Chapter II- The Only One

"Meg, I don't like being a model," Erik growled, rolling his eyes. "Can't you pick someone that is a little more… normal-looking?"

Meg glared at him, looking at him over the side of her drawing pad. "If you don't stop moving, I won't get the shape of your head right. I've already erased it several times already!" She said, holding up the roll she did not eat at dinner, and was now using as an eraser.

"My face isn't right," he said, leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms.

"Oh, stop being such a Drama Ghost." She said, smiling at him. "I think you're cute." Erik looked up at the ceiling at her words. Meg couldn't tell, but she thought Erik was blushing through his mask.

Finished with her last stroke of charcoal, she turned it around so Erik could take a look at himself. He sniffed, like he didn't like what he saw, and turned away. Meg was hurt at his gesture. She frowned and said; "Well, if you don't like it…" and stuffed the portrait behind the arm chair she was sitting in, and crossed her arms and legs.

"You know I like your drawings," Erik said, exasperated, leaning over and grabbing one of Meg's dirty, charcoal-covered hand.

"You are a liar," She said, pursing her lips and looking up at the ceiling. Erik smiled. Whenever she insulted him, he knew she was softening. He slid off of the couch and onto the floor.

"I just would like you to sketch something other than me. You should sketch someone beautiful. Maybe you should sketch one of, I don't know, you, maybe?"

"I like sketching you." She said, down looking at him. "I love you," His heart skipped a beat when he heard her declaration.

He was just about to kiss her- his lips could almost touch her, he could feel her, she was so close- when she suddenly pulled away. Looking pale, she ran out of the house, and into the garden. Erik could hear her retching.

He followed her trail outside and found her in the rose garden, shivering from her sickness -whatever it was- and leaning against the walls of their house. Knowing the only thing he could do to help her, he did it. He handed his wife his best handkerchief.

She smiled, (weakly) and took it. She couldn't help but wonder though; how would he take her suspicion…?

Little Jammes was not one to admit defeat so easily. Even though she had not figured out Meg and her husband's hiding place- it was only a matter of time. After all, she had an Emperor on her side… and not just any Emperor, but the Emperor. Little Jammes felt sure that he would use everything in his power to discover Meg, and marry her (by force, if necessary).

If he didn't, he was weaker and more pathetic than what Little Jammes and expected him to be. And that would make her job much harder than what she had wanted it.

So instead of taking the Emperor's suggested route- to ask Madame Giry where she thought Meg was ("That would just arise suspicion," she told him)- she decided to ask around the Opera House. Eventually someone intelligent would say something about where Meg was hidden.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. All the ballet girls worth talking to declared that "They must be in England!" or "They must be in America!"

Little Jammes supposed it was her fault for relying so heavily on the word of mouth. So the task came to Little Jammes to ask Madame Giry for Meg's address.

Little Jammes was quite sure Madame Giry (the stupid hag!) would get the plot and fire her. She, even though her daughter had ELOPED, (the shame of an eloped prodigy! Little Jammes could barely imagine) had stuck by Meg. Thus were her thoughts as she approached Madame Giry, in hopes to procure the information.

"Why, my dear, of course you may write to Meg!" Madame Giry said, touched at Little Jammes' question. "If you could give me your letters I would gladly send them to her for you,"

"Oh, but my dear Madame Giry," Mariette said, easing Madame Giry off of her cautious side. "It would put my heart at rest if I, myself, could address those letters. Because they are awfully personal, and if yours and mine got separated in the mail, I would be very uneasy, for they might have gone astray, and not arrived to Meg at all!"

"Oh," Madame Giry said. "I hadn't thought of that. Oh my," Madame Giry started thinking, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

This was unbelievable- the supposed most intelligent person in the Opera Populaire was just handing over her son-in-law's death sentence! Mariette had half a mind to laugh at the Old Bag.

"You have Meg's address?" the Emperor said, looking at Little Jammes expectantly when she had arrived at their meeting place.

She nodded yes, and pulled out the note; written in Madame Giry's hand. Little Jammes handed it to the Emperor, who looked at it, stunned.

"Anjou? What's that, some town no one has ever heard before? Who lives there?"

Well, Meg and the Opera Ghost. Obviously!

The Emperor left the room without a word of thank you. Well, whoever taught him his manners needed to be shot.