Thanks for all the reviews so far...I enjoy reading them.

There's a brief POV shift at the beginning of this chapter...then, back to Meg Giry


Chapter Fourteen - Desire and Loneliness

The Opera Ghost returned alone to his home, his haven beneath the cellars and vaults.

Tossing his cape carelessly across the bed, he looked around.

This was all for her. All for his Christine.

The theatre was his, but this he had created for her alone.

A ribbon lay on the floor, a fragile strip of silk beside his Punjab lasso.

He bent and picked it up, stretched the length of it between his fingers.

It must have come loose from Meg Giry's hair when he'd seized her from behind.

Damn that girl for her intrusion, for her inquisitiveness.

He had once promised Madame Giry that he would make her only daughter an Empress.

He chuckled softly to himself. The sooner that curious child was out of his Opera House the better. But, for now, he had more pressing concerns/

Still holding the ribbon in his hands, he walked down to the lake. He let it drop, watch as it floated for a moment before slowly sinking into the pale green shimmer of the water.

Then, removing his mask and placing it carefully over the perfect features of a marble bust, he sat down at the organ.

He glanced quickly over the score of Don Juan Triumphant and smiled.

His gift for Christine was not yet ready. His hour had not yet come.

Setting down the pages, he began to play. He let the desire and the loneliness flow into his music.

With those first notes, Mademoiselle Giry was forgotten.

Meg and Christine stood side by side as one of the seamstresses checked the hems of their skirts for Il Muto.

"Here, Mademoiselle Daae," Madame Poilaine was explaining, "is the hook for the skirt. It will release easily when you go to pull it off in the boudoir scene."

Christine nodded, then looked at her friend.

"Meg, do you think the Vicomte de Chagny will be at the performance tonight?"

The question surprised Meg. Christine had been unusually quiet since the night of the Gala, though the color had returned to her face and the blue-gray shadows had faded from beneath her eyes.

"The Vicomte de Chagny? Why, I don't know, Christine…I heard Monsieur Firmin telling Maman that the Countess de Chambrun and Madame de Laspierre were both bring large parties of friends. And that the Marquis de Lamberville was very angry that there were no boxes left."

From the adjacent room, they heard La Carolotta screech in anger at someone as final adjustments were made to her voluminous pink silk gown.

Meg herself gave a little cry as Madame Poilaine's assistant accidentally jabbed her calf with a pin.

"Sorry, Madame," the girl muttered sullenly as Madame Poilaine frowned at her helper, "Sorry, Meg."

But Meg had already forgotten the momentary pain as she looked idly at the lacy cap in her hands.

Oh, Christine, can't you see…you Angel is worth a thousand Vicomtes.