It's been two weeks since Christine left the broken opera house after the catastrophe. She took Raoul, her lover, with her when she left, leaving my mother and I to our lonesome. We've had the whole place to ourselves, mother and I. And though life alone in a gorgeous opera house may seem lovely, I have never once seen my mother so horribly sad before in my entire life. The color was drained from her cheeks, her beautiful auburn hair was left down in a tangled mess, and her eyes--oh, her eyes!--were brimming with sadness. What had come over my mother, I thought. What in God's name had deterred my mother from her usual state of unconditional happiness?
But ah, I had changed as well. I noticed as I was gazing at myself in the mirror but a day ago that I seemed thinner than usual. Surely, this was of no importance, I thought. But I was wrong! I seemed to grow thinner and thinner each time I looked in the mirror. I grew horrified, and told my mother. But all she did was cry... I felt awful for making her so upset; yet I had no one else to turn to. I was frightened, I must admit. What if I had been consumed by malnutrition? No, I shooed those thoughts away and kept pushing forwards with all my might. There was something wrong with me... But I do not know what. Thank God that my weight has been returning to me now. I'm not sure what did me in the past few days, but perhaps it was just the simple lack of food to begin with.
The days drag by wearily, and I find myself dreading the morning and dreading the night and dreading the day in between. I no longer anticipate the breaking of my fast, and I no longer anticipate the joys of supper among friends. For what is there to enjoy when there aren't any friends to eat with, or to gossip with? Not to mention, my dancing has become less and less frequent; though I have been trying my very hardest to practice without music. I find it seemingly difficult, but I make it alright. I miss the Opera Populaire, strangely enough. Though I live right in the opera house, I miss what it was. What it used to be. For days and days have I been anticipating the long-awaited return of the owners--but to no avail. I know now that they will never come.
Days turn into weeks, and time passes by. I was so foolish to hate having dance rehearsals all the time, and doing things over and over until I finally had enough and pulled a muscle incidentally. I was so childish--so naive and so unaware of how much I would come to miss those days. Though the catastrophe had only been two weeks previous, it seemed like years and years to my mother and I. The two of us often sat in her room and reminisced about the good times, and all the fun we had. We dreamt of someday seeing the opera house regain its wonderful reputation and be restored to its well-deserved glory... But now that I have matured in my state of mind a bit more, I understand that wishing will not always help. What's done is done, and there's no going back.
Last night, as I sat warily in Christine's old dressing room, I heard a gentle humming noise caress my ears. I closed my eyes, and after a moment I opened them again only to be greeted with my pale reflection in the mirror. (I sat on the vanity chair, just in front of the vanity mirror, obviously.) I peered around the room, wondering where the strange humming noise was coming from. Suddenly, as my eyes gazed upon the vanity desk, I noticed something that was not there before I closed my eyes! It was--and oh, how it frightened me!--a single rose, with a black ribbon tied around the thorny stem. Only something was peculiar about this ribbon, for it had my name embroidered on it in golden thread. 'Meg Giry,' it read. How could this be, I thought to myself.
My heart slammed against my chest, my whole body trembled as I rose to my feet. The humming had now advanced into singing--a strange, haunting melody that was so beautiful I nearly wept. I'd heard nothing like it, and I felt so amazed to know that so beautiful a song existed. Then, as if it were as natural as breathing or blinking, I began to dance. I still do not know what had come over me... For I had never danced that way in my life. It was a strangely alien dance, and yet it was so familiar! With my hands outstretched, my mind aflutter, my heart racing and my feet clapping against the wooden floor, I never felt so alive. My own dance, and that lovely music, had totally entranced me and I lived as I've never lived before... My arms were swishing this way and that, my feet were gracefully bending in and out as I spun around in the room. This dance was so natural to me, though I knew not one step. I surged with emotion, tears streamed down my colorless cheeks as I let the passionate dance control me. I felt so awake, so new, so fresh, so loving, so overcome with---
Suddenly, a familiar voice called my name. "Meg!" It whispered. I whirled around, the music faded as well as my lovely dance. It was silent, and as the dark room finally began to lighten with candlelight, I saw a woman holding the very candle that punctured the darkness of the dressing room. The woman I recognized to be my mother. I must admit, I felt a bit ashamed of myself. I had never danced so passionately in my life, and to have an audience! And to have my mother be that audience, no less! If I remember clearly, I believe I was blushing at this time. Faint humiliation indeed colored my cheeks, and I found myself at an utter loss for words. Thankfully, my poor mother was the first to speak. For some reason, she seemed rather displeased with me and dragged me back to our chambers. Reluctantly, I followed her. But I still longed to dance like that again... I was so in love with my movement, and with the gorgeous music--if only I could dance it again!--playing in my ear, life seemed perfect and serene.
So that is why I am here now, walking down this empty hall. Back to Christine's room. I want so badly to dance like that again... What had come over me! I hope to find out soon, for the passion that was billowing from me certainly I did not want to contain any longer.
It was in the dead of night. Though I was only clad in my corset and sheer silk robe (I was too tired to take off the corset last night), I could not stop myself from tip-toeing down the stone hall. My ballet shoes were still on from the night before--I could not and would not take them off after that night with the music and my dancing--and they made an echoing noise upon the cold, stone floor which once rang with merriment.
After a few moments had passed, I trod over to the door leading to Christine's old dressing room. Slowly, once again with my heart slamming into my ribs, I turned the brass doorknob and creaked the door open. I stepped onto the lush carpet masking the wooden floor beneath Christine's dressing room, and was greeted with a new sensation. Fear. For one thing, the mirror stood ajar! There had only been two times when I had ventured into the realm beyond the mirror, and I recognized the dim light spilling into the dark room which came from beyond the mirror. For another thing, I remembered distinctly that I closed the mirror after I came up from my last trip down into the Phantom's lair two weeks previous. So what was it doing open? Fear knotted in my breast. Has the Phantom made a visit to Christine's retired dressing room? And if he still idolized her and lusted after her... What would he do if he found that I, inferior little Meg Giry, was lurking in her room?
He certainly wouldn't be pleased--I was sure of it. Yet, what did that rose with my name on it mean? Had he given it to me? What was he planning...? So many questions, but no answers.
The door slammed behind me. I jolted several feet in the air.
Shivering violently, I whirled around as my bouncy curls flew to the side.
"Oh God," I murmured, frantically trying to unlock the door. "Please, God--No!" I whispered fiercely, panic thick in my throat. I was so scared I could barely even utter an 'Eep!'
"Mademoiselle Giry," Came a deep and sultry voice. I, yet again, whirled around and came face to face with the Opera Ghost.
His eyes were a faint color of blue-- they displayed pain, loss, suffering, and sorrow. And yet there was a hint of amusement in them... Such mysterious eyes he had! Most of his features were draped in shadow. I could just see the white of his mask and the beauty in his piercing eyes.
Stepping back slightly, I whispered, "Good God," I quickly made the sign of the cross across my breast. "A-are you the Opera Ghost?" He grinned wickedly, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
"What, Marguerite, you think me the Devil?" At first, I was stunned to learn that he knew my name. Then I thought, stupidly, that of course he knew my name. For God's sake, he was the Opera Ghost! He knew everything! He stepped closer, his hand reaching towards my neck.
"N-no... Please, don't!" I cried, belting out one of the loudest screams I'd ever managed. Suddenly, I heard a thunder of steps echoing down the stone hallway. Mother.
"Meg? Meg!" Cried my mother, also trying as frantically as I had to pry open the door. The Phantom smirked.
"Marguerite, we shall meet again." He leaned in, closer and closer and closer... And then, "Marguerite, your dancing is lovely." His hot breath caressed my ear, and I closed my eyes-- heart fluttering. Then... Just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he disappeared with a whirl of his cape and a sound of the closing mirror. Fear came over me, and I fell to the ground, my mouth agape. I heard a bang, a clatter, and then the door swung open and my mother came tumbling after, landing atop me. It was an experience I hope never to relive again. Her bony-dancer-body winded me, her joints digging into my torso.
"Ah!" I shrieked. I could almost swear I heard laughter from behind the mirror. I felt my cheeks redden of the thought of the Phantom seeing this spectacle! From on top of me, my mother winced in pain.
"Marguerite, ma petite cherie, what in God's name were you doing in here at this hour of the night, and why was the door locked?" Mother breathed through her thick accent, climbing off of me and resting beside me. I did nothing but tremble for a few moments-- my lips pursed as I thought of a proper response.
"I-I was dusting Christine's old room, mama." I lied, chewing on my bottom lip.
"At twelve o'clock midnight, Meg? And clad in a sheer robe and a corset? What on Earth has come over you, my dear?"
"Nothing," I said, fearing that the Opera Ghost might hurt me if I told mother of the strange events happening to me. "I just... I could not sleep, and I figured that if I gave myself something to do, then I might get tired again and go back to sleep." I lied again, guilt pressing hard on me.
"Really? Prove it. Where is the duster?"
I rolled my eyes at my mother, and shook my head. I stood, thinking it better to tell the truth anyways. I went to the vanity, picked up the rose, and returned to my mother's side on the floor. She inhaled deeply as her wise eyes gazed upon the golden embroidery.
"Meg..." She whispered, hugging me close to her. "Never." She closed her eyes, and buried my head in her shoulder. I found this profoundly painful, seeing as her shoulder was bony as well.
"Never!" Mother hissed, glaring at the mirror. "You may take Christine, Erik, but you may not take my daughter!" Tears ran down her cheeks, and splattered onto my neck. "Never, Erik, never."
Erik. That was his name, eh?