I lifted my nose to the ceiling, light beginning to enchant its flaws and scarring from the fire. But surprisingly, it, and much of the Opera survived. I sighed, my eyes wandering along it aimlessly, tears trying to push their way out of my eyes.
Melancholy.
What a strange and horrible feeling it is, and it has swallowed me whole.
It has been a grand total of three months since The Phantom, or Erik has visited me. It feels as if it has been an eternity since his tenor voice has seeped into my walls and lulled me to sleep.
It's almost as if I have an addiction.
I often awake in cold-sweats in the middle of the night, and my heart beats with the fury of a hummingbird's wings. My dreams haunt me repetitively with a question of proposal from Erik, and it stirs the depths of my wildest imagination.
But the worst symptom of this strange feeling, is a swelling pain that throbs with every beat of my heart, at the strongest light of day. It is an aching to hear his voice, and to be smothered in his arms, something I have yet to do.
This promise, that I would "Soon be his", has kept me hoping with every breath I take in. But it has died away rapidly as time has swept by.
"Meg! Honey, can I come in?"
I quickly rose to my feet, gasping in surprise of my mother's sudden voice, and wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand.
"Yes, Mum," I replied meekly.
My mother quickly pushed the door open, revealing herself and a young girl, looking about my age, standing next to her.
"This, Meg is Madeleine. She will be keeping you company in the latter days of the production Hannibal."
I sneered at my disgust for the production.
"I cannot believe we are performing it again."
My mother's dark eyes flashed me a stern look, and coaxed Madeleine in with a gentle hand on her back.
"There is no need for such talk Meg. It is a very wonderful, and enchanting production."
"But it is nothing compared to Don Juan Triumphant."
Her eyes grew even darker, and I could see the memories of orange flames leaping into the black heart of France's night sky flash through them. I could also see it clearly myself. I was preparing myself to dance backstage, calmly and intently listening to the beautiful sound of Christine's pristine soprano voice and Erik's sweet tenor voice intertwined into an eerie melody. I was suddenly awakened from my reveries as awful shrieks from the audience fled to my ears. Before I even had a chance to see what was going on, Raoul quickly paced by me with my mother.
"Where has he taken her?"
"Come with me Monsieur, I will take you to him. But you must remember to keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"
"I'll come with you," I had cried pleadingly, but my mother's harsh gaze was set upon me.
"No Meg, No! You must stay here. Come with me Monsieur, do as I say."
My mind was racing, and I held the angry mob from following my mother to his dark lair, as long as I could. They finally got by me, and I rushed out of the sweltering heat and into the night air. My mother was already outside by the time I got there, and she held me strongly in her arms as I watched an orange glow radiate from the Opera house. Tears welled in my eyes, as I inquired of his health.
"What happened to him, Mum?"
She shook her head, hair falling from her tightly packed blonde bun, from what was once perfection, and whipping across her sharp nose. I had always wondered where my dark hair had come from. I never knew my father, and my mother's stingy refusals to explain left me in the dark as to his description. I assumed it must've come from his side of the family.
"I don't know Meg. I truly don't know."
"What did Christine do to him?"
She sighed, her eyes drifting back to the Opera house.
"She stripped him of his pride, little one."
"No, Christine wouldn't harm a fly! S-She wouldn't," I stuttered. I paused to think for a moment, and continued to press for answers. "How Mum? How did she strip him of his pride?"
She looked down at me softly.
"You will soon find out, Meg. And I hope you won't be bitter of her decision. I refuse to partake in revealing what she did, but you are sure to hear it, because you live here."
She paused, taking my face gently with her soft hands.
"You will understand her reasons for this one day, honey. Love is very complicated."
At the time, I remember silencing, and letting my mind race to the many possibilities that could explain this confusing conversation that it had been at the time.
I understood it plainly now, because I had found out soon after our conversation that Christine had indeed stripped him of his pride by revealing what was under his mask, The Phantom and Angel, to the whole audience that night, and then left him because of her 'never-ending love' for Raoul.
Which I am sure must have been both humiliating and depressing for him. No wonder it had been rumored he was dead. He probably had no desire to emerge again under the public eye, which left many to assume, because his tricks and letters had stopped appearing, he had passed.
But my mother and I both knew better.
And I had no choice but to accept the feeling of bitterness towards Christine, and I have held onto that feeling ever since my mind was able to fathom his devotion for her, and the selfish, shallow decision she made in leaving him.
Mum eyed me wearily, and her mouth formed a tight line.
"Now Meg, you have enough sense to know that Don Juan was disastrous. No doubt the composition of the music was beautiful, but it ended in sheer chaos."
I reluctantly nodded, then poised myself in front of Madeleine.
She puffed her chest out proudly, her deep green eyes sparkling mischievously as she looked up at my mother.
"Madame Giry, you don't have to speak in code like that. You're talking about the Phantom, am I right?"
My mom nodded at her slightly.
"Yes Miss Madeleine, but that's not much of a conversation anymore. He has passed."
Madeleine cocked a dark brow challengingly.
"Do you really expect me to believe that? I know good and well that he's living. If he weren't living, the Opera would be thirsting for its survival, hmm?
She paused, nodding at the silence as if to prove her point as she dropped her bags by the only other bed that was in the room, one that I hoped would always be kept empty if Erik would ever want to slip in and take a rest.
She fell into the bed's neat, yellowed comforter. Her red hair fanned around her on the mattress, framing her heart shaped face delicately, and she closed her intense green eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. She had a freckled nose, and they were also dusted on her cheeks, her skin was a peachy tone, and very clear. She was beautiful, but it disgusted me.
She had instantly reminded me of Christine all too much, which caused us to already start on the wrong foot. She portrayed a gentle innocence in her face, and in her personality. But in a way, her smiles were stiffer, and she seemed to point her nose skyward while watching us, and when she spoke, as if saying she was better. At least Christine was humble at most times.
She finally lifted her head again, and smiled weakly.
"And do please call me Maddie, Madame. It is much plainer and suits me much better than Madeleine. Will you please?"
My mother nodded again with a plastic smile.
"Very well Maddie."
She looked back at me, her eyes darkening again.
"You take care of her Megan, and be sure to give her a tour of the Opera House. She is a new dancer, and will need to be acquainted with its confusing halls and routes."
I acknowledged her request with a nod, and she glanced once more with a stern gaze directed at me, as if warning me to keep my wandering feet from the secret corridors and passageways that Erik often used.
As soon as the door was shut, and her footsteps could no longer be heard, Madeleine flooded my ears with questions of curiosity.
"Will you show me Christine's room? And that mirror that the Phantom introduced himself to Christine in? Can we explore the secret passageways that lead to the Phantom's lair? Can we go to his lair?"
Her eyes glistened with a wild desire, and mischievousness. She grabbed my arm roughly, and gave the same inquiring cocked brow that she had shown to my mother when asking of the Phantom.
"What's he like?" She glanced at the ring that clung desperately to my skin, and flashed a devilish grin. She reminded me of some of the giddy young dancers that raved of the rich, young patron, otherwise known as Raoul, when I was young. She giggled so low that it reminded me of a kitten's purr, and her cold hand traced the wedding band slowly.
"It's from him, isn't it Megan?"
I looked at her just as stern as my mother had just looked at me, and smacked her hand away.
She drew back, her thin lower lip slipping from under the top. A look of bewilderment disgraced her face.
"Who gave me this ring is not a matter that I must discuss with you. Do be reminded that the Phantom's affairs are also not something that is necessary to your stay, or your dancing. You behave as if you're five," I snapped.
"How did you learn of this anyways?"
Her brows knit in anger, and her face had boiled up to a shade of cherry red, her posture suddenly slouching.
"I heard it around, I guess you could say."
"Well, I don't want to hear that foolish talk out of your mouth again, do you understand?"
She opened her mouth as if to say something, but a whisper came from the walls of what was now our bedroom.
"Dear Madeleine, why must you ask so many questions?"
I could feel the color draining from my face, and chains of fear binding me, as I felt a hand tug from behind me and pull me into darkness behind the walls.
The light from my room suddenly disappeared, and Madeleine's frantic shrieks and pounding from the outside could be heard.
"Meg! MEG! WHAT IS GOING ON? DON'T PLAY TRICKS WITH ME! MEG! MADAME GIRY! MEG HAS DISAPPEARED!"
I could hear her cries of terror cutting through the walls.
"She is too prying, my dear. And too dramatic. Reminds me too much of Christine, and Carlotta. What a horrible mix."
I could her the clucking of his teeth, and i could feel his warm breath on my neck.
"HE IS ALIVE! HE IS ALIVE!THE PHANTOM IS ALIVE! MADAME GIRY! I KNEW IT! MADAME GIRY!"
I felt light-headed, and air was becoming a challenge to take in. I could feel something- cloth- wrapped around my mouth, and a hand was over my nose, to keep me from breathing. I felt panic swallow me whole, and the soft song he sang as he pressed harder against my face, was one that soothed me slightly.
"You will soon belong to me."
Erik had finally come.