A/N: Thanks to all my devoted reviewers. I had to give Christine a Russian name (too much Tolstoy). It just suited her, as ballet started predominantly in Russia. Just so you peeps know, I am skipping my English Lit. homework (something I never do) and also rushing since I have to go trick-or-treating with my little sister. So yeah, feel lucky that I am writing this at all.
Meg held onto her mother's hand, and trembled from fear.
"Mama?" she asked. "Where are we going?"
"To visit your father." Said Giry, almost complacently.
"My Papa is dead." Said Meg indignantly.
"No he is not." Said Giry firmly, laying a hand on Meg's head. "Be silent, Marguerite, and do not speak of what you do not understand."
Meg was silent, holding her tongue obediently. Giry felt the walls with a quivering hand, the damp sliding along her fingers. There were no candles lit, and the cobwebs hung gracefully in the sconces. She spied the gondola and helped Meg into it. Giry got in as well, and pushed it elegantly to the opposite bank. Erik was nowhere to be seen, and Giry was glad of this.
"Marguerite." She whispered. "Stay put."
Meg stood stalk still on the bank, her arms firmly by her sides like a soldier. Giry stalked into Erik's bedroom, to find him dozing comfortably. Resolutely she poked him in the side, and watched him with frightful eyes.
"Antoinette." He said slowly, donning his mask quickly. "Why are you here, ma belle ange?"
"Because." Giry said, brandishing the letter in his face. "Of this."
"Antoinette." He said. "You do not understand. Meg is of a good age. She has a right to know, everything."
He leapt out of bed and put on his cape over his black jacket. The ruffles of the white shirt peeked elegantly from behind his burgundy vest.
"I desire you to speak with her." Said Giry. "And tell her the story."
"But I clearly said in the post scriptum…" Erik said. "That you would explain."
"You thought wrong." Said Giry. "But since you appear to be prepared, Erik, do so."
"You understand nothing, Antoinette." He said forcefully. "I need your support. She is your child."
"Yes." Giry said resignedly. "I just wanted some peace."
"When you are with me." Said Erik. "How can you ever hope of finding peace?"
Giry agreed by sighing, and took her lover's hand tenderly in her own.
"That is why I am with you." She said. "I need to taste life."
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and pulled back the curtain of his bedroom.
"Marguerite." She said. "This is Erik. He is your father."
Meg remained silent for awhile, and then, with a quick, reproving glance from her mother, curtsied to Erik politely.
"My pleasure, Monsieur." She said sweetly, her tone almost sickening.
"You shall not refer to me as Monsieur." Said Erik. "Call me Papa." The word sounded odd on his tongue, this being the only time he had uttered it.
"Papa." Meg herself tasted the word again, and recoiled in derision. "Papa," she began. "Why do you hide your face?"
"It is none of your concern." Said Erik dismissively.
"Show her." Said Giry. "And Marguerite, do not recoil. This is your true father."
Erik lifted the mask off silently and stood facing Meg. She let out a slight gasp, but nothing more. She merely looked on with a steady gaze. Then her hands clenched at her sides and she began to cry.
"It isn't fair!' she screamed at Giry. "You lie to me! Then you force this…this…beast upon me, like I was supposed to love him!"
She continued to yell at her parents with renewed strength.
"I cannot love him! He is not my father! Armand was my father!"
"Armand," Giry said steadily, the anger boiling in every word. "Was a lying, cheating man who had no thought for either of us."
"That is not true!" screamed Meg, "Armand, Papa, loved me!"
"Your mother is right, child." Said Erik heavily. "Armand did lie to you and hurt your mother. There is no use in denying it."
He replaced his mask and turned with a flourish of his cape. He then spoke slowly to Meg.
"I am not asking you to love me. That is too far-fetched even for my delusional thinking. You can hate me, mock me, spit in my face and I won't recoil, God knows I am used to it. All I ask is for you to understand your mother's thinking and to acknowledge me as your father. I want no more than that."
Meg stood listening silently. Erik continued on:
"Your mother and I were in love. We gave our souls to each other, and cared for each other. She loves me still, and I do as well. This you must accept. If not, I want no part in your life."
Meg said nothing, her tears steadily drying.
"I can accept." She said, her voice faltering. "But I want nothing to do with you."
Erik nodded silently and resignedly.
"That I can understand." He said shortly. "Antoinette, let that suffice as our agreement."
Giry herself turned away from her daughter and kissed Erik mutely on the lips.
"Goodbye, mon beau ange." She said in a whisper. "I love you."
"I love you too." Said Erik quietly.
Giry took Meg by the hand, and, to Meg's surprise, did not reprimand her. She merely stepped into the gondola, and began to push it back to its usual dock.
Meg did not speak to her mother, and neither to Christine. She went to her room and lay on the bed. No tears spilled out, but her thoughts of her parents were dark. Never had she felt such revulsion.
A/N: I guess Meg is about ten or eleven, despite the 'five years later' part from the last chapter. She just sounded too mature for eight. So it really should read 'seven years later'. Oi, this is so bloody confusing. Hope you enjoyed.