Chapter Three - The Harsh White Profile
Then she heard a voice beyond the grating, beyond the candlelight.
The voice of a man…
She could feel curiosity behind her, pushing her onward as if hands had been laid against her back. She could feel herself drawn forward, too, lured onward towards the iron gate by that compelling voice as irresistibly as if someone were pulling at her arms.
Peering through the bars, she saw a grotto filled with light. And, in the midst of that trembling radiance, she saw him.
He was handsome, no…not handsome. Raoul de Chagny was handsome. This man was beautiful.
His hair was dark, his features strong, his movements quiet and powerful, his voice…
Then he turned and she saw the half-mask…the harsh white profile she had seen in the darkness above the stage.
The Opera Ghost…the Phantom of the Opera…he was real…he was a man.
He descended the stone steps within the strange room and held out his black-gloved hands.
Not to Meg. Surely he couldn't see her there, hidden at a corner of the portcullis.
He held them out to Christine.
Slowly, gently, night unfurls it splendor…grasp it sense it, tremulous and tender.
Meg found herself letting go of her skirt, letting its hem fall into the water as she reached out to grasp the cold bars of the gate.
Her friend's eyes were bright and wide, but they slowly closed as the man's hands skimmed gently over her waist.
Floating, falling, sweet intoxication…touch me, trust me.
Meg's own hands tightened around the iron as she stood alone, knee-deep in the pale green water. She could feel the man's voice with all of its passion and tenderness.
She could feel it within her own blood like the stolen brandy she and some of the other ballet girls once sampled in a dark corner of the wardrobe room.
She watched Christine, suddenly jealous of her for the first time since they had met as children.
Then she realized that Christine's sweet hypnotic state was her response to the music. Her own response was to the man.
But how can she resist…I can't and those words aren't even meant for me.
She knew she was trembling violently and, releasing her hold on the gate, leaned back against the stone arch. She could still see them clearly. For a moment, though, the man's dark form obscured Christine from view.
When he turned, Christine was in his arms and he carried her to the bed.
