AN: moooo it's such a slow-moving start…if you get tired of reading about Meg, and need your Erik fix desperately, I guess you can scroll down to his part, and then read Meg's part after. I don't want to bore the heck out of you guys, but I don't want the pace to go too fast. (although I guess in this case, it might be going too slowly) Forgive me! Xx;;

In the room atop a cozy little bakery, golden sunlight filtered in through the thin film of dust on the window. Meg Giry let out a satisfied sigh as she successfully stuffed her belongings into an old tattered luggage. The opera was finally rebuilt, and its workers were allowed to move in.

Meg thanked God that the opera was rebuilt; it really was a miracle. After all the disasters and catastrophes that had happened in the Opera Populaire Meg imagined that there would not be many who would be up to the task of investing money in such an…eventful…place. But surprisingly enough, Andre and Firmin kept their roles as the managers. Meg supposed they thought that the source of all their prior problems – the phantom – was now dead. Of course, the fact that their patron was willing to provide the money and the means helped as well.

According to her mother, the Vicomte de Chagny agreed to help rebuild the Opera Populaire, albeit a little reluctantly. Christine had asked her new husband of a favor, knowing how important the opera was to Mme. Giry and to Meg.

Mme. Giry and Meg have since written several times to Christine, and she to them. Although the talented young soprano was now far away, her love for the people who had treated her as family was still very strong. Meg had written a few times, wanting to ask whether Christine would ever come back and visit them, but never did so. The young dancer already knew the answer. There were too many strange and unpleasant memories here for her beloved friend; it would be best if she not come back.

Meg suddenly stood straighter when she remembered the mask she had discarded under her bed. She knelt on the gray wooden floor and peered under her bed, and sure enough the mask lay in a corner, a good distance away from her. Meg pressed her lips together as she reached out her arm to grab the white mask, but of course, it was still out of her reach.

Slightly annoyed, Meg stuck her head under and strained to reach the mask…she was so close, she felt her fingertips slightly graze the hard and smooth material…just a little closer…

"Meg Giry!"

Meg leapt up in surprise and promptly hit her head against the wooden bed frame.

"Ow!" she yelped, and scrambled out from under the bed, rubbing the back of her head with a slight grimace. "What is it, Maman?" she pouted. She looked up to see her mother, Madame Giry.

"What do you think you are doing? The carriage is already waiting, and here you are, wasting our time," Madame Giry said, with her hands on her hips, looking at her daughter with an exasperated expression on her face. Although Madame Giry was perfectly serious, her daughter could see a slight spark of amusement in her eyes from the sight of her daughter pouting like a little child.

Meg searched for an explanation. "I, uh," Meg stammered a little, "I was admiring one of my ribbons when the wind suddenly blew it under the bed," the dancer said, desperately hoping that her mother wouldn't realize that the window was actually closed.

However, she realized that she would have no such luck when she saw her mother cock an eyebrow and glance skeptically at the closed and dusty windows. "I see." The older woman murmured, but turned and started for the door. "Just hurry up, Meg, and get whatever it is you need to get." Madame Giry said, annoyed. When she closed the door, Meg heard her mother mutter something along the lines of "that strange daughter of mine!"

Meg breathed a sigh of relief. If they were not so pressed for time, she was sure her mother would ask further questions. Meg dove under the bed again, and this time successfully retrieved the cold porcelain mask and put it into her luggage.

Erik glanced upwards from his organ as he heard occasional loud clangs and bangs and thuds from the people above. The dancers, actors, and workers were returning to their "home" and their furniture were still being brought in.

The Phantom glanced about his lair. His living space was still in a mess from that fateful night his lair had been ransacked, and worse, his mask had been taken! He wasn't surprised though. "Of course it was taken," he had growled to himself, "it's their token, a perverted trophy of theirs; 'Look!' they will say, 'this is the very mask of the hideous deformed murderer that once lurked beneath the opera!' I will still be a monster, even until I am long gone…!" snarling, he beat his fist against the wall of his dwelling.

These were the kind of thoughts that raced through Erik's mind throughout the days while the opera was being rebuilt; torturing him, taunting him. It wasn't the fact that the mask was gone…if the mask had fallen into the water he would've been fine. He had other masks.

But the thought of what his missing mask would be used for was what made his blood boil. His anger turned into hatred for people, for Christine who betrayed him, for Raoul who made all his carefully laid plans to waste.

But then the hatred would give way to shame.

No doubt the individual who had taken possession of his mask was using it to laugh at him. He could hear him now: "The Phantom was nothing to be afraid of at all; the stupid coward couldn't even be found at all at that night! All we could find of him was the only thing that hid his wretched ugliness…"

That mask would become a symbol of his humiliating defeat that men and women would take sick and twisted entertainment and pleasure in. His image would be degraded into nothing but a pathetic sniveling coward. And he couldn't tolerate even the mere thought of that.

Which was why he absolutely had to be merciless this time around. Ruthless.

He would strike so much fear into people's hearts that they would not ever dare laugh at him again.

He would make the people who ridiculed him pay…and pay dearly.

AN: Oh joy, Erik's gone off the deep end again, has he? I hope he's not too OOC…I confess I've never read Leroux's PotO …everything is based off of what I know from the movie. :X

BTW, reviews happy feeling more motivation to get a chapter out. Sooo, if you like the story so far, review! ;;