*Let's get started right.
First off: I love Phantom of the Opera and particularly Love Never Dies (Australian cast.). I was touched by many things, especially Meg. Meg seemed to kind of have her past catching up with her present and... that's what this is about. So enjoy!*
Broken Toys
He broke my heart like it was a toy. Wasn't I a toy of his? Christine and I were both toys, in a sense. But like a young child, he had a favorite and it wasn't me.
I remember when we were young. Dancers, that was the fate we chose. Well, she chose. My mother chose it for me. I remember how respectful the shy girl was when she stayed with us, a dark-haired beauty my mother fell in love with. "Madame Giry" she asked of my mother one evening. "I want to thank you and your daughter for inviting me in for the night."
"It's not a problem, dear." Mother answered softly looking up from her dinner than to me. Eighteen year old me, sitting next to nineteen year old Christine. "You're like another daughter to me." I am sure my jaw dropped. Another daughter? She had hardly known this girl longer than a few days. "Meg, you can share a room with Miss Daaé for her time with us, can't you?"
"Of course." I answered, thinking of this. A sleepover, in a sense. Mother didn't like me having the other chorus girls over, they were bad influences she said.
But Christine was different, to me and to Mother. Mother had told me how Christine's father had recently died, and that it was her first time as a chorus girl. She was shy, doe-eyed, innocent. All the things young blonde me thought she was. But the opera ghost caught everyone's attention, although her particularly fascinated me.
Christine fascinated him as she got her lucky break and broke away from me.
Mother was more proud of her adoptive daughter Christine than of me. She was more successful than me, but at least I was a pretty chorus girl. Christine was never rude, or passive. She- on the rare occasions she saw me from her shadow- spoke kindly and like we were dear old friends. And we were. But slowly and surely the opera ghost I fell in love with fell further for her, and his name is Erik: the phantom of the opera.
Mother protected Erik since what felt like the dawn of time. Christine spent one brief night with him before the opera house burnt to the ground and Christine married Raoul. He seemed a little off, he seemed to love Christine even more than she loved him. Erik couldn't stop talking about her, no matter what.
I made a mistake too. I wanted Erik to love me more than he could, I made him love me. Just to clear his mind. It was fake, it was forced, and Mother didn't approve. After him comparing me to Christine, however, one time too many I tried to wash it away. I tried to just emerge myself in the cold sea foam of Coney Island.
Then she came back. I love Christine, she was the sister I never had. But she came with her husband and her son, her son Gustave. Ten years old, as old as hers and Raoul's marriage. Gustave didn't look like Raoul, no no, but he didn't look like Christine either. I've heard of children looking more like one parent than the other, but he didn't even resemble Raoul at all. Christine's eyes... wait. Erik's hair, Erik's face, pale and fragile as Christine. Musical, beautiful, wanted. I was envious of their bond, I imagined many times what mine and Erik's future would be.
Then I heard her say three words. My world fell apart with three words, I knew I would never have a chance with these dreams I wanted to come true. "And to sing." I had to act, but I didn't know when. I sang as Mother expected, and disappeared without a trace: gun in my pocket, Gustave's wrist in my hand as I dragged him to the pier.
An audience arrived. Christine, Erik, Mother, and the frightened boy. Terrified of drowning, terrified of me killing their son, terrified of whatever the hell I'd do. I wouldn't hurt the kid, those imbeciles. They saw me put the gun to my head and at last! Erik noticed me, and tried to stop this rash, rushed decision.
A last comparison to Christine.
A gunshot.
Christine fell with a shriek, her hand covering the stain on her purple taffeta gown. Her hair spiraled into Erik's hand as he supported her fallen head as she breathed shallowly. Mother ran off by Erik's orders, I followed reluctantly. What had I done?
Raoul held his dead wife's body in his hands when I came back with Mother and a doctor. Erik sat on the pier with the boy resting his head on his shoulder, mask behind the two. I watched Erik and Gustave closely then, I wanted to walk in and apologize for both of them. My words were useless.
Gustave grew, Raoul moved away. Mother tried to treat me as poorly and as well as she always had, like a mother and a boss do. Erik took care of Gustave, and wrote music for the boy as Phantasma grew more successful and into an empire. Gustave may have never spoken to me, boys never forget the woman that shoots their mother, but I watched him as long as I was on Coney Island. Mother and Erik made sure that he never forgot Christine, Gustave was the grandson Mother never had. I didn't want to ruin his life.
I was a broken toy. And- as I've learned- broken toys can't help but break other toys.
*R&R? No? Okay. Please review though. It's my first LND story.*