Here's a little shorty for you, before I go to camp, as a peace offering for taking so long with the other update J As prompt as I could manage!

Stephanie- Oh bugger! Thanks for spotting that. I'll have to remember to fix it when I get back. That's what I get for not going back over my story before writing a new chapter.

CHRISTINE

"Raoul! We're back!" I shouted up the stairs. I had just returned from the doctor for the third time that month. Now that Verrill was on his legs, and fully mobile, it was becoming harder and harder for us to keep him out of trouble while going about our daily business. Just two weeks ago, he had banged his head on the fire place and acquired a bleeding cut in his scalp, and less than one week ago he had run right into a chair that had been moved from its usual position, which had him seeing stars for the rest of the day. This time, he had stepped on a pin that had been knocked onto the floor, which lodged itself with vigour into his foot.

It was by pure coincidence that at the hospital I had run into Meg Giry, former captain of the Paris Opera Corps du Ballet. Former, because she had shattered her ankle.

Apparently, she had come all this way because her mother knew a doctor that had moved out from Paris that had treated a similar injury for her. Meg and I had been good friends at the opera, and I felt terrible. But then, an idea occurred to me. "What were you planning on doing, now that you can't dance any longer?" I asked her.

Meg glowed red for a moment, and she stammered, "I…well…I was thinking…it's awfully stupid, Christine…never mind, then. I suppose I could take up…sewing…or something…or work in a factory…or perhaps just marry richly like you…Sorry! I didn't mean it to sound that way! I just meant—"

"No! It's alright! Really, Meg, I know what you meant," I cut in. "But I was thinking, Verrill, you see, could use some extra supervision. This is our third trip to the hospital this month."

"Three!" said Verrill proudly, displaying the corresponding number of fingers.

"Yes dear," I said absently, patting him on the head. "He doesn't see, so when things get moved about and he isn't expecting it, it gets quite dangerous for him."

"He can't…pardon?" Meg said, frowning.

"See!" shouted Verrill jovially. "No see! No, no, no! See! See!"

"You mean…he's blind?" Meg asked. I nodded my ascent. "Oh, Christine that's terrible!"

"I thought so at first two," I replied, thoughtfully, "but he's none the wiser, and really, he's quite a normal child, with a few more cuts and scrapes."

"Mommy!" Verrill shouted.

"Sssh, Verrill, mommy is talking," I told him as sternly as I could manage. Raoul and I promised each other not to indulge Verrill any more than a regular child. We didn't want him being spoiled. But still, sometimes he proved awfully difficult to scold. "So, I was wondering Meg, if you could be a sort of…nanny to him?" Meg made a face at the word. "Of course, we wouldn't call you the nanny, or anything like that," I added quickly. "You could live with us, and be a member of the family. We could sing the old opera music again! Verrill would love that!"

"Oh, Christine, you know I sing like a sparrow," laughed Meg, but I felt I was winning her over nonetheless.

"Nonsense! Try and guess who Verrill and I got to sing. Raoul! And he's actually quite good; he's just very shy about it. It's so sweet!"

"Now that is something I'd want to hear," she smiled. "The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny's hidden talent!"

"Oh, and you will! You will, as long as you come to work for us. Will you Meg?"

Meg thought for a moment. "Do you have a piano?" she asked. I must have displayed my curiosity at this enigmatic statement, for she quickly added, "just for curiosity's sake!"

Although I found this request to be rather odd, I truly wanted to win her over. "Yes," I said, "though no one plays it well."

"I'd love to," she replied cheerfully, and I took a deep breath of relief. "Come, we can speak to my mother straight away!"

"Your mother?" I asked, faltering. Madame Giry stood in my mind as a dark, foreboding figure, even after several years away from her stringent command. She had always plainly displayed exasperation for my inaptitude at dancing every chance she got. She was always going on that singers underestimate the importance of dance in their performance, that she could not even teach the simplest steps to the vocal chorus, for we were all horribly pigeon-toed and lazy. My clearest memories of her involved shouting and the banging of her heavy walking stick on the stage floor. I had never spoken to her without being spoken to, afraid she would simply devour me with naught but a single look.

But Meg was already off, limping sadly with her crutch and her set ankle dragging. I followed her reluctantly, fearing the worst.

I braced myself as we turned the corner, and the dark empress stood there, just as I had remembered her. She was still clad completely in black, and had her arms folded in her familiar pose of impatience. Most importantly, she had come accompanied by the infamous walking stick, which rested in the crook of her elbow. I felt my heard race, and shuddered in spite of myself. I am a woman now, married and self sufficient, I told myself defiantly, straightening and looking her in the eye. I need not be afraid of a mean, old ballet mistress! But then she spoke, and I recoiled in spite of myself once more.

"Yes, Meg?"

"You remember Christine, mother?"

"Of course. Of course I remember," Madame Giry said. She smiled, but made no move to shake my hand or offer a similar gesture of greeting. I smiled weakly back.

"And this is her son, Verrill," said Meg, motioning toward Verrill, who smiled widely and shouted, "hi!" Verrill did not wave, as this was a learned behaviour, and he lacked an example of it to imitate.

"Charming," Madame Giry remarked. Verrill turned his ear toward her, which, rather than looking someone in the eyes, was a sign that he was listening.

"He can't see," Meg muttered, confidentially. I felt myself blush redder and redder.

Madame Giry nodded.

"And she says that she and her husband will give me a job looking after him," Meg said. Madame Giry looked at her sternly. "I'll send all the money home," Meg whispered. I blushed even redder, knowing that that remark was not meant for my ears.

"I suppose that would be acceptable," said Madame Giry slowly. "You plan to stay here, Meg?"

"That would make the most sense, wouldn't it?" Meg sounded relieved.

"What are you going to do about your things?"

"Oh, Raoul and I can take her back to get them when she gets that setting off of her ankle. Until then, she can just borrow from me. I'm sure we're about the same size," I answered, the words tumbling out of my mouth like water spilling out from behind a breached dam. I couldn't resist the urge to take a deep breath and stare at my feet the moment the last word was out of my mouth. I half expected Madame Giry to whack the floor with her cane and scold me.

"Well, then," said Madame Giry. "We are settled, no? I will see you, Meg, when you come to Paris. Goodbye." She gave her daughter a rather stiff hug, if it could even be called that, though Meg squeezed her back with plenty of sincerity. It didn't surprise me that Madame Giry was not given to public displays of affection.

Raoul was somewhat surprised to see Meg, but seemed to think the idea was excellent as well. I had a feeling that his sick friend was wearing on his conscience more than he was admitting. He had returned the night of Verrill's birthday, or rather, the morning of the following day, looking even more disgruntled than when he had left. He spoke very little for the next week. Gradually, he had returned to his normal, pleasant self, but still I wondered. Perhaps his sick friend had been some former lover? Or perhaps someone he still had to reconcile with? There was more to this affair than he would reveal, but I was no sleuth, and remained in the dark on the matter. I decided, as was my usual way, to allow him the benefit of the doubt, and promptly forgot the matter with the arrival of Meg.

Verrill seemed to take to her well enough, though he still preferred Raoul and I. Meg tried to sing to him, but her thin, weak voice only served to arouse shouts of, "Mama! Mama!" Though I was sorry to Meg, this secretly pleased me. I did selfishly enjoy, to an extent, having my son to myself.

Meg became incredibly swift with her crutch and her bad leg, and was always able to seize Verrill from potential trouble faster than most grown woman with all their health about them. She did her job with effort, and conviction, and meanwhile was a just enjoyable to have around. She was always bubbly and talkative, and just as ready to listen to worries as impart her own upon you. Having her live in our house was almost like being back at the opera; there was chatter, gossip, and music all about.

I was quite surprised that she was able to keep so bright with her entire career ruined by that broken ankle. I suspected denial; however, Meg's furtive glances at the piano were not exactly in line with this theory. I wondered about that. Hadn't I heard her play once? She did play. I remembered that. But she had always spoken with spite toward anything that was not dancing, including her mother forcing her to take those tedious piano lessons.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and while we poured over a rather explicit romance novel with Verrill rotating between our laps, savouring those girls' hours when Raoul was out of the house, I raised the innocent question of whether she'd like to play the piano.

She looked startled, but moved toward the piano bench and sat upon it slowly, as though it were a gilded throne. She carefully adjusted her posture, curving her fingers gently over the keys. She began to play, slowly, a few warm up exercises. Verrill, who had showed interest when he realized our change in position was now positively ecstatic. He kicked at me mercilessly, but silently, until I put him down. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he ran over to the edge of the piamo, and pressing his ear up against it, listened intently and delightedly. Meg did not play very much, or anything very intricate at all, but nevertheless, Verrill was enthralled. Now here was a form of sound he had not heard before. When Meg decisively shut the lid over the keys, and the music ceased, he sat down and whimpered, "more….more!" for a good five minutes. When neither of us responded, he reached out to assure himself that we were still there. Then, to my surprise, he wandered over to twine himself about my legs, but Meg's.

"Aww, he's adorable! Well, Verrill, you may consider yourself the only person in the world who enjoys my playing, myself included! I must say that it is an honour to be lauded by a critic whose opinions carry such weight!" She scooped him up into her lap, and he grabbed a handful of her silky, blonde hair and began fiddling with it and sniffing it. I forced back the jealous bile that was rising in me, and laboriously put on what I knew to be a rather unconvincing smile. But then, he slid back down, and toddled over to me, pulling at my skirt, and a real smile broke across my face.

That night, the only word that would come out of Verrill's mouth was "Sing!" He shouted so persistently that we feared we would never be rid of it unless we acquiesced to his demands. We all gathered about the piano, and I found a rather simple duet for Raoul and I to sing, Nel Cor Piu Non Mi Sento. Raoul and I stumbled on the unfamiliar words, and Meg staggered through each chord in the accompaniment, frequently getting lost, or correcting herself with a particularly loud chord that made me jump. However, Verrill, ignorant to our complete incompetence, lay stretched across the floor, flat on his back, in a state of utter contentment.