A/N: This portion is dedicated to Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, the only one who reviewed chapter 21! Many blessings, my dear. And to the rest of you, my inbox is getting rather empty. Please won't you fill it?
Giry said nothing, but felt all of her emotions writhe within her like snakes. She knew Erik was not to be trusted. But not to be trusted with what? She suspected him of being unfaithful, the way he sang to her about lost love and the impassive kisses that greeted her fervent ones were the two singular clues. She knew none of the ballet rats would have a hold over him, but there was one woman with the beauty to turn mens' heads.
Meg had never turned a man's head before. She was pretty, gorgeous even, but she did not possess the flirtatious and eloquent qualities bequeathed on other young women. She followed her mother's path, she was resistant to love, and did not give in easily to anything. There was a bit of her father in Meg too. She was often very melancholy; sometimes so much that Giry could not even stand her. And she had a passion for her art, the art of dance, much like her father had a passion for his music.
She knew that the girl who had seized the Phantom's heart was Christine. That brown-eyed, brown-hair mezzo-soprano had captured his soul within her. And she did not understand why. Apart from her royal beauty, Christine had not the talent of speech that Giry was so bestowed with, nor the apparent headstrong and divine personality that had lured Erik to her. It was simply her voice and her looks.
"Erik," she hissed in a sinister tone. "That bastard!"
She was walking down the hallway when Christine appeared before her. She stopped short, and her heart leapt into her throat.
"How dare this vile child take away my beloved? Harlot, wretch!" Giry thought, her mind almost exploding.
"Madame," began Christine. "Might you tell me the way to rehearsals?"
"You should be old enough to figure that out, Christine." She replied icily. "Go now."
Christine eyed her warily and made off without a fuss. Giry's heart turned to lead in her breast, as she looked on Christine's retreating form with revulsion. She turned on her heel and marched back towards the catacombs. She wanted a solitary word with Erik. She walked down towards his lair, pushing the gondola with ferocious strokes. He was sitting at his piano, and did not look up when she arrived.
"How dare you!" she spat out at him, her figure trembling. "You…you…and that little, idle slut!"
"Mon ange…" Erik began, "Please…"
"Don't you dare call me that again!" she screamed at him. "I do everything for you, and this is how you repay me?"
"You don't understand." Said Erik quietly.
"You denied me and betrayed me." she said, her voice like ice. "Me…Erik…your wife." She said this with sarcasm and revolt.
"Indeed you are my wife." Said Erik. "And no one shall ever take your place."
"Liar!" she said, and threw her wedding ring down upon the floor, so the sapphire chipped ever so slightly, a miniscule flaw that was a burden to bear.
"Antoinette!" he cried, stealing up to take her wedding ring into his own nervous fingers. "Just let me explain."
"I want nothing more to do with you!" she said. "Unless you prove to me you truly love me."
"How shall I do that, Antoinette?" he said, "Take you to bed to resolve all the common arguments? I thought you would not stoop so low as that."
"Erik," she muttered. "I love you. Why can't you ever be happy?"
He turned away from her and began his narrative.
"Antoinette, I do love you with as much passion as I had before. But you have ceased to be a muse, an interest to me. Christine, in her movements, her voice, has presented such a beautiful opportunity for me to express my talents. She stands willingly before me, like a sacrifice I am able to manipulate, bend to my every whim. I have never had that power before."
"This does relate back to our argument years before."
"The world hates me Antoinette. I want no part in it. I want to change it."
"Erik," she said, "How many times must I tell you? I can never, will never hate you. You are too precious a gift for me to lose. To lose you would be like, trying to breathe in a vast ocean. I could not do it. Every night I thank God for bringing me to you. Even if all the world reviles you, know that I worship you."
"You have an elegance and beauty that Christine will never possess. I thank you for that. You are my soul guide through this perilous world."
Giry was calmed by his comment momentarily, but could not help but wonder if it was a mere, almost futile escape attempt from his deeper feelings. It seemed a dastardly, scathing lie that she did not know what to believe. What did he wish to hide from her?