A/N: Yay for re-watching movies and then talking about them in math class with your partner, then writing a chapter for your fanfiction! (: Huge thanks to Ace of Gallifry and Heywhatup for their nice reviews (:
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Obviously.
Meg stepped onto the stage, placing her candle on the floor and looking out to the audience. She could only see the front row, but no one was there. She stood and listened for a moment, not hearing anything. She placed the letter next to her candle and looked out at the long expanse of stage in front of her. She was free here. No mother to criticize her, no mirror to show her the faults, no other dancers to ridicule her.
Except, she wasn't alone. Erik, better known as the Opera Ghost sat in the fifth row of seats, unbeknownst to the small girl. But he could see her. The light illuminated only a small portion of her, however. He could see no face.
He could see however, that she was one of the smaller girls, and based on her not wearing the satin pointe shoes that the older girls wore, he could assume that she was a younger child. He wondered why she had come in here, for all the young ballet girls were taught never to leave their beds at night (the reason quite humoring him really. It would seem as though the theater wanted them protected from him). He kept his eyes on the small girl however, as she began her best rendition of the ballet portion of the current production.
She was good; he had to admit, much more so than the beginning girls. Why she was not on pointe was a mystery to him, yet as he continued to watch her, a strange resemblance to an old friend grew. She looked like Antoinette Giry, the girl (now woman) who had brought him to the Opera Populaire all those years ago. This girl danced with the same raw emotion and exuberance as her, and Erik began to think things through.
Antoinette had been pregnant roughly eight years ago, he was almost sure of it, for it was a time when she was not at the theater, and when she returned, she became ballet mistress, and her young daughter waddled around. But this child could not be eight, for most of the eight year olds had already been introduced to pointe work, and this child was most certainly not on pointe. He studied her more closely; the similarity in her dancing was uncanny.
Meg glided across the stage, attempting to dance without the use of the shoes required. If she said so herself she was doing rather well. Her mother had always told all of her pupils that emotion was more important than getting the steps correct, even though correct movement was vital. Meg danced like her mother, so everyone said. Meg looked like her mother too, just a very small version.
Dancing was her passion. Sure, in the dormitories she seemed to be the joker and ringleader, and she had been told that she had a rather nice voice, but she lived and breathed dance. She longed for the day she would join the company, and perhaps even become Prima Ballerina. Oh, how she would love that! Meg thought over the movements of this dance in her head. The count was playing through her veins; and gradual excitement was building in her.
The very last step that she had seen in this particular ballet was a grand jeté, something that she had not yet come to master. It was most literally a leap and while in the air a split, and her legs would not corporate. Of course, her mother had always said if she stretched well enough if would come to her, but Meg figured she had at least another year before it became a problem.
But she was still going to try it. She came out of her foutette and made a few quick strides before attempting. She soared. . . and fell. She knew that her legs had not extended as they should, and she sat on the floor, disappointed in herself.
Erik watched from his seat in row five, and when the small girl leapt into the air, her face was shown in the light. The face that had saved him so many years ago, the face that brought him to music. Antoinette's face in such a small, small body. So, this was her daughter. The girl was good; he had to admit, if it had not been for her fall at the end. He stayed silent for a moment, studying the tiny child.
Finally he spoke, as if against his will. "Proper stretching and you would have landed that, Little Giry."
Meg practically jumped out of her skin. She immediately stood up, racing to the candle, and picked it up, as if it could show the face of the mysterious person in the audience. The note lay forgotten on the floor. "Qui est là?" she said, and quickly repeated herself, "Who is there?"
Erik remained silent. Damn you! He thought to himself, silently cursing for having brought the young girls attention to him. But she could not see him, and this he knew, for the expression she wore on her face was the kind of utter fear of not knowing. "Dancers belong in bed at night, do they not?" He finally asked.
"Where I belong and where I am going is none of your concern." The small child said, trying to sound non-afraid. "Who are you?"
"Who I am is none of your concern" Erik bounced back at her. The gor cowered back, and he watched her carefully. He couldn't tell her who he was. . . could he? No, only Antoinette must know who he really was. But, then again, this clearly was Antoinette's daughter. Could he trust her?
No. He could trust no one.
Meg was utterly confused. At first, she had suspected one of the creepy stagehands, but when the man had spoken, he sound much too rich, and not drunk like they usually were. His voice was deep and smooth, and she wondered if he was a leftover theater patron. But all of them left even before the operas were over, only a few remained for the entire performance, and she could be sure that none of them would sound like that. This voice sounded too. . . mysterious. "Please Monsieur," she was dying to know who it truly was, "if you will not tell me your name, at least show your face perhaps?" Even if it were a theater patron, she would not recognize him, and if it was indeed someone at the theater, chances are she would. Either way, she would get some sort of an answer.
Erik, being awfully rash, even for himself, did as the child asked. Why, he didn't have a clue, but he did anyway. Soon he was within the circle of life offered from her candle, and he was offered a short glimpse of the girl. She was blonde, unlike her mother, and was even smaller looking in this strange light. She stood like a true ballerina, even in this state, her feet in a perfect fifth position, one arm behind her back and the other holding the small candle. Her facial features were the same as Antoinette's, small and rounded. He was shocked, and mentally cursed himself for even stepping into the child's light.
Meg let out a small gasp when she saw the man. Or more, the mask of the man. Here she was, standing directly in the presence of the Opera Ghost himself, but this was no ghost. He was a man, a man with a white mask covering half his face. Meg was intrigued. Frightened, yes. But still very intrigued.
"Monsieur," she was finally able to sputter, "We. . . I. . . I have a note. For you." She walked back to the place where it lie, not taking her eyes off of him, and returned to the front of the stage, holding it out for him.
He took the note from the small girl's hand, slowly nodding, and she retreated back. "I. . . they'll. . . my mother will have a fit if she catches me out." She finally said, giving him one last look, and offering a small wave.
"Ghost doesn't really fit you I suppose. . ."
A/N: Not sure how that went. . . but whatever. Leave reviews? OH! I even have some stuff to say.
So, I was on the Love Never Dies website (yeah, I know it got horrible reviews, but it hasn't even come to America yet! I still want to see it, just to see it) and there was like a preview of sorts for it. Andrew Lloyd Weber was describing it, and he was saying how Meg and Madame Giry take the Phantom away, but he said "Madame Giry and her daughter". He doesn't even say her name! Does this irk anyone else?
So, while re-watching the movie, I ran across my eternal debate. During the black and white scenes, is the woman Madame Giry or Meg? I know my first response was Madame Giry, just because it's the same actress, but she would have been quite old at that point, especially considering that Christine is dead, and Raoul seems close to it. So it would make more sense in the age department for it to be Meg, but they still call her 'Madame Giry'. Ahh! Leave your ideas with your reviews(:
Anyway, that's all I got (: My sister is requesting Mac n' Cheese, so I'll probably start on Chapter 3 later tonight or tomorrow.
