A/N: I guess this can be considered semi-AU. Meg is nine here, and Christine is not in the picture. . .so yeah. . .
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
Meg Giry loved dancing. It was something she was raised with, since before she could remember. She loved the feeling of endless spinning and spotting. She loved raising onto her pointes and standing somewhat tall. Dance was her strong suit, and no one would take that away from her.
It was near Christmas when Monsieur Lefevre interrupted her ballet lesson with the other young girls in training. Her mother let them go on break while she discussed things in low tones. Meg walked to the barre, not taking her eyes off the pair. Lefevre never came into their classes. They weren't even part of the company yet.
"I bet he wants one of us to be in the new opera. I heard there was a small child's role they needed casting." One of the other dancers, Adele whispered excitedly.
"That's ridiculous." Another, Isabelle, said. "Who's ever heard of a child's part in an opera?"
Adele shrugged and looked to Meg. "You probably know. Is there a part for one of us?"
If there were in fact a part, it would be as much a surprise to Meg as anyone. She gave Adele a small shrug, and turned, stretching one of her legs. Meg didn't very much like Adele or Isabelle; they quite annoyed her in fact. She did watch her mother though, trying to read from expressions and lip movement, but she ended up getting nothing. Not one piece of information at all.
When the adults finally did stop talking and turned to the young class, the entire room went quiet. Meg lowered her leg, standing in first position, ready for instruction.
"Well. . . hello girls." Lefevre started, giving a small nod. "I'm sure some of you have heard the rumors of a small child's part in our current opera, LaPetite Amie. I can now safely say that those are in fact true, and we will be holding auditions next week." All of the girls around her began to chatter, all discussing what they would do to try to be on stage. Meg stayed silent. She knew that this role would probably include some kind of song, and she had never been given any instruction. All the other girls had small amounts of chorus girl training, but she had nothing.
"The auditions must include a song and small dance, on pointe. The character is called Marianna, and appears for part of Act 1. She has minor song and dance." He paused, semi-awkwardly. "Madame Giry. . ." He bowed quickly and exited.
All of the girls around her were deep in conversation, and Meg looked around, tempted to join in on one, but at the same time afraid. She didn't plan to audition. . . and it most definitely appeared that all the others did plan on doing so.
"Girls. . ." Madame Giry started, but no one became quiet. "Girls. . . GIRLS." At this, everyone was silent. Madame Giry rarely raised her voice. "For goodness sake, stop acting like a pack of bubbling bafoons." All the girls except Meg looked down in shame. Upsetting Madame Giry was not a good thing to do.
"Now. Monsieur Lefevre has just told you of the open spot and auditions. I am only allowing five of you to audition next week, and he may choose as he so pleases." Slwoly, heads began to rise up, each girl hoping it was herself to get to be on stage. "Those five are Sophie, Esmeralda, Adele, Alice, and Meg. I would suggest you begin preparing as soon as possible. Best of luck to you all."
Meg's mouth pratically dropped to the ground. Her mother could not have just chosen her, of all people to audition. She didn't sing. She would just embarrass herself and disappoint her mother. She would feel disappointment. She wouldn't get the part. . . and Adele would be ruthless. . .
She continued with the lesson, silent, unsure, and worried. As soon as it ended and she was back into proper shoes, her pointes safely in a cupboard with the pastel pink laces tucked in, she went to her mother. She looked up at the woman with her worried eyes, and she confessed everything.
"Maman. . . why did you choose me? I can't sing. . . I've never been taught how to. . . I'll be horrible. . ."
"I have my reasons for choosing the girls I did."
"But Maman. . . I won't do well. . ."
"Marguerite. . . you will do fine. I would not have chosen you if I didn't think you would." Her mother tried to reassure her, but Meg couldn't help but feel she had only been chosen because she was the Ballet Mistress's daughter.
"But. . . what am I to sing?"
"Something you know, dear. Perhaps something you learned from mass."
Meg lie awake thinking that night. Something she knew. . . something from mass. . .
It snowed that night. Just another sign that Christmas season was soon appraching. Meg looked forward to it, and most of all, going to the ballet with her mother. She soon fell asleep, not thinking of songs and pitches, but instead of leaps and foutettes.
Erik sat back in Box 5, watching the final auditions. He had the ideal cast in his mind picked out, and was hoping that the managers would follow through. It was near the end of the day, and the stage was cleared. Lefevre called something out, and five small girls walked on stage, standing in a line.
He was curious about this. He had heard there was a small child's part, but he had assumed that it would be written out. Apparently not.
Lefevre gave the girls instruction to come forward, starting from the one on the far right, introduce themselves with their name, age, how long they had been dancing, and how long the had been en pointe. The first girl stepped forward, introducing herself as Alice. Her song was okay, and a bit out of key. Her dance was the same. All in all, Erik thought she was average. He hoped they had better to offer.
The next two girls seemed to be the same as the first, simply average. Then the fourth, named Adele stepped forward and began. She was better in the vocal department, but her dancing needed work.
Soon there was only one girl left. She was notably smaller than the rest, and stepped forward timidly.
"My name is Marguerite Giry," she began. Erik knew that name. . . it was Antoinette's young daughter. He sat forward, paying close attention to the small blonde "I am nine years old. I have been dancing for six years, and have been en pointe for a year and a half."
"And what will you sing, Mademoiselle?"
Meg took a deep breath, before responding to Monsiuer Lefevre, "Cantique de Noël" she said. Her mother told her to sing something she knew, and with Christmas in the air, it seemed fitting. Lefevre nodded, and she began.
"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth!"
Erik listened closely. Her voice was not perfect, but it was good.
"Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth."
It was gentle and pure. It sounded innocent and youthful.
"A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn."
She was good for the part. And surely, being the daughter of the ballet mistress, she would be able to dance.
"Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!"
Meg stopped there, keeping the song simple. She thought she could have done better, but was still proud of herself. She looked to the wings were her mother stood with the other girls. She was smiling.
"And now, the dance, if you will."
She gave a small nod, and the piano player began her upbeat tune. She danced, and felt confident in herself. Maybe she did have a chance at the role. . . just maybe.
Erik had his mind made up. Antoinette's daughter would have the part. He would make sure of it. Her dancing was phenomenal for her age. She would be on stage.
Meg finished with a smile, and waited for further instruction.
"Will all the young girls auditioning for Marianna please come on stage?"
Meg was joined by the others, and a level of intensity could be felt in the air. She waited anxiously as Lefevre looked down at his paper. He discussed with the managers in low tones, before looking back to the girls.
"The part will go to Marguerite Giry."
Meg didn't believe what she heard. She had gotten it. . . her, Meg Giry, who no one had ever taught to sing. A wide smile grew on her lips, and she gave a quick curtsey before running back to her mother.
The older woman led her daughter to her office, the whole time, the young girl speaking. Madame Giry was happy for her daughter, and happy for the girl. It was a big step, and while she worried, she had faith that her daughter would do fine.
They reached the room, and Madame led her daughter in. Laying on her desk was a fresh light pink rose, almost the same color as ballet shoes. Tied around it was a pure white ribbon. Madame knew who it was from, and picked it up gingerly, handing it to her daughter.
"He approves."
A/N: Reviews?
If you were wondering, La Petite Amie translates to The Little Friend.