Sorry this chapter kind of shortish... I'm so ridiculously tired right now, I cannot begin to describe. I actually fell asleep as I was writing this! It was the funniest thing I've ever done! I wake up, with my cheek on the keyboard, drooling all over the "H" "J" and "N" keys... disgusting...but hilarious...

Pax's Shout-Outs of Doom (and Exposition!)!

Queen of Perfectionism- I absolutely adored your review! I love getting reviews that mention a part of my writing and a reference to literature (and in this case Shakespeare, no less!)!

andersm- You bring up a very interesting point, about "which Erik" I'm using. I sat back and pondered your question upon receiving it, and this is the answer I came up with: I can't really answer it. Allow me to explain. I've read both versions of the book, seen all the movies, seen some of the performances... there are a lot of Eriks in my head. The most prominant (because they're my favorites) are the Susan Kay, and Leroux, the Michael Crawford, and the Gerard Butler Phantoms. And so my perception of Erik is a very fine hybrid of all the above. That was a really long way to explain something that could have been concluded in about seven words... My Phantom has a nose and a half mask, let's put it that way. ;P

Countess Alana- Ok, ok, ok... You want an update "tomorrow"...SO I GIVE YOU ONE THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW (which is also a fine film from Roland Emmerich!) BWA! Oh, the things that tickle my funny bone...

Prying Pandora- I love when people comment on my writing style! Thanks! Your comments really boosted my ego (which can be good OR bad, depending on the aspect at hand XD )!

Tamu Ali- Yes! PAR-TEY! I'm so happy someone thinks Marie isn't a Sue! I always worry, because everyone has such vastly different opinions, that one can never be sure...

If you commented, and I didn't mention you in my Shout-Outs, I'm really sorry! I really need to sleep right now, or I'd write some more! Verbally harass me, put gum in my hair, or do something equally cruel to cancel out my act of unfairness!

Pax

"Positions everyone! In positions, now!"

Meg hastened to her place, Marie trailing behind. But one dancer stood between their posts, the second in the between the first and third in the line. The ballet would not start for several minutes, but Mme. Giry always had the corps line up a quarter of an hour prior to a performance. Idleness was a thing she rarely tolerated.

Marie seemed to have been pacified, and now took her spot quite calmly, back straight and body poised. The row leader noticed, however, the occasional fidgets that arose, although veiled with the utmost discreetness. Reaching behind the back of the dancer her to left, Meg took Marie's white hand within her own and gave it a comforting squeeze. The pair made brief eye contact, a smile blooming on each face. Both thought, at this moment, that they could find neither a better friend nor a more kindred spirit.

Settling back into place, the elder girl sighed, and cast her eyes to the side. There, hidden in the shadows, stood a very familiar piece of scenery. She had sat there today, with her mother. Young Giry frowned as the memories returned.
Mme. Giry and her daughter were frozen; their bodies seemed to have sprouted roots right into the stage. With an apprehensive look and a small pucker to her brow, Marie de Voisins had taken a step from the doorway.

"Mme. Giry? Meg? What is the matter?"

Neither responded. Neither moved a muscle. Becoming genuinely concerned, the little dancer had trotted forward.

"Please… is something wrong?"

Awakened by the distress in the young one's voice, the ballet mistress had taken in a shuddering breath and replied.

"We are quite well, Marie." Leaning on her cane and adding a sharper note to her voice (a thing that, indeed, made the dear Madame sound much more natural), "You've just startled us."

Small fingers went nervously to a strand of dark hair and began to tug.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you."

"There is nothing to forgive." Was the curt reply.

Meg, blinking and taking to her feet, smiled and hastened to the side of her friend.

"It is nothing, really it isn't." Walking quickly from the stage, she continued, "Let us go and find something to eat! You must be starved!"

Marie had smiled and hurried to follow. Nonetheless, she did not fail to notice the strange and fearful gaze Mme. Giry cast first in her direction, and then at the flies.

The time for the ballet performance had come. M. Bonnaire counted off one bar, and then the orchestra began the concerto. The troop had blossomed under the stern direction of Mme. Giry, and thus their piece was exceptional. Each one, from the lesser and more amateur and their simple gestures, to the fine proficients in the front with their intricate movements, matched their fellows perfectly. It had been long since such a show had been seen in Parisian society, and the audience followed the exhibition with keen eyes. Several noticed the young dancer cavorting prettily near center stage. She was a recent addition, most knew, for they had not observed the creature before this night.

Fate, it seemed, had laid down a new path for Marie de Voisins. As of early autumn, she had been nothing more than a shivering orphan, wandering the streets of France, begging a crust of bread in exchange of a song. Now, in the third week of December, on the night of her first recital, she had inadvertently become a house favorite. Ladies, leaning in their seats, whispered of her behind elegant fans.

"What a little thing she is!"

"And so accomplished!"

"Charming! Look how she moves!"

Lurking silently just outside an entrance, Mme. Giry smiled surreptitiously. Meg had implored of her to place their row in front, and the elder had complied. And now, it appeared their plan had been carried out with almost no employment on her behalf. These fine women, duchesses and gentlewoman, nobles and viscountesses, had fallen for the bait. Laughing softly, the ballet mistress reseeded, without a sound, back into the corridor. Mlle. de Voisins would be well taken care of from this night out.

But the court ladies were not the only ones to have detected Marie. Two more pairs of eyes followed her with rapt attention. One duo we know by now quite well. They were situated in a head, attached to a body which sat, invisible to all, in the infamous Box Five. For, to be sure, the Opera Ghost himself was in attendance.

The shade felt just then that there could not be a happier man on the Earth. He had procured his private booth from the managers, for it seemed Amaud was a superstitious man and Garnier an entrepreneur; the first would not risk upsetting a spirit, and the latter would not risk the ruin of a fine business. Old Giry, too, had aided in his current pleasure, for his little angel had been placed in the limelight, available to the public eye and directly within his own gaze. Leaning forward, the Opera Ghost beheld Mlle. de Voisins with rapture. She danced just as the fairy she was dressed to be.

The performance this night was Le Lac de Cygne, and though someone had been very stupid and made up the corps as more woodland sprites than swans, our acquaintance could not find it in his heart to accuse them at present.

However, there was, as stated, another who sat engrossed. He was in his father's box, unquestionably an excellent one, his chin resting upon one hand. This spectator was very much like a Greek statue: tall, features strong and pale, fair haired and blue eyed. His name was Gustave de Levesque, the son of the Comte and Contesse de Levesque, all frequents to L'Opera.

Gustave shifted in his seat, touching a finger to his lip, both absorbed in his thoughts and fascinated with the lovely new ballet rat. The Vicomte was by no means a novice in the art of courtship; contrary to the point, he was known as a regular philanderer, and it was not a rare thing for him to become "involved", as the public so euphemistically spoke of such events, with silly, young chorus girls. It was a rare thing, however, for him to maintain these associations for very long.

The symphony held the prolonged, final note to the dance (a fermata after two bars of ritardando ) and finished grandly. Bountiful applause followed the corps off stage, and dimmed again as the soloist, La Sybille, returned for the concluding aria. Gustave rose to his feet to declare his approval of the dance, and in particular, whom he followed with his bright eyes as she quit the stage, Marie.

Even as the diva began her canticle, Box Five was empty. Its sole occupant had whisked himself into the hidden passage within the nearby column after the ballet finished and now waited in some unseen nook. Soon enough, there by came the herd of brats, laughing and whispering; trailing from a short distance were Meg Giry and Marie. The smaller was trembling and flushed with jubilation, as she should be, for she had done her row justice.

"Just you wait, Marie de Voisins!" cried Giry, clutching the young one's arm, "You will be a Prima Donna in no time!"

Giggling nervously, the said child shook her head.

"I certainly will not! I will remain a dancer!"

Marie stood very close now to the wall, her back nearly touching the wood. The very same wall which concealed a dark, cloaked figure.

"Bah! A dancer indeed! If you shall stay a dancer, then I shall become Empress!"

He could smell her. Sweet jasmine and magnolia (a bottle of cologne that had been giddily past about the corps this afternoon; no doubt she had attained a spot) and lavender. From his pillows. A piece of himself upon her. At that instant, the Opera Ghost struggled against every muscle in his body, forcing them to stay still. He longed desperately to touch her , to run his finger through her hair (She was so damned close!), to seize her little form and spirit her away! But he could not! He must not make the same mistake twice!

"Come! Let us go to the dormitories! We must celebrate!"

And away they went. The third party slumped to the ground, gasping. There were beads of sweat upon his face, and spasms coming over his body. He needed to return to his home; he needed his medicine quickly before he became very ill. As he darted away, grasping his shoulder in pain, a sneer formed on his face. A very worthy companion for such a young beauty! He thought sourly, descending through the cellars. An old wretch whose own body works against him!

Hahaha! Oh come on! Who thought I meant Erik when I said "the topic of their discussion" in the last chapter! Come on, don't be shy! I schooooled you! It must be Thanksgiving, cause you've been STUFFED! XD