for her in the next room.
They enter the huge room quietly and Meg takes it all in as they traverse the rest of the winding staircase. It's cold, not nearly as cold as outside, but lower than could be considered comfortable. 'I guess phantoms don't need heat.' She remarks silently in her head.
Candelabras are scattered everywhere, casting light in seemingly random places. Papers are strewn across the floor, and various portraits, instruments and dark looking toys decorate this strange room.
What is most eye catching though, is the man in the middle of the madness, fingers pounding away on an organ as if it were his sole purpose in life. He glances up for only a split second, nodding at her mother.
She blinks a few times, just to make sure he is real. Slowly she lowers her hand and uses it to pull back her hood. When she opens her green eyes again he is still there, still playing. Not some figment of her imagination then. "Are you a phantom?" She calls out without thinking.
He shoots her a wary glance, suddenly aware of her presence as well, though his fingers never stop eliciting that beautiful melody from the organ. "And who, might you be?"
She's startled, not only by the low rumble of his voice, but also at him speaking directly to her. Even though she asked the question. She's far more used to people deferring to her mother for questions about her. She's so young, how can she possibly be able to answer questions pertaining to herself? Even in her head the thoughts are laced with sarcasm and frustration.
She steps fully out from behind her mothers dress. Her interest overriding any fear. He's wearing a mask she notes faintly, taking a step forward to better see him. Out of her periphery she can see her mother stiffen. Though she doesn't move to stop her. "My name is Meg." Remembering her manners as an afterthought she curtsies. "It's a pleasure to meet you Monsieur."
He chuckles softly. Something in him reflexively loosening. Finally ceasing playing long enough to bow slightly to her. "It's a pleasure as well madam." She smiles brightly. No one has called her madam before! "Now, what was it you asked?"
She blinks, trying to recall-what did she ask? "Oh, well, uhh..."
"Am I a phantom?" He continues on, speaking over her. He steps down from the platform on which his organ rests. His fingers glide down the guard rail. "That is an interesting question." He pauses. "I'm not sure of the answer myself."
"Well, if you are, then I'm definitely not frightened of you!" She blurts out. "I was before, but now I-" she stops, noticing how silly she must sound, but his eyes are trained on her. Only her. Intense. And she can't stop now that's she's half way said it so she fumbles on. "Now I-I'm not."
He quirks his head at her. He looks interested. This honest to goodness adult actually looks interested in what she's saying. She would say it felt intoxicating if she knew anything about what intoxication felt like. "And, why, is that?" He asks slowly.
She doesn't speak for a few seconds, but finally getting ahold of herself she shakes her head a little. Clearing the cobwebs that somehow gathered there. "Because." She motions to the organ. "Anyone who can play something so...so," she tries looking for the right word, the right phrase that will describe that wonderful melody that made her mind want to reach out to whoever was playing it. To hold their hand because it was impossible to play something so sad and not be a bit melancholy yourself. Her words failed her and she settled on the stereotypical "Beautiful. Could never be someone bad. Even if you are a phantom."
He scoffed, however to her young mind it was the same as a small laugh. He didn't say anything else, and after a minute she started to purse her lips. She resisted the urge to rock on her heels because her mother said it was "unladylike like."
She almost thought he had forgotten about them until he turned smoothly and continued back up to the organ. "You may proceed Madame Girry."
Her mother finally speaks. "Yes Monsieur." And nods despite him not being able to see it. Then she abruptly takes hold of Meg's wrist, a firm grip and starts to lead her away from the strange, fascinating man. She faintly worries about being in trouble, about angering her mother for breaking the rules, but that is put to the back of her mind. She steals glances back at him, but he seems totally encapsulated by his work once again.
That saddens her a bit, though she can't say why.
They go to a little corner whose only inhabitants are a duster, broom and candelabra. She picks up the candelabra and releases her wrist, only long enough to hand her the broom. In the flickering shadows Meg can see the tight lines around her mothers mouth, the steely shine to her focused gaze. Yes, mother is definitely angry.
They find another corner. Strewn about are the papers, books, and odd little toys as everywhere else. Her mother sets the candelabra on a shelf and bends to start organizing the mess. "Stack up all the papers, do not throw any away. Put the books on one of the shelves in no particular order, but make sure the spine is facing towards you. You can put the toys anywhere, as long as they don't seem to be in the way. Any instruments not in a case are to be left where they are. Any questions." Her tone made it clear there were to be no questions. She shook her head and bent down to start helping. When she reached out her wrist her mother grabbed it suddenly. She looked pointedly into her eyes. "And Meg, I expect you to follow these rules." Her tone could not be misread and Meg gulped, nodding. Her mother released her and they both set to work. Yes, definitely, very angry.
The notes once again started to bleed from the organ. Slowly at first, then crescendoing into just as intense a composition as before, if not more. Meg half did her work and half listened to the melody. Not fighting much to keep herself from falling under its spell.
It was quite a while before they finished cleaning everything up. Meg's eyes began to droop again. She rubbed furiously at them, not willing to submit to sleep just yet. Though the thought of walking all the way back home was not a pleasant one. It made her want to cry a little actually, her legs were already hurting.
Her mother addressed the phantom. "We are finished for the night Monsieur." He nodded, stopping his playing and walking down the steps again. He rummaged through his pocket and when he was before them he retracted his arm and held out a few coins to them.
"This should be enough to pay for a cab. The child looked half froze when you came in, and I'm fairly certain she would collapse and would need to be carried before she would make it home."
She tried to shake her head in the negative, but it came out so poorly that it only proved his point.
Her mothers eyes widened, she was shocked though she was trying to keep it from her face. "Ah, yes. Thank you Monsieur. Goodnight" She reached out to take the offered coins, her arm stretching out fully as he was standing barely within reach.
She lightly grabbed her shoulder and turned her. "Come on Meg. We must go home now."
She whisked her away before she could even say a goodbye to the phantom. Not that she had enough energy to protest though.
On both the boat ride and carriage trip home she stayed off the taunting promise of sleep in favor of recounting every aspect she could remember about him.
A white mask. Eyes that she couldn't quite discern the color of in the dark. Dark hair like the night, slicked back and well maintained. A pale complexion. He was dressed as a proper gentlemen. He had a low, smooth voice. He made the saddest music she'd ever heard.
This got her till she was home. Her mother, who must have been just as-if not more-tired as her set to work on getting her to bed. Dressed in her white nightgown and comfortable in her bed she started to drift off to sleep. Encouraged by her mothers fingers smoothing her hair. She was half asleep when her mother started to whisper to her and no one in particular.
"Cab fair. He gave us cab fair..." Her voice faded in and out. Meg only caught small tidbits. "Never before...shocking...why...my god...he...I think he actually liked you Meg...don't know wether to be relieved or frightened..." She went on for a little while longer, but Meg no longer heard any of it. Hadn't heard half of it to start with. Wether or not she heard or processed her mothers words could be debated. However she still fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, with a smile on her face. Dreaming of a phantom who played beautiful melodies into the lonely night.
A/N: I finally got around to watching Love never dies and I must say I am not a fan. The only things I liked were a few of the songs, the child-his name escapes me-and Meg. And well, we all know how that turns out. If you've seen it. The last part with her is really what got me, it's the only time I actually shed tears during the whole thing and it was really heart wrenching for me. To drown out my sorrows I went to love never dies fanfiction section and found only heartbreakingly few stories! Then went to PotO section and it was the same sad sorry state! I had to remedy this, even if it means doing it myself.
I was really interested in the idea that Meg has known the Phantom since she was small, given that her mother snuggled him there in the first place. One other thing I liked about LND is the idea of the Phantom and Meg's relationship. I'm going to attempt-attempt mind you-to build that up here. It'll be slow going so be warned!
Reviews are so appreciated, as well as constructive criticism, but no flames please!
Till the next show~