A/N: Alright, I would like four more reviews for the next chapter please. Just four, measley reviews. I adore getting them so thanks to everyone who's done one so far!
I think this is my favourite chapter so far. What do you think?


CHAPTER SEVEN

Now, you already know how miserable I was in Carlotta's entourage. Erik thought it absolutely hysterical but he did not have to deal with La Carlotta's tantrums should one of her favourite characters die in battle. She was as insatiable with my stories as she was with everyone else and it grew tiresome after a short time. I was forced into an uncomfortable pink and red gown and made to accompany La Carlotta everywhere, including her bed chambers when she could not find rest at night. Do you remember how I complained, Christine? I'd been learning Russian out of Erik's books for nearly a decade at that point and how invigorating it was to cuss her out in my mother's native tongue!

My stories were nearly all romances: As you may have guessed, I was already half in love with Erik at just seventeen. La Carlotta loved it best when there was a happy ending but she was deluded by the tales. She thought love was simple and effortless as everything else had been to her and so when the New Year's Masquerade came round, she was determined to find a new lover in the sea of masks.

You see, you were very young at this time, Christine, so I spared you the sordid details of how La Carlotta found one of her servants and Piangi in bed together though you hardly need such a disgusting visual anyway. You will remember however, how I came home from the New Year's Ball of 1867 deliriously happy and how I became only a part time entertainer to the Prima Donna after that…


Winter, 1866
Les Dormitoires du Ballet
Paris, France


"'We must go!'" Margot mimed the diva's high pitched voice to Meg and Christine as she paced their bedroom. "'It is not optional!' How am I to find a costume with the money I have? How am I to find something that will not lead to Carlotta embarrassing me all night?"

"Can you not see how wonderful this could be Margot?" Christine demanded, wide eyed. "You get to go to a real Masquerade! How incredible! All the ladies and gentlemen in their finery!"

"I've heard that if a man kisses you at midnight at a Masquerade, he'll be yours forever," Meg added in a fanciful whisper.

"You two are not seeing the issue here." Margot said, angrily. "I have no money! I cannot buy all I need to make a dress in mere days!"

Meg giggled. "You'll be fine Margot. When it comes time for the Masquerade, La Carlotta will not even want to go, trust me."

Margot desperately wanted to reveal the true reason behind the diva's insistence but the scene of Piangi and Emilie, the servant girl, was still fresh in her mind and she could not bring herself to taint the girls with it. "She won't, I am sure of it. She's set on going." Margot collapsed on the bed, moaning. "What on earth am I to do?"

"You could pray?" Meg laughed and Margot swatted her half-heartedly. "Or Mama might have something?"

"Madame Giry goes to the Masquerade in the same dress every year Meg," Christine argued. "She won't have anything Margot's size."

"This is hopeless." Margot bemoaned. "I'll have to show up in that horrible pink dress and say I'm dressed as part of her entourage."

Christine tried to stop her laughter and act sympathetic. "Well Madame Tenau might lend you something," she suggested. "You've gotten the diva to cease flailing during fittings, I'm sure she'd be willing to help you there."

Margot bolted upright and hugged Christine tightly. "Solnyshka, you little genius!" she cried out, standing and brushing out the creases in her comfortable roomy work gown. It had been too long since she'd been allowed time off from the diva's demanding ways but she was currently working with her coaches for the first opera of 1867 and needed no distractions.

Margot knew her sizes and measurements perfectly so temporarily fixing one of the old costumes shouldn't be a problem and Madame Tenau might know where to start looking. Margot kissed both girls on their foreheads and both Meg and Christine watched as Margot left the room in a rush, feeling rather impressed with themselves.


After explaining the situation to a reluctant Madame Tenau, she was allowed the key to the costume wardrobe and she quickly began searching through the racks for something for the Masquerade. Margot knew she could've easily asked Erik for his spare key but had she been caught, explaining how the Phantom's extra set of keys had fallen into her possession would've been a tricky story indeed.

She seemed to recall Carlotta saying something about everyone wearing pink but since she looked positively ghastly in any shade of rose, Margot turned toward the greens and blues she knew would turn her skin to porcelain and her mousy dark hair to ebony.

There was a general theme amongst the Masquerades at the Populaire, that guests should come dressed as a character or in some different style, though many simply donned a fancy dress and elaborate mask and called it enough. She knew LeFevre rarely dressed as a character, merely choosing to look his most dignified in front of his patrons. Though the amount of liquor he consumes hardly adds to that image. Margot consiered, snickering.

The enormity of her task and the oncoming deadline hit her as she studied the gowns before her. "And I've to make a mask as well," Margot complained under her breath as she flicked through an awful yellow outfit.

"A mask, she says." Came an amused voice from above and Margot still glanced upwards, even after so many years of being tricked. "Why would you want to cover such a face?"

Margot turned to Erik, who leaned languidly against the fabric work bench, deceptively calm. "I'm sorry Erik." She said, apologetically. She knew how much the annual Masquerade upset Erik; rich, influential people donning a mask as a joke for a night, whereas he was cursed to wear his mask always as a barrier to the cruel world.

He waved her apology away as he eyed her selection critically. "They are all awful, cherie." He declared, brutally honest.

Margot sighed, looking down at the gowns in her size. "They are, aren't they? For me at least. I'm sure Meg or Christine would fit perfectly in them." Christine with her deep, sweet eyes or Meg with her long gold curls…

Margot had long since accepted her looks; her dark ashy hair was nothing particularly special, her eyes were a pretty but monotonous grey and her skin was perhaps unique but often made her seem sickly. She knew she would never be the gorgeous star of the show but occasionally, being friends with the two beauties of the Populaire took a toll on her self-esteem. It was usually Erik who knocked sense back into her.

"I would have helped make you a new one from scratch cherie," Erik said, regretfully. "But it seems as though Carlotta has been taking too many cues from your stories and is desperate to find a new lover on a whim."

"Ugh!" Margot rolled her eyes and flicked through the next few dresses quickly. "She's insisting that she will find a new, mysterious man at the Ball. It's ridiculous of course but she's stubborn."

Erik tsked as she eyed a soft grey creation. "Not that one. If Carlotta wants to take you with her, she will take you at your best."

"I have a best?" Margot joked, weakly as she considered the blue petal fairy costume before her. It was periwinkle blue but perhaps…She turned to ask Erik's opinion and froze to find him pressed closely to her, his face hovering above her so close she could still smell the scent of candlewax curling off his cloak.

His eyes were bewitching as he spoke, slowly and clearly in his low, seductive tone. "You have a beauty that has not yet been shared with the world cherie. Let me show you."

Margot could only nod, her senses stunned by his proximity and the intoxicating scent of his skin.

The next dress Erik pulled from the costume wardrobe, a navy blue full length gown-costume, she almost blushed at.

For an opera it was ordinary and somewhat plain. To be worn by a mere seamstress, it was extravagant. It was scandalously revealing of her décolletage and arms and beautifully fitted around her torso, ending in an unusually slim skirt. It was a marvellously structured gown, her expert eye could see that obviously, but she remembered the particular production it had been created for; a siren lover trying to seduce a sailor. Margot had never seduced anything in her life but one look from Erik and she took it wordlessly, trusting in her boy with the mask not to lead her astray.


Margot dissuaded La Carlotta from seeing her dress beforehand, claiming that it was unready. Carlotta made jokes about it being made of burlap and tried to pressure her into showing her but Margot refused politely and changed the subject to the Chinese style of Carlotta's gown, taken from the description Margot had given of the warlord's queen Ti's gown.

In Margot opinion, it made Carlotta look shorter than she was but she appeared confident in her gown and it took the focus off of her.

Erik had supplied his friend with the various materials she needed to carry off her costume, as well as some basic instruction into how to create her mask. He helped her add where needed and detract from where she'd used too much. They had occasionally worked on particular costumes Erik had wanted perfect for specific operas but never something for herself. Margot found herself blushing with the occasional praise that fell from his lips. Her inspiration came from a story her mother had told her when she was very young. Albina Ferrand had grown up in a small Russian speaking village on the coast, her father an ocean trader. The briny depths of the sea was something she knew intimately, as well as all the mysterious stories concerned with it.

Albina had told Margot of a woman named Pelageya who had lost her husband, a sailor, on one of his voyages. She was so distraught that she sat by the sea for days and days, weeks and weeks, refusing to eat or sleep until he returned for her.

Her husband had drowned and was now one of the servants of the Seven Lords of the Seas. He begged his lord to be able to retrieve his wife and bring her to live with him. He was granted his request but only if his wife stayed by the sea for seven years.

Though he did not believe she could, his wife did exactly that, kept alive by the villagers who forced her to feed once a day. While she waited however, through storm or sun, her skirts grew permanently drenched with saltwater and the waste of the sea- jewels, pearls and sea foam- began to collect on her body.

By the time the seven years were over and her husband came to collect her, she was much a part of the sea as he was and walked without issue into the oceans, never to be seen again.

Though she simply claimed the inspiration was random, Margot had often thought about this tale and the love it spoke of. In some small part of herself, Margot wondered what it would be like to immerse herself in Erik's world, waiting for him, until the day came when she could no longer be considered separate from the darkness surrounding him.


New Year's Eve arrived and Christine and Meg Giry were the first to see Margot's costume in its entirety. The pair had helped her into the corset she rarely tightened so securely and after she'd slipped her gown on, she awaited their response, hesitantly.

"Good Lord Margot," breathed Meg as she took in the fine netting, rippled and ruched silk made to look like waves, the occasional strand of pearls that appeared and disappeared amongst the embroidered jewels and beautiful detail of Margot's skirts and bodice. Her skin was the colour of ivory, revealed by the daring but somehow elegant neckline and the thin, loose white straps made to look like sea foam.

Christine could barely register the creature before her as her friend, the dark sapphire silk, faux-jewel encrusted mask obscuring the top half of her face from view and turning her eyes into chips of grey diamond. Upon Margot's neck, a choker composed of multiple strands of pearls, collected in the front by a modest silver clasp completed the outfit.

She looked as though the Queen of all Seven Seas had grown legs for the evening and had deigned to walk amongst the mere mortals.

"Please say something," Margot murmured, feeling anxious.

"You look wonderful." Christine blurted out. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Incroyable Margot, this is your best work ever!" Meg agreed, the two still in shock over their friend's skill.

Margot smiled suddenly and she looked ten times prettier. "I suppose it will be cool in the ballroom but with the fire, I'm burning up," she commented, trying to lighten the tension.

Meg leapt over to her dresser and removed the silver decorated fan she'd received from her Mama for her 13th birthday. Delicately passing it to Margot, the girls sighed, dreamily. "You're going to be the most beautiful girl there Margot." Christine assured her, smiling.

Margot lifted her mask and kissed them both on the forehead before she made her way toward the diva's rooms where she was to meet with the rest of the entourage. She used Meg's fan liberally on the way there; even with her head piled on top of her head, pinned into place with clips and even more strands of pearls, Margot's nerves had her body fidgeting and heating up as everyone's eyes stuck to her while she walked past.

When she arrived outside the diva's rooms, the rest of the entourage seemed amazed by her transformation and Margot began to feel a little more comfortable in her skin. Trust Erik, she told herself as La Carlotta burst through the door, theatrically. He knows how to make things beautiful.

Most of the pearls, despite what Margot later told Meg and Christine, were real and courtesy of the Phantom's contacts. "You will be dancing among the upper crust of society, cherie," He'd stated. "They can smell a fake a mile away." Nonetheless, Margot felt weighed down by the expense and caught herself looking at the ground. She took a breath to remind herself of how her mother would have worn this dress before she straightened her back proudly.

La Carlotta seemed impressed by Margot's costume but after a few short words on behalf of her entourage, they left for the Bal du Masque, assured that Carlotta's costume beat them all.


"Piangi will be there and none of you are to speak with him," she instructed them as they were introduced by Monsieur LeFevre, who Margot felt especially odd taking praise from.

"Of course Mademoiselle," the others agreed, sensibly before being sent off to allow Carlotta time to show off on her own to the patrons.

Suddenly alone in a ballroom of rich strangers, Margot had no idea what to do with herself, although eyes and whispers followed her wherever she went:

beautiful…unknown…pearls…expensive…alone?

...husband?…unattached…entourage…the diva…

worker…impossible!…rich…lovely…stunning…

Unused to the whispers, Margot steadied herself by one of the carved marble pillars just as the first gentleman asked her to dance.

Margot had been taught the basic steps by Meg and Christine but she'd never performed them properly in such a fine setting before and she was terrified of making a mistake in public. She was about to politely decline the offer when Erik's voice trickled into her ear: Dance cherie, let them wonder who you could possibly be…

Powerless to resist his commands, Margot nodded absently and allowed the gentleman, a young entrepreneur by the name of Jean Missen, to whirl her around the floor and in spite of her fear, she began to feel comfortable in her dress, which was like armour against the world and her mask, which kept the men who asked her to dance, guessing as to who she could be, as Erik had predicted.

She chatted with nobles and joked with ladies and found herself blushing at the amount of gentlemen who lined up to dance with her.

Margot felt, after her sixth dance, that she could have been anyone that night.

La Carlotta called her over at eleven o'clock, just an hour until the New Year. "Piangi brought his little puttana with him," she sniffed. "I want to know who she is."

Margot sighed and repeated the information she'd heard the diva's entourage repeat many times over the last three days. "Emilie Mason, Carlotta. She is a maid in the Populaire."

"A servant? A maid? He would never be so stupid as to choose her over someone like me!" La Carlotta ranted, as she had constantly been doing ever since Piangi had been caught.

"I've no idea what he was thinking Mademoiselle." Margot agreed, flatly. Spending the night by La Carlotta's side was hardly what she had in mind for the evening but Margot bore it for nearly fifteen minutes until a smooth, familiar voice broke into her Italian ranting, responding back fluently.

Margot froze, sure now that the whole night was a dream because it could simply not be Erik standing next to La Carlotta, his white mask now stretched over the entire top of his face strangely. Whatever he said caused Carlotta to pause and eye him flirtatiously.

Erik merely nodded politely and turned to Margot, his eyes barely visible but glittering in the hollows of his mask. "Mademoiselle Ferrand."

"M-Monsieur-" Margot began to respond- though she was unsure how to end her sentence- when Carlotta jumped in, eager to snatch up the handsome stranger.

"Signor, we have yet to meet," she purred, eyebrows raised coquettishly. "I would have remembered. Your name, signor?"

"You really cannot tell?" Erik said in a sarcastic tone. "Tis I, Mademoiselle Giudicelli, the dreaded Opera Ghost of the Populaire."

La Carlotta shrieked with laughter. "How very clever signor! Your costume is wonderful indeed!"

Margot could barely restrain her amazement as Erik politely switched sides with her, moving closer to Margot in the meantime. "Yes, how inventive," Margot added, incredulous.

He winked at her through his mask. "May I ask the lovely lady for a dance, Mademoiselle Giudicelli? Since she is guest at your leisure?"

La Carlotta seemed unsure about allowing her newest fixation to leave with Margot but Erik's voice brewed little room for argument. "I suppose I must, monsieur." She said, petulantly. "Hurry back, won't you?"

"I would hardly dream of waiting." Erik told her, falsely as he swept Margot onto the floor and kept perfect time amidst the swirling gowns and costumed dancers.

"What are you doing here?" Margot began to fret. "What if someone finds out?"

"Finds out what?" Erik murmured back, his arms tightened around her. He was dressed thoroughly in black, his hair slicked back and save for his mask, presented in his usual style. "That the Phantom is walking among them, don't be ridiculous. Who would guess such a thing? And who better to play the Opera Ghost than the Opera Ghost?"

"What if-?" Margot whispered, panicked at Erik so close to danger.

"Shh, cherie," he whispered, lifting her so perfectly, as though she weighed nothing, his hands tight on her hips for a perfect moment. "I am here to frighten our dear Monsieur LeFevre into paying me for the previous month. He's become slack and you know my methods: before I do something horrible, I always first give warning."

Margot felt as though she might be sick but she could not help but admire Erik's daring as they circled the ballroom. "You're going to warn him in person? Erik that's madness!"

"It is madness, which is why I am instead going to let him discover my note in his pocket, in the middle of a crowded party." Erik corrected softly as the dance ended. "He will never doubt the ghost again after tonight."

Margot could finally look directly up into his beautiful face. She felt nearly breathless at how close he was. Just an inch and she could kiss him. "Let me come with you then," she begged.

Erik looked unsure. "He will know you. He might suspect you as being the Ghost's note carrier as he does Madame Giry."

"Then I will leave before you do it but please don't go alone." She whispered, bravely.

"I do many things alone cherie," Erik murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind her mask. "And I am perfectly safe during all of them."

"Please Erik."

The masked man sighed and looped her arm through his as they made their way to the ring of people conversing with the Populaire manager. "Monsieur LeFevre," Margot greeted when there was a lull in conversation.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Ferrand, how wonderful to see you!" LeFevre replied, ever so slightly cross eyed. Margot felt relief at knowing he was slightly drunk. It would make this easier.

"I'd like to thank you again for inviting me, monsieur," she said, demurely.

"What a wonderful event Monsieur," Erik suddenly cut in loudly and he swayed as though drunk himself. He clutched LeFevre's shoulder and patted him hard on the back and shoulder, discreetly slipping his note into the manager's left inside jacket pocket.

"Thankyou good sir!" LeFevre said, cheerfully, receiving Erik's hard pat on the back with no small surprise. Margot glanced around the circle and guessed that hugs and bodily contact was not unusual of this calibre of drunkenness.

Margot gently pulled on Erik, eager to leave, though Erik seemed to be having far too much fun messing with the group, beginning arguments and starting conflicts. By the time they pulled away, it was nearly the countdown and Margot pulled Erik behind a pillar, her heart pounding with relief.

"Mon Dieu, Erik, never do such a thing again!" she breathed.

"Why ever not? I found it positively invigorating." Erik replied, smirking.

"Because I was terrified the entire time!"

Erik waved her off as the countdown began.

30. 29. 28. 27. "You would have been fine cherie."

Margot ignored the initial flinch he gave and instead buried herself into his chest, her arms wrapped around his back as far as she could manage. "I wasn't scared for me." 26. 25. 24. 23.

"I wasn't going to hurt LeFevre, I'd have to break in a whole new manager." 22. 21, 20. 19.

18. 17. 16. 15. "No," Margot whispered, her fear beginning to evaporate. "I was worried for you." 14. 13. 12. 11.

"For me? You silly girl." Erik said almost…fondly perhaps?

10. 9. "I don't know what I would do without you." Margot confessed, her mask and her dress and the countdown making her bold.

8. 7. Erik did not reply but slowly he tightened his grip on Margot and for the first time, returned her embrace.

6. 5. 4. Now is the time, Margot. You have to tell him. Just say it!

Margot looked upwards into the masked man's face, obscured by shadow. 3. 2. "Erik…I-"

"1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!" the crowd screamed.


Winter, 1867
Paris


Margot paused for the first second of the New Year before she reached up and pressed her lips to his right cheek, where his scars lay hidden beneath the edge of his mask.

She looked back to find his eyes impossible to read and his mouth set in a line of confusion and she tried her best to smile. "Happy New Year Erik."

And after the longest first minute of the year, the Phantom's lips quirked upwards in a small smile. "Happy New Year cherie."


Translations:

Incroyable- French meaning 'incredible'

Putanna- Italian meaning 'slut or whore'

A/N: So? What'd you think? Review please! Four more for the next chapter!