Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to many people, but the mask belongs to Erik. Or maybe Meg…seeing as she stole it…O.o

Author's note: Yes, a romance…but I want the main thing to be how Meg learns about herself through romance, not a relationship…

Thanks for reviewing-

Ineda Moore- I try to be patient, it's not one of my virtues. Thanks for the great review; this is my first Fanfiction of this genre.

Carlanime- Well, if the first installment weren't any good, no one would read on.

Nyssa Damaskinos- Oh, I knew it was you when I saw the 'Nyssa' in there. You know, surprisingly enough, there aren't as many Meg and Erik stories as I had thought there would be.

SilverFlover- :blush: Gica, you leave the most awesome reviews! And I can't answer your questions; you'll just have to read on…

Charity- Me too, I am just so surprised so many people are so in love with Christine and Erik stories! I mean, Christine did choose Raoul, after all.

Paige Turner3- Your artwork and writing are both amazing, so I'm really touched that you read my story.

And now…

Premier Chapitre- Dans lequel Meg apprend quelques secrets.

In which Meg learns some secrets.

"What do you mean, he's not here?"

"He has to be here! You mean you just let him go?"

"What really happened down there, Viscomte?"

Outraged cries could be heard from the large crowd of people gathering around a miraculously unharmed Raoul de Chagny and an understandably quiet and weary-looking Christine Daae. Meg, unaware of the wet footprints she had left behind her, listened vaguely as she watched with mild interest the firemen dousing the flames before they destroyed the entire opera house. They were winning the battle against the flames that frantically licked at the dripping chairs, trying to grasp hold of something before they were extinguished. Meg felt somewhat numb, though she too felt excitement buzzing at the base of her skull as the crowd pressed the matter of the disappearing Phantom on the young patron and his fiancée.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," called Raoul to the crowd, his voice softer than he would have liked- no doubt he would have been shouting in the catacombs beneath the opera house- "There is no need to worry! The man that lived beneath the opera house is gone. He has left us in peace, there will be no need to fret over it."

The group was restless and dissatisfied, but Raoul and Christine were both whisked away by a figure wrapped in a shawl- Meg Giry's own mother- before the crowd could continue their quest for information.

There was a slight hissing as the last bits of fire drowned. Meg shook her head, and walked down a hallway away from that place to go speak with her mother and friend.

As she approached, she heard speaking in hushed tones. The nearer Meg came the more she made out. "…he is no longer in the opera house?"

The voice Meg recognized as her mother's.

"No, no…"

"Yes, but we had to tell the mob something…"

Christine and Raoul had spoken at the same time. Meg stepped up to the half-closed doorway then, looking through. She saw her mother straighten and look at them with a steel gaze, then turn her back suddenly, drawing the shawl around herself in an uncustomary display of emotion.

"Madame Giry, what is the matter?" asked Christine, startled, starting up to join the woman, concern on her face.

"Oh, what will become of him?" whispered the elder woman. Christine frowned at Raoul, rubbing the woman's shoulder comfortingly.

"Madame…" Raoul began. "There was nothing you could have done." He stepped forward and took his beloved Christine's hand. Madame Giry turned to face them as Christine looked up at Raoul lovingly.

"Please understand, he let us go," Christine said, still gazing at Raoul, then looking at Madame Giry, whose back was to Meg, still standing by the crack in the door. "He will not harm anyone again. His only wish is to be left alone."
"Oh, he will be left alone," Madame Giry murmured, more to herself. Meg understood that her mother was not looking at Christine when she said this, rather looking off into some distance, her eyes trying perhaps to penetrate the floorboards.

"Madame-" Christine began, then chanced to glance upon the blonde head in the doorway. Her expression changed to one of delight. "Meg!" she cried. Meg took this as a cue to enter the room and shut the door behind her.

Christine dropped Raoul's hand and lifted her skirt to step around Madame Giry quickly, rushing to embrace Meg. Meg returned the embrace tentatively at first, and then tenderly, a smile warming her mouth. She could feel the tightly wound strands of her friend's hair brush her forehead, could feel Christine smile against her cheek, and then they broke away.

"Oh, how much I worried!" Christine began, a flood of words. "That I would perhaps never see you again…see the sunlight, feel the breeze as we practiced ballet together…" Her expression was one of excitement, but as she spoke, she became visibly troubled, recounting the way she had felt beneath the majestic hallways. Meg nodded her head and held her hand soothingly as Christine's voice broke. Their eyes met. Meg was disturbed by the fearful, haunted look her childhood companion's gaze held. Meg touched the dress Christine wore. "I forgot to bring up the Aminta dress," she blurted.

"Oh, I hope not to ever see it again," Christine exclaimed with uncommon bitterness. "Let it rot down there…"

Meg nodded her head. Your dress, she thought. It's a wedding dress, why are you wearing it? But she couldn't bring herself to force the girl relive the hours of darkness she had spent underground without hopes of a future in the light. She nodded her head again.

"And where will you go?" she finally asked, then glanced at Raoul. "You are…you are getting married, aren't you?"
Christine was radiant. "Oh, we are, we are…when we get a ring…" A distant look misted her eyes, and she shook her head as though freeing it of thought. "But we'll never move too far from you here, of course not."

"And don't forget," Raoul said, smiling lightly and taking his wife-to-be's hand. "We'll be patron and patroness of this opera house."
"You're still going to fund it?" Meg asked, almost gaping.

Raoul laughed. "Of course! It gave Christine her voice…"

Madame Giry stared at Raoul, though Christine and he, not facing her, could not have known. Meg met her mother's stare and touched each of their shoulders in turn. "Well, you'll catch your deaths in those wet garments. Go change, get something to eat, and sleep…and you know, things always look better in the morning…"
"In the dawn…" Christine whispered. "In the sunlight…" She nodded. "Yes, you're right. But you're wet too," the soprano suddenly noted, glancing down at the man's clothes Meg wore.

Meg looked down as well. "Oh, oui, that's what I get for leading the mob down to save your life, only to find you're safely out…thank God." Meg had felt a gripping fright of her own as she raced through the accursed water to find her. It resisted, like a liquid army, trying to keep her from Christine. With each passing minute Meg had found herself worrying, terrified of what was happening in whatever secret and strange chambers the Opera Ghost had stolen his Aminta off to. Was Christine weeping now? Screaming? Choking as a noose tightened round her white neck? With each panicked breath Meg took she feared her friend was breathing her last. And then she thought, and then she calmed herself. The ghost would never- never- kill her; go through all the trouble of kidnapping her to kill her?

And then Meg had grown afraid once more. If he had not wished to murder her…oh, she could not bare to think of that creature might have been doing to Christine- the girl who was so very like a sister to her!- at any given moment.

And still the water seemed to not let her pass…

Meg felt herself shiver and Christine touched her shoulder. They looked at eachother again. Meg felt hot tears of utter outrage and deep relief threaten to spill over onto her face and she broke the connection first, looking down at the floor, her blonde hair falling over her face.

"We all went through hell tonight, Meg," she heard Christine whisper, and from the corner of her eye saw her friend shudder. Raoul stepped up and wrapped a coat around her, enfolded his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder. There was a great still silence, and then Raoul said in a quiet voice, "We'll be going now. Thank you, Meg..."

She stepped back and opened the door as the couple silently walked out. They left with whispers in their eyes and clasped one another's hands as they left, and Meg shut the door without a sound behind them.

She turned back to find her mother standing, staring up at the wall.

"Mother," she said, and walked to her, embracing her fiercely. She felt the mask press into her skin with a small shock; she had forgotten it for the time.

"Oh, Marguerite, you don't know what has happened tonight," said her mother sadly.

"Maman…" Meg swallowed. She had not called her that for such a long time, quite possibly a decade or more. "Mother, what is wrong?"

Madame Giry only shook her head and pulled the shawl around her shoulders. Meg straightened it for her. "Meg, I had known him for so long…for so long…"

"I know, Mother, I know," Meg said, as though she was talking to a child.

"I never knew he would do such a thing…" Meg pet her mother's hair. It was fine and blonde, like her own, and like her own, frustratingly impossible to keep in one style for long. It had already escaped the beautiful chignon it was worn in, or pieces of it had, anyway.

"I always thought…" Madame Giry shook her head. "When I took him away, you understand, I knew what he had done…but it had been an act of survival…"

Meg looked at her mother, curious and unnerved. It was frightening in a way of its own to see her strong mother behave in such a way. And what did she mean, 'took him away'?

"Took him away, mother?" she said, trying to sound conversational as she fought a gentle battle with her mother's chignon.

"From the gypsies…I was just your age, the age you and Christine are…" She shut her eyes briefly and walked towards the centre of the room. "Oh, that poor child! I was to be like a mother to her, but instead I let him…oh!"

"Mother," Meg said, attempting to keep her voice steadied as she walked towards her in a businesslike manner. "Christine and Raoul are not the only ones who need their rest. Let's take you up to your room. Things will be better in the morning."

The woman allowed her daughter to lead her to her bedroom, get her into her nightclothes and tuck her into bed. When she could be certain that her mother was sleeping, Meg finally left her bedside, exiting the room and walking down the hallway to her own room.

Realization came to Meg like a blow to the head- she was exhausted. Making sure Christine and Raoul were all right, taking care of her mother, Meg had not known how drowsy she herself was. Stifling a yawn, she took out her own nightshift and stepped out of the men's boots, undoing the buttons on her men's pants and stepping into the cloth outfit. She went to unbutton the shirt and out came the mask. Meg stared at it, then finished dressing quickly and picked it up as carefully as she would a delicate glass object.

Instinctively, Meg shivered and looked to the full-length mirror in the room. She'd never forget how she had seen that first doorway…or that last one.

The Phantom of the Opera is still here.

Meg's eyes widened slightly and she began to walk, numbly, towards the reflective glass. All she saw was Meg Giry, a blonde with a dancer's toned body, approaching. Meg ran her hands over the gold frame, then tugged at it.

Soundlessly, the mirror slid open. Meg's heart stopped, but there was no one there, no one anywhere near.

She shut it wordlessly and peered into the looking glass. He reflection showed her as holding the mask and she looked down at her hand. She'd forgotten it.

Meg looked back at her reflection and decided she looked as tired as she felt, and this new fear of being discovered by the Phantom did not make things any safer.

But he would not come after her unless…unless he knew of the mask. She looked down at it once more and wished in an instant that she had never taken it with her. It belonged to the Phantom of the Opera, whether he was a man or a ghost, an angel or an apparition. More than that, it belonged to a time when of great sorrow and fear, of oppression. They were memories everyone would want to forget. Meg knew well that her mother would try to go back to her position in the opera house as soon as it was repaired and refurnished, try to forget things- that Christine might even go back to sing again despite the Phantom's existence. By keeping hold of the mask, Meg was forcing these memories to be real. She stroked the leather gently with her thumb and thought. In fact, she mused, she was also keeping the memories alive for whatever ghost lived in the opera house. He would not be able to go back to life as it had been. He would not be able to hide his face…The mask incriminated her. What if he had seen her take the mask? What would she do? Meg felt her heartbeat speed up as her mind raced.

Well, there was nothing to do but to hide it. Meg quickly went to her bureau and opened the bottom drawer; full of all the things she did not wish anyone else to see- letters from her father, which she cherished, some things that were far too special for anyone else to be allowed to see…and a journal in which she recorded her most secret thoughts.

Meg carefully placed the white leather mask on the top, and shut and locked the drawer carefully, then got into her bed.

Marguerite Giry fell asleep to the feeling of water against her legs, holding her back as she tried to wade through it…the sight of white lace, a carefully constructed wedding gown…and the sound of horrible laughter in her ears and all around, the laughter of the Phantom of the Opera.