Disclaimer:pleut: Do you have to remind me it's not mine? That's just sadistic!
Author's note: I want to tell everyone something: Read the summary. Seriously, it's not a EM fic where Meg and Erik see eachother and fall into one another's arms passionately and say, "Screw Christine and screw Raoul and screw maman. We're in love!" I mean, if you want mindless drabble, go find it elsewhere. This story focuses on Meg. And all good romance grows with time. I must commend Paige Turner3 on her dedication to a EM story that's getting longer and longer and in which Meg and Erik still don't like eachother yet. That shows commitment to In Characterness. I salute you.
SilverFlover: You were the first reviewer of the second chapter, and the only one, too. Aren't you special? And yeah, I figured Mme. Giry would feel some worries about him.
Paige Turner3- Really? Well, maybe great minds think alike. And spell check says…yes, that is how one spells stupendous. Thank you for your much-appreciated support here and on DeviantArt.
Kyrene once Blood Roses- Perhaps, though perhaps not. Who knows, with the Opera Ghost?
Ineda Moore- I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, then.
Linwe Ringeril- Eh, you're still here. So obviously you were lying.
Vagrant Candy- Meg is my favourite character, and I study psychology in college. So.
In which Meg does some traveling and Raoul draws his sword
Meg's eyes opened slowly before she raised her hand to hide them from the glare of the deceptively soft light that viciously attacked her sensitive, newborn gaze. The sunlight softly filtered into Meg's room through the glass of a window off to Meg's left. Bones aching from the previous night's exertion, the young woman shut her eyes briefly, and then looked up at the ceiling, thinking quietly to herself.
It was early. It was always early when Meg awoke. She had a horrible habit of getting to sleep late and getting up early, at least whenever they were rehearsing for an opera. The moment there was a slight vacation, she had been known to stay up until the early hours of the morning and sleep through half the day. The other ballerinas all knew the habit and found it amusing, and it was easy to imagine Christine's youthful laughter as Meg finally stepped out after noon. Her mother let it slide, though she always told her it was not a good habit to get into. Meg went over everyone's reactions in her mind. Try as she might have, Meg had a difficult time adjusting herself the same schedule the other girls followed. She had never been synchronized with them, or with anyone, in her life. Her mother had been like that- had driven herself to be better than everyone else, somewhat apart from the world. In fact, Meg was told that before her father Madame Giry had never had un amant in her young life. But Meg was not the same- she might have been different, but it was not out of ambition. It was out of a sort of lethargy of being, a lack of drive- an absence of motivation, not the existence of it. Not to say that Meg was not a hard worker, or that she was antisocial- she enjoyed working on pieces for hours with the other girls there. But at the end of the season, when it came down to it, Meg had never found her life's ambition, nor had she made any great friends.
Meg still had not found any great ambition, but the second had, at least, changed the year she turned seven.
Christine Daae may have been a sad child, but Meg had always been the same, in private. Bonding over a love of stories and the pain of having lost a father at a young age, Meg and Christine had been invariably inseparable throughout their young lives. Meg could not remember a time in which they had been apart. Every childhood memory after Christine's appearance at the opera house was coloured by stolen moments spent in various strange places along the stage and dressing rooms where they were not supposed to be, hiding out where they did not belong, whispering and giggling, taking turns telling stories of faeries and angels and goblins and princesses and spectres…
In a way, the Opera Ghost story had just burrowed into their minds, kindling little fires coming from their own desires. For Christine, there had never been any ghost; Christine did not care for the tales- as she grew older she began to cherish spooky tales less and less, preferring instead the stories of the divine and the benevolent, of Angels. Meg had not known for a long while the root of this love, nor had she realised how deeply that root had grown. If only Christine had told her before the tale Gustave Daae had told his young daughter, of Little Lotte's Angel of Music. It was only when Raoul de Chagny showed up as patron did Christine begin to blossom open, sharing- it was only when the past poked its head out that she begin to accept it.
Meg sat up slowly, her hair falling back from her head as she shook it. It would have been merely a matter of time, Meg mused, before Christine began to wake up from her realm of dreams and found the strength and courage within herself to move on. Raoul had proved that; Raoul had symbolized her past, and yet he had been so in the present, encouraging his childhood sweetheart to come along with him.
That had been why Meg had been so surprised to learn Christine had begun to think of her father more and more, dwelling on the past instead of stretching her new wings in the present. By all means, it made no sense for her to cling to the past the way she did. But now, thinking about it…Meg ran a hand through her hair, hand-coming the tangles out. Now it made perfect sense. The only thing Christine had found in her to hold onto her father's memory was that Angel of Music story, and when a mysterious voice had come to her in an hour of darkness from beyond the window, beyond the opera house, beyond…everything Christine wanted to be beyond…How could Christine move on when she had that enticing hook piercing a piece of her very soul? It all made perfect sense to Meg now.
Meg had heard his voice before, too. Meg had been there during the certain scene in Don Juan Triumphant, in which the most sensual and risqué song in the whole of the opera was played- the Point of No Return. Meg had been there when Piangi- far too…well…Piangi-like to be Don Juan in Meg's existence- had left the stage laughing, as Don Juan did, and when he'd returned.
But…Piangi…?
Everyone had known immediately that Piangi was not the singer on the stage. The man was taller, a more mysterious and exotic figure than Carlotta's lover had been. With an aura of power and a tremendous sensuality behind his every motion, he had entranced the entire audience the moment he had appeared from behind the curtain.
And then, when he'd begun to sing…a smooth, rich, opulent tenor, every note of perfect clarity and pitch. He possessed the resonance of a cello's tone, deep and soft. Meg had felt as though he had been speaking to her- as though it had been she and not Christine to whom that gloved, beckoning hand had pulled closer.
Yes- even now she could admit it to herself, shutting her eyes and reliving the strange moment in which Meg Giry walked towards the character she had then realised was the elusive and enigmatic Phantom of the Opera.
Meg had thought at first that Christine would have realised the figure she had seen as her Angel of Music was only a man- a desperate, violent man. But Christine had made the transition from being attached to a divine figure to being attached to a flesh and blood being easily- and Meg would never have managed to understand that had she not heard him sing, for she herself did not experience any great realization- she herself had seen him in the same light as always. He was mortal, he was very real- and yet she still saw him as the Phantom of the Opera. What else could he have been?
Meg shook her head and stepped out of bed, making her way towards the closet. Within a few moments, she had dressed and headed for the doorway. Just before she left, though, her head swiveled towards the drawer she knew contained a white leather mask. With a sudden jolt, she knew she would have to return it. She should not have taken it in the first place. The opera house had been horribly burned, and Meg knew something about architecture. It would not be the repairing that would take so long, she knew- it would be the smell of smoke. The opera would reek of fire. It would have to be gutted- the walls torn out. Meg almost cried out as the image of the great Opera House- which she always thought of as a Lady, such as the Holy Virgin or one of the heathen goddesses of years ago- seared itself into her brain as stranding in trembling dignity as coarse, cruel men tore her apart, unclothed her. What would happen to the man beneath her?
That thought had come unbidden and Meg became vaguely aware that her body had begun to sway slightly as she stared with dark-eyed intensity on the bureau. Whatever happened to him…if he died…Meg didn't care. But she had stolen something of his, and she would need to return it. If he was going to die…she was going to let him die with dignity. She was going to find a way to give back the mask. Why had she taken it in the beginning? Meg paused, recognizing the growing anger within her.
Well, she didn't have to worry about him taking it, at least during the day. Wasn't that correct? He was a Phantom, and his reigned ended at sunup. But now Meg knew he was a man, and could walk during daytime as well. Thinking it over, she felt that she should be less afraid of him with that in mind- after all, a man had fears, physical needs, moments of embarrassment. He should be less frightening with this realization.
But he wasn't. Meg was more afraid of him now than she'd ever been. Biting her lower lip, she stepped out soundlessly from the room, automatically locking the door though she knew it would mean nothing.
There were cries heard down the hallway from one of the ballerina's dormitories- younger girls, about 9 to 10. Meg crept over to the doorway and looked in. For a moment, it was as though a young pair of girls sat in there laughing nervously, looking around for imaginary hobgoblins- "Mes petites anges," Madame Giry would say with a kind smile. The lovely Christine, all brunette curls and amber eyes, like a precious porcelain doll, and her friend Meg. Meg's smile was tinged with sadness. Even as being introduced as young girls, Meg had always felt less pretty than her friend- even before they'd grown older and had started to think about physical appearances. Christine was such an elegant name, and Meg…well, it was so simple. Marguerite was not terribly beautiful, either. Meg imagined the child she had been- still was, in fact- a tangle of limbs, straw blonde hair in a bow, tulle skirt and dark, intense eyes. Everyone used to tell Meg she came off intensely, as though constantly contemplating things. Christine had never been like that- people were always so at ease around her. Clever, but quiet; supple and pretty, but youthful and innocent. She was constantly praised- "Poor Christine! Such a pity about her father…and her being so young, too! Well, she shows great promise as a dancer, make no mistake, and she's a pretty young thing, too…orphaned or not, she'll be a good bride some day." Meg clenched the doorknob more tightly and forced herself to see the young ballerinas really there, not some childhood memory of a blonde and brunette huddled together whispering.
"What's wrong?" Meg said kindly, looking at the young faces. One, a girl with golden curls, did glance up at her, startled.
"Is it true that the ghost got away?"
Meg smiled kindly, and lied, "No. The ghost has gone away forever," looking not at the children, but at the wall behind them, as though it hid a shadowy figure concealed, listening in. She glared at that wall.
The young girls looked doubtful, but went back to whispering. Meg remembered what that was like- if one of the older girls said something, it was generally considered law.
Meg continued on. She had to ask her mother what would become of them now that this had happened to the opera house.
Mother was not in her room, but Meg was not deterred. She decided to take a shortcut through a door Meg had found at six that led through the walls to Christine's dressing room. She didn't doubt that they'd be there.
She and Christine had ran down this same passage so many times in their young lives- it was an easy way to get from Meg's room to Christine's without being caught, and in the middle of the night they often had gone to visit eachother, after bad dreams, the sort which they'd both often had. The shortcut was eerily empty, though she hadn't expected anyone to be there. If anyone had been there, well...Meg shuddered. Who else would use the passage? Only one other person could possibly know of it…not a man she wanted to run into. Meg considered, at that thought, leaving the mask in this compartment, where he would find it…but she pushed it away immediately. She took his mask herself, and was thinking of leaving it someplace where he might not even find it for a long, long time! No, she'd have to put it somewhere where he was more likely to find it…
Box Five…
Meg blinked. She had just reached the doorway to head to the hallway just outside Christine's room and the words had leapt into her head. Mais oui! It was so perfect; where else would he go? Though…possibly he would not want to go back to Box Five ever again…
Well, too bad, though Meg stubbornly, feeling slightly uneasy with herself. Why was she taking on such vicarious sympathy on his part? He had…she shook her head and forced herself to think. She pressed her ear against the wood. It didn't sound as though someone where out there.
Meg quietly opened the secret door and stepped out, almost noiselessly. Shutting the door behind her, she admired the workmanship. Whoever had made the door had done a splendid job. That it was a door was invisible to the naked eye. You had to be looking for the door, having known where it was, to find it.
Meg turned around and saw with a start, their backs facing her as they talked in low voices- Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae! She cleared her throat to greet them, and the reaction was instantaneous- Raoul spun around and drew his sword in a quick reaction, so sudden Meg was caught off guard.
"Monsieur…" She began, then laughed as she caught Christine's eye. Her friend had also been fearfully confused at the sudden sound, but now looked amused. Raoul seemed embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, Miss Giry," he said, sheathing his sword. "Christine assures me that the Phantom will not come after us sometime before we leave, but I still worry…she's probably right, though," he said, though from his furrowed brow, Meg knew he did not truly think that. Meg was not sure of her own opinion, and from Christine's reaction, Christine had probably believed what she'd told Raoul- hence the surprised, almost betrayed look.
"Please, Monsieur le Vicomte, call me Meg," Meg said courteously. Raoul gave her funny look. "Well, then you must call me Raoul," he said slowly. "None of this 'Monsieur le Vicomte'. From my childhood, I still link the title with my mother's voice just before I was punished." Looking at the ceiling, he said in a put-on voice, ""Monsieur le Vicomte, I saw what you did…'"
Meg smiled and Christine tapped his elbow, also smiling. "Those days…" she said in a soft voice, then shook her head, still smiling. Christine had a smile to light up the room.
"Meg, I suppose you…" Her eyes strayed to the wall. Raoul's gaze followed hers, confused and somewhat suspicious.
Meg nodded and he said slowly, "The wall…?"
"A passage," Meg explained, stepping over to them. "We used it in childhood…" Teasingly, she said to him, "You may have played with Christine first, but I got her afterwards."
Raoul smiled and Christine laughed, but Raoul's voice turned serious. "You should have come the long way round…you never know who could be lurking around…"
"In daylight?" Meg whispered, without knowing why she was whispering.
"He is a man. There is no law that says a man may not walk in daylight…and it's dark in those passages, isn't it?"
"Raoul…" Christine began quietly. "He wouldn't…harm…"
"But how do you know this?" Raoul's voice was quiet and urgent, and he took her hands quickly, searching her eyes with his own. Meg felt as though she had stepped in on something private. This appeared to be what they'd discussed in low tones when she'd stepped out- the matter of this Phantom Ghost and if he could now be trusted not to harm them. Christine's gaze was pleading; Raoul conceded and looked down. Meg hesitated, then in a tentative voice, spoke.
"Christine…have you seen maman?"
Christine looked up. "Oh!" The colour returned to her face and she smiled, as though relieved. "I'm going to speak to her, about the opera…Raoul and I, when we're married…" She trailed off, smiling to herself over this newfound joy, this secret hope. Meg had to prompt her to continue. "And?"
Christine laughed at herself. "We plan to help rebuild it, though it will take a while…I want to know more about this…I was just about to look for her. Raoul?"
She pressed her hand into his and he smiled at her, then told her where she could find him after meeting with Madame Giry.
As he turned and walked off down the hallway, Christine turned to Meg. "And shall we head to her office? She's sure to be there by now."
"Oh, probably," Meg concurred, nodding.
"Come, then!" Christine said, moving towards the wall. "It's the fastest way," she added, to the look on Meg's face. Meg said nothing, but saw Raoul glance back at them before turning and vanishing from sight. She was careful to compose her face while Christine was looking, who had not seen the worried frown on her fiancé's face.
As soon as they'd snuck into the old hallway, which felt much smaller and reminded them that they'd never get those days of innocence back, Meg turned to Christine.
"Christine, we have to talk about something," she began slowly.
"In here?" Christine laughed. "Oh, it's so cramped!" But she caught sight of her friend's solemn expression and sobered, faint worry lines creasing the fair skin. "Meg?" she asked, leaning against the wall and taking care to lower her voice.
Meg leaned in towards her somberly and said in her soft voice, "Christine, about the Phantom…"
Christine was as still as stone and as white as ash, but she nodded her head, lips set in a grim line. "Yes, yes, I thought this was what you'd ask me about…"
"…After all he did…and you trust him?"
There was a long pause in the dark, and Meg heard Christine take a deep breath to steel herself. "Meg," she said finally. "Do you remember me telling you, after the masquerade…?"
Meg listened. She remembered about the masquerade, it had only been a short time ago.
"…sometime before Don Juan…that Raoul had given me that engagement ring, the one I wore-"
"Around your neck the night of the masquerade?" Meg said, gasping suddenly. She had forgotten about that whole thing. The Phantom, in his Red Death costume, had ripped it from her neck before he disappeared. Meg had been vaguely aware of her mother stiffening, the blood draining from her face, as the Phantom arrived—vaguely because his presence had held her attention so much. She hadn't even realised her mother had left the room until the smoke from the Phantom's disappearance had vanished, and she had rushed over to Christine. Raoul, who had leapt after the Phantom, was not there; Christine was terrified that she'd never see him again, and Meg, not sure of where her mother was, had tried to comfort her. Finally Raoul had appeared, and Meg had vanished to her mother's room.
"Yes, that ring…"
Meg nodded her head. "You and Raoul, though…you're still marrying, no?"
Christine said simply, "Yes. Feel my fingers, Meg."
Meg found it somewhat ridiculous that Christine would make sure she knew the ring was there, but she sensed some explanation somewhere underneath all of this, and reached out and took Christine's hands. No ring!
"It's not there…you mean he kept it?"
Christine's voice was quiet. "No, he returned it to me last night."
Meg stared at the dark silhouette of Christine, willing herself to understand. "Christine, did you…" She paused, trying to think. "You gave it back to him?"
Christine stood and straightened, then continued along the dark passage. "I did, Meg…I don't believe he's going to hurt me, or hurt anyone."
No one but Raoul, Meg thought, but she was not referring to the noose. She knew that the Phantom was not physically harming Raoul de Chagny, but the look Raoul had given Christine and herself before leaving…
"Christine, do you love Raoul?" Meg said suddenly, her voice soft.
Christine replied in the affirmative. "Yes, but…" She hesitated, then turned back and took Meg's hands suddenly with a quickness that startled the blonde. "Oh, Meg," she whispered, "I don't know what to tell him!"
"Tell who? What?" Meg's voice was hoarse, and she was surprised. Christine didn't love the Phantom…she couldn't possibly!
"Tell Raoul…oh, he worries that my heart belongs to…someone else. It doesn't. I love Raoul- I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him. I love him…but the Phantom…"
Meg looked down at her feet. The wedding dress. The monster that loves.
"It's…it's sort of like a love you won't admit to yourself, isn't it?" Meg said after a moment. Christine's reaction was swift: "Meg, don't think that! He gave me my voice…he was a light when all else was dark…"
What about me? Meg thought, barely able to choke the thought back from her throat. But Christine was not finished speaking.
"…he was my Angel of Music. Oh, Meg, I've grown up so much…I know it sounds so silly. But yesterday, I was so much more a girl. Meg, let me tell you what happened…" Christine leaned back and said softly, "Meg, he took me back down to his lair again…he told me about how he'd wanted all his life for love, how…" Meg heard a deep breath, and sensed Christine was closer to tears than she let on. "...how his mother hated him for his deformity…and- oh, Meg!- he was telling me this when Raoul came, and he let him in…and!…And he tied Raoul to the grate!…"
Meg put her arms around Christine, who hugged Meg back, but continued the story in a terrified whisper. "He told me that I had two choices- either to stay with him forever…or…or…" Christine's voice got softer and softer. "Or he'd…Oh, Meg!…"
"I understand," Meg whispered back, shutting her eyes, rubbing Christine's shoulder. This man! Beast! What he'd done…oh, Meg knew what she'd do…use the mask to lure him out, and the police would get him…No, Meg wouldn't do that; she would never do something so cruel! She quickly shoved that thought away.
"Meg, you know what I chose. In the wedding dress he'd sewn me, I waded out in that filthy water he'd stared at for years of his life and I kissed him. Meg, that moment…I should have been frightened and timid in that moment, but I wasn't. It all dawned on me then. Raoul was my childhood friend, but what I had for him was more than childhood longings. And this man was not the Angel of Music. He was not the Phantom of the Opera. Meg, he was a man sick with love. A man, Meg! And he loved me. He loved me." Christine repeated the words to herself reverently, as though they were delicate and about to crumble in her careless memory.
"Meg, he had lied to me. He was not a divine teacher. He was not a gift from heaven. He was a man from below who spent hours at my dressing room mirror watching me, and finally found out my secret- that my father had told me of an Angel of Music that would teach me to sing and be great, and he sang to me. I believed he was the Angel. I believed he was my father's spirit. He knew this, and he used it to his advantage. He manipulated my childish mind because he wished to one day possess my heart, soul…body…"
Meg pulled back slowly, dazed and disturbed by what she heard, and by the calm tone in which Christine spoke. She pulled back until she was looking directly into Christine's eyes.
"He told me to never see Raoul again not because it was an earthly distraction but because he knew of our potential for love. He took me down to where he lived and though I thought I knew he was a man did, it was not until that moment that I kissed him that I really knew it! He was nothing but a man…a desperate man in love with me…And so you see, Meg, he will not harm me. He will not harm anyone."
Meg stared back, swallowing. Could Christine really believe this? It did not sound sane. It sounded as though beneath the opera house lived a mad murderer ready to begin picking off the younger ballerinas one by one…
Suddenly and without warning, Christine laughed. "Oh, Meg," she cried, smiling. "You don't understand. You're like I was- seeing an Angel of Music when there is none. You still envision a fearful Opera Ghost…you need to have that same moment I had when I kissed him and knew everything- the moment I grew up."
Meg swallowed again, thoughts racing. Though Christine had not meant it, she had confirmed Meg's own belief that she was a child, and Christine was an adult. In a manner uncharacteristic of herself, Meg said slowly, "So…you're saying…that I need to kiss the Phantom of the Opera?"
Christine laughed. It sounded like bells ringing in the winter air.
"Metaphorically speaking…yes! Oh, Meg, some day you'll understand what I mean…"
Meg stood and Christine stood with her. Looking up at the tall outline of her friend, Meg knew that Christine had aged, and was more than Little Lotte now. She smiled, but sadly. Somehow she knew they would have to escape all this.
"Maman is probably out there wondering where we are," she said finally, almost in a croak.
Christine laughed once more. "Oh, you're right. This little talk lasted much longer than I'd expected it to."
The rest of the short journey was completed in silence with the exception of Christine and Meg whispered in delighted breaths that someone might think they were the Phantom if they heard their footsteps in the walls. It made Meg feel like they were the carefree children they had been- without lustful Phantoms trailing angelic Christine and trying to murder her young fiancé. She shook the thought from her head. She and Raoul both knew he was a danger, but Christine…Could she truly be right? She had sounded so sure, and so absolute…Meg had believed her for an instant. It was hard to not believe her. She seemed so much wiser than the norm…
After spending a short while with their ears pressed against the wooden door, listening for others, Christine and Meg left the passageway. As they had predicted, no one was there, and they shut the invisible door and continued.
"Oh, I hope she is there," Meg said aloud as they hurried along to her mother's room. "I don't know where else she'd be."
"I'm sure she'll be there, Meg," Christine said, smiling at her, and they walked up to the doorway and knocked.
"Bonjour?"
"Maman, c'est moi," Meg called, and Christine added, "And Christine, me, too."
The door opened.
"Good day, Madame Giry," Christine said brightly to the woman in the doorway. While not terribly tall and with an air of ease about her, Madame Giry was, in her subtle way, an imposing woman. Her own calm intensity she had passed down to her daughter. She smiled at Christine and nodded her head, leaning against the doorway effortlessly.
"Good morning, Christine, Meg," she said, looking at the girls. "You 'ave not been causing trouble?"
Meg smiled at her mother. When they had been younger, and they went to speak with her, it always seemed that they had come for sanctuary after doing some awful thing- knocking over a prop after placing hide-and-go-seek on the stage, playing with one of Carlotta's puppies and in the process, leading it away so it was presumed to be lost, things of that nature. Everything seemed so silly now, but looking back, it had been so big a disaster. Meg found it odd that everything from her childhood was being paired with such mature situations. It was as though life made mockery of them, or perhaps tried to keep everything in perspective.
"No, of course not," Meg said in answer to her mother's question. "Maman, I wanted to ask- and so does Christine- about the opera. What's going to happen to us?"
Madame Giry nodded her head knowingly. "Oui, this is expected. Christine, you and Raoul, you are going to fund the Opera, non?"
Christine nodded. "We talked about it. We are."
"Bon. It will need all the help there is."
Meg frowned at that, biting her lip. That same picture of the glorious opera house disgraced fluttered into her mind. "But- maman- it has been our home- where will we?- how long will it-?"
Madame Giry averted her gaze. "It will take a while to take care of it, yes. If money is taken care of-" she looked up at Christine, who nodded one more- "then we shall be back and rehearsing in 6 months-"
"Six months!" Christine and Meg both gasped at the same time.
"Six months," Madame Giry went on, nodding her head, "and they will still be constructing. Per'aps in a year, we will be ready to have operas performed once more. But the opera house will not be fully restored for at least two years."
Meg glanced at Christine, who was looking at Madame Giry with a concentration of her energy and thought that startled Meg. Christine spoke up suddenly.
"Madame Giry, what will happen to him, if you are not at the opera house for six months?"
Meg stared.
"Ah. You worry for the safety of our opera ghost," Madame Giry said, nodding her head again, with a calm Meg strongly suspected she did not truly possess. "'E will be fine, Christine."
"You're not worried he will starve?"
"'E will not starve. You 'ave my word."
Meg stirred uncomfortably, put off ease by the communion between them. She had always sometimes felt that her mother felt closer to Christine than she…and perhaps she was right about it…
Madame Giry turned to Meg. "Marguerite," she said, bringing her daughter out of her insecurities. "Why don't you go get your coat?" Choosing to look over Meg's startled surprise, she continued. "We're going out shopping for new boots. I noticed you needed another pair. Christine," she said, turning to the brunette, "may I 'ave a quick word?"
As Christine and Madame Giry stepped into the room, Meg's mother looked back at her and said, "I'll be ready by the time you return."
Meg nodded, and the door shut. Perhaps she was going to get some answers after all…but not to any of the questions really burning.
Like, how was she going to get the mask to Box Five if the opera was going to be rebuilt? And what was she going to do about Christine- was her friend even right? Sighing, Meg continued along the way to her room to get her coat.