Ten years later:
The swirl of sumptuous silks, satin and lace filled the grand entrance of the old Paris Opera, jewels glittered in glow of the electric light. Meg held her mask to her face and drank in the sight, swaying gently in time to the music. She would never tire of the New Year's gala.
Beside her stood the Comtess de Chagny, Christine, presiding over the opulent proceedings with flushed pink cheeks and shining eyes, taking obvious pleasure in the magnificence of her party. Having assumed control of the opera company five years ago, the Chagny's enthusiastic guidance had transformed the outmoded Paris Opera into the elegant Paris Ballet. It had mostly been overseen by Christine, at whose insistence Raoul purchased the ailing operation.
"Can you believe we're here, Meg?" Christine breathed excitedly, grabbing Meg's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. These celebrations had been more muted in recent years; tonight was like a glorious return to the past.
Meg peered over the top of the pink and gold domino mask and smiled. "I know. I can scarcely believe it." she responded, uncertain if Christine could hear her over the swell of the orchestra. They shared many fond memories of past galas as young ballet rats, mostly of sneaking in and sitting beneath the buffet tables, swiping food and forbidden champagne. Now Christine was hostess and reigned as a benevolent queen in silver crepe. The gentle swell of her belly made her look more like a mother goddess, Meg thought.
She and Madame Giry had stayed on after the opera company had broken up, to assist in the transition in any capacity they could though they had not planned to stay long. In those days, her mother often spoke of taking her to America to dance there, feeling that Paris no longer held any promise for them. Five years on, Madame Giry had retired from striking fear into young ballerinas hearts. But Meg was still dancing and finally poised to become prima ballerina that winter season. Her stomach flip flopped; the new prima was to be selected that evening.
"What if I'm not chosen?"
"It seems like a lifetime ago that we were dancing to the new chandelier." Christine's voice broke into Meg's anxious thoughts.
"It is a marvelous party." Meg answered non-noncommittally, remembering, as her patroness was, the night that Red Death descended into the party. "Have you chosen any names for the baby?" she feigned interest in the contents of her glass, hoping her silence on the topic would steer Christine's mind back to the present. It had been an unspoken agreement among them, Meg, Madame Giry and Raoul, that talking of the phantom would only be detrimental to Christine. She had ached to talk about Erik with her friend for a long time after, to beg Christine to sing some of his music for her. But she resisted and was well practiced in avoiding that ghost of their shared past.
"I've a few that I like but none that I've told Raoul yet." Christine's face dimpled. Meg returned the smile and gently touched her friend's rounded belly. Ten years of marriage and four golden children had softened once tight lines in Christine's form but she was still undeniably beautiful. Meg felt a small pang of envy.
"I cannot wait to meet her." Meg drained her champagne and snatched another glass from a passing waiter.
"Her?" Christine arched an eyebrow.
"It's just a feeling I have." she shrugged. Among her hopes, Meg hoped that the Chagnys would finally choose her to be a godmother. A dancer had not been good enough for the young viscount and his younger brother nor had Raoul acceded when the two girls came along. But a fifth child, surely, it could finally be Meg's turn.
"Meg." Christine had stepped closer and spoke low into her ear. "If anything should happen -"
"Nothing is going to happen, dearest." Meg reassured, sounding more confident than she felt. The last confinement had been hard on Christine and she knew the doctors had urged the couple that little Camille should be their last child. But Christine couldn't say no to Raoul, no more than he could to her. "In most things anyway."
"I know." Christine gently rubbed her belly. "But you know what the physician said.. I need you to take care of them Meg, if I am gone."
"Take care of them?" she blinked. "I imagine Raoul would have that all in hand."
"Please, Meg. Love them in my stead?" Christine twisted the wedding ring on her finger. "And Raoul. He will need someone to look after him."
"You have a chateau full of servants to look after Raoul." Meg deflected; her stomach churned wildly. Too much champagne.
"Or not enough. Is she asking me to take her place? I don't even like Raoul all that much."
Looking into Christine's wide blue eyes was like swimming into an ocean of worry and Meg could feel her resolve begin to crumble. "I will do what I can for them. And I will do as much as he will allow."
"Thank you." Christine crushed Meg in her arms while Meg tried to rein in the contents of her stomach.
"Ladies." the Comte de Chagny's voice boomed over the music and Christine broke from their embrace.
"Darling!" she stood upon tip toes to plant a kiss on her husband's cheek. Raoul handed them each another champagne flute. Meg hid her green face behind the mask.
"I'd like to propose a toast." Raoul raised his glass and Christine quickly followed suit. "To the Paris Ballet's new prima ballerina." he declared, staring at Meg. "Well deserved, mademoiselle."
"As if there were any doubt." Christine bubbled and clinked her glass to Meg's.
"I am honoured monsieur. I hope to do you credit." she murmured, lifting the glass to her lips and cursing herself for her subdued manner in what was supposed to be a joyful moment. Heaven knows she had worked hard and waited long enough for it. The Chagnys did not seem to notice, however, wrapped in one another's arms and each lost in the other's eyes. What if something did happen to Christine? Could Meg really love him in her place?
"You already know the answer to that." her eyes searched the deepening shadows in the grand hall, longing to see its darkest shadow, but he had been banished years ago.