A/N: I'm sorry for my sucky last chapter. This one will be better, I promise. Also, go check out my Romeo and Juliet in 100 words thing. Please? (:

Meg was confused with the drawing. No one was watching rehearsal that day, and she certainly didn't know anyone by the initials E.D. Had there been someone who could have possibly snuck in on the rehearsal? But why would they sketch her? Of the entire opera, why her? And how would they have known which bed she slept on? Nothing on the spread gave her identity away, she kept it perfectly clean, but nothing told that this bed belonged to Meg Giry. . . and besides, even if this person did somehow know that this was her bed, how were they to know that she was the person in the trouser role? It was all very strange. . .

"Meg, what is that?" She heard a voice behind her, and turned around, to see one of the other ballerinas behind her, peering at the sketch. "Have you got yourself a secret admirer?"

"What?" Another girl walked over. "Has Little Giry finally found romance?"

Meg shook her head to both of the girls. "No. I don't know who drew this. . . or why they drew me. . . or how it got here."

One of the girls, named Sylvie shrugged and left, but the other, named Adele, stayed by. "Your mother will be so pleased to hear that someone has taken interest in you. I heard her say once that she was afraid that no one would be interested, since your so tiny." Meg didn't much like Adele.

"Tell my mother anything, and I'll tell her where you've been going after every performance." The other girl seemed shocked.

"And where is it that I've been going?"

"That young man, who you met after Hannibal, his bed, perhaps?"

Adele's eyes widened and her voice lowered. "How did you know that?"

"You come in late every night, when you think everyone is asleep. You look tired during all rehearsals, meaning that you're clearly not sleeping during those nights. You showed up with him to the masquerade ball, and it's no secret that you've had to go up a size in practice dresses."

"If you say anything, I swear to all-mighty God – "

"Well. You certainly know how to keep my lips sealed." Meg gave her a pointed stare, as the door opened and her mother entered.

"All of you need to go to bed, we have early rehearsals tomorrow. Good night." She was about to exit the room, before Adele called out, "Madame, Meg has an admirer." Meg tossed her an angry glare, and the room went silent.

"Excuse me?"

"Look, someone drew her today during rehearsal." She held up the drawing, and Madame Giry started walking towards them. She took the paper in her own hands, her eyes looking over it, almost in a confused state.

"Meg, come with me." Meg stood, obeying her mother, but gave Adele one last glare before leaving. The two Girys went to the older's office. She motioned for Meg to sit down, laying the drawing on her desk.

"Meg. . ."

"Maman, before you say anything, you should know. . . I have no idea who that's from. . . and. . . Adele's pregnant."

"Oh, Marguerite. I know very well of Adele's situation. I was going to talk to her about it tomorrow after rehearsal. And I know that you don't know who this is from." She paused, looking down. "But I do."

"Maman. . . what do mean? Who is E.D.?"

The older woman didn't speak for a long time, before responding, "Erik. . . Erik Destler."

Meg thought for a moment, "Erik. . . when the Phantom entered the masquerade. . . you were muttering that name. . . Maman, are. . . are you saying that. . . that the Phantom drew this?"

Her mother only nodded.

"I. . . I thought he loved Christine. . ." Meg sputtered. The Phantom, whom she had slapped weeks before, was drawing her? Then, a thought struck her. "Wait. . . Maman, how do you know his name?"

"I've already told the story once tonight, Meg. . . and besides. . . it's not one I ever wanted to share with you. . ."

"But Maman, you owe it to me. . . I'm your daughter. ."

"No Meg."

"Please?" She gave her mother a look of pleading.

Madame Giry was silent for a long time before taking a deep breath and telling her daughter just how she had come to know the Phantom.

"It was years ago, Meg. I was very young, still in training to be in the corps de ballet. The ballet mistress of the time. . . she decided that we had deserved a small break. She took us to a carnival that was in town at the time. There were gypsies. . . and magicians. We walked through, amazed at what we saw. And then, at the very end, something blocked off by curtains. We entered, and there was a large circular cage. And inside, a boy, with a rucksack over his head. They. . . they called him the Devil's child. The master entered and beat him, and he fell. He ripped the boy's covering off, exposing his face. A whole side. . . it seemed almost as if were burnt off. The rest of the girls. . . everyone else. . . they laughed at him. I couldn't bear it though. . . Everyone left shortly after, but I lingered for a moment. . . watching him. . . watching him long enough to see him kill his master. . . And I knew I had to do something. . . so I took him. . . and we ran. . ." Her mother was shaking now.

"And you hid him. Here?" Madame Giry nodded to her small daughter.

"But Maman. . . why is he drawing me? He loves Christine. . . or at least I thought so. . . why now me?"

"I know not Meg. . . I know not."


It was the night before opening night, and Christine was a wreck of nerves. Meg tried calming her, insisting that she slept, but the girl would not. The Vicomte had taken to sleeping outside the dormitories, and extra police protection had been called in for the next night. Meg hadn't shown Christine the drawing.

Erik looked out a window frame from one of his hiding places. He was surprised to see none other than Christine, his Christine, his star, walking towards one of the carriages. The window was open, and he heard her ask to be taken to the cemetery. He made his move.

"Mademoiselle. . . mademoiselle. . . Marguerite." Meg awoke hazily, foggy light from early morning pouring in her window. Towering above her bed was the Vicomte, Christine's fiancé. Her thoughts took a moment to process before she finally was able to speak.

"Monsieur. . . wha-what are you doing here? I thought my mother forbade you from entering the dormitories. . ." She sat up in her bed, and suddenly aware that she was, in fact, wearing nothing but a night gown, quickly pulled the covers to her neck.

"Christine is missing." Meg looked to her bed, and she was certainly not there.

"Did you check the chapel? She goes there quite often."

"Yes, and she is not there." Meg looked out her own window, and saw a carriage pulling away, with unmistakable curly brown hair in the seat. She pointed this out to the Vicomte, who immediately left in pursuit of her.

Erik was silent taking Christine to her destination. He would speak with her later. He stopped at the gates, waiting for her to get out. When she did, he turned around, only to leave the horses and carriage in a valley, and walk along the outskirts of the cemetery, arriving at Gustave Daae's grave. Now, he would wait for Christine.

Meg was partially worried, and didn't go back to sleep that morning. Instead, she sat up in her bed, looking around the room. All the other girls were asleep, no doubt resting for the important night to come. Christine couldn't be in trouble, could she? The Phantom – Erik – hadn't done anything since the night of the ball. . .

Finally, the girl had arrived. Erik was convincing her, he was her angel of music. She believed him, she came closer, closer, and soon she would be his.

"Christine, whatever you believe, this man, this thing, is not your father."

Damn Vicomte. He drew his sword, and Erik, very fed up with this man, drew his as well, jumping down from the roof where he was hidden. Christine let out a gasp, and he could tell that all his work had gone down the drain.

He and the Vicomte fought, and it would have appeared that he was winning, he had even slashed the Vicomte's arm, until the man knocked him to the ground, kicking snow into his face, and holding his sword up, as if ready to kill Erik. Christine finally called out, stopping him, and the Vicomte listened to her, putting his sword back into it's sheath, and taking Christine back to his white horse, and riding away with her.

But Erik was not finished yet. No. Tonight was the opening night of his opera. And he would win Christine.


"Meg. . . I'm frightened. . ." Christine had returned and told Meg all that had happened in the graveyard, and was now confiding in her later that afternoon.

"Christine, everything will be fine. You have heard Monsieur Changy's plans, if he attempts anything, half the police of Paris are there to stop him."

The brunette nodded. "I. . . I need to go to the chapel." Meg nodded, and gave her a hug for encouragement, before letting her go. But she had somewhere else to be.

The sketch in hand, Meg made her way down to the cellars. She needed to warn him. . . and she had a few questions.

The gate was down, but she could see him nonetheless. "Monsieur. . . monsieur. . . " She called out. He didn't come. "Erik. . .?" This sparked his attention, and he turned to her.

Erik hadn't heard his own name called in a long time, and was surprised to hear someone call it out. He looked to where the sound came from, and saw no one else but Marguerite Giry, waiting behind the gate, as she had so many months ago. It seemed like an eternity had passed. "What is it, Little Giry?"

"I wanted to warn you. . . don't try anything tonight. There are armed guards. . . and they will shoot. . ."

"I am fully aware. You may leave now." He didn't know why he was being so calm with her.

"I also. . . had a question. . . this picture. . .why. . . ?"

She had known that he drew the picture. . . and she knew his true name. . . someone had informed the girl.

"How do you know it was me?" He asked her.

Meg took a deep breath. "My mother told me. . . the initials. E.D. Erik Destler."

Erik nodded. Of course Antionette had known. "I don't know why I drew it. . . but I would prefer if you did not spread rumors that I did. Just leave it be."

But Meg couldn't leave it be, because for some unknown reason, she was experiencing a pull towards this man. Towards the man behind the mask, that her mother had rescued.

"Please monsieur. . . don't do anything. You will be hurt. . . "

A/N: Uh. . . how is it that it took me a week to write a chapter that I pretty much hate, and only a day to write one that I'm thoroughly happy with? Leave reviews please. . .