Damn! Dear lord in heaven. . .
I moved quickly to gather myself, adjusting my shirt and trousers and hair. I pushed it back from my eyes, the eyes that were concentrating heavily on the door before me. My cheek, neck and shoulders all felt extremely cold, suddenly, where the Phantom had been but was no longer. I was broken out in a cool sweat, and I adjusted myself and my limbs so that my rather embarrassing situation would not be discovered.
My eyes were intent to learn who I was to face, and as the door opened, a small, pale hand came into sight, followed by a slender arm, a rather well endowed chest under a pale nightdress, and long, flaxen hair, belonging to one Mlle. Meg Giry. Her face could be seen now, and she looked rather spooked. Her soft face was contorted into a disturbed expression.
Meg squinted into the near-darkness and then spoke, "Raoul? Vicomte?"
"Yes, Meg, I am here. Is everything all right inside?" I answered with concern.
"Oui, monsieur," Meg said, though her body gave a shudder even then. She wrapped her arms about her chest and embraced herself where she stood, partially in the path of the door. "Is something the matter out here?"
"No, everything is," my breath was still ragged, and I moved to stand, "fine." I examined Meg further, and she seemed to be chilled, so my hand extended to my topcoat that was hung over the railing beside me. I moved towards Meg and extended the coat to her, and to my surprise, she took my offer.
It was wrapped around her chest and arms quickly and she stood nervously, feet spread in her normal dancer's position, and coat tail hanging about her legs.
"Has the fire gone out, Meg, dear?" I wondered, brow knitted with concern.
"No, it burns still, monsieur," she assured me, and her hand came back into view as it reached to touch the center of her forehead. She looked mildly dazed, and I feared she may have been suffering from a nightmare.
"Please, Mlle. Giry, sit down," I gestured behind me to my abandoned chair and moved out of her path, hoping she would sit a moment and relax.
"Merci, Raoul," she had said, and stepped quietly to the chair and took her seat. She looked up into my face with her wide eyes, and then, I remember, they had looked terribly troubled. "Would you mind my company for a small while, monsieur?"
"Not at all, Meg. I think I would prefer it to the dark." I shut the door to the dormitory and moved to stand next to my chair where Meg now sat. "You seem uncomfortable," I said.
"It is nothing, monsieur, sleep escapes me."
"Perhaps we have been visited by the spirits of the night? I do not think the ghosts have left me," I told her, wondering in the back of my mind if she would truly understand my meaning.
"We are not alone, still," she answered. She did understand my meaning. Or perhaps she was searching for someone, some thing, to blame. She took my hand, then, and I looked down into her rather childlike face. "You are very brave to stand guard against him for the one you love." We were together, after all.
I felt it necessary to comfort Meg, and my hand squeezed hers faintly in response, and I told her, "I stand guard for more than one. You know you are safe while I am watching. . ."
"Merci, that gives me comfort," she told me, and offered me a smile that made it feel as though the torture I had just endured had been worth while. I crouched down beside her, and moved to kneel. "Raoul?" she questioned.
"Oui, Meg?" I took her hand in both of mine and held it at my chest; it was like ice.
"We will defeat him. I am not afraid," she told me, and she placed her free hand against my face, and it felt oddly warm. Perhaps my face was as cold as I had imagined.
I tilted my head forward, as if making a vow, "Not fear, but do hold respect," I warned her. He always seemed to be three steps ahead of most everyone at the opera house. She nodded, and I believe she fully understood, perhaps better than even my own comprehension of the situation, and her head tilted forward as well, so that our foreheads met, and she sighed, and there came a hitch in her breath. Her hand twitched against my face. Suddenly, I found that my own hand had released hers, and had cupped her own petite cheek within it. I drew her face upwards so that I could look into her eyes.
"Vicomte?" Another hitch in her breath.
Heart's desire aside, I could surely read body language, and I knew that the comfort of what was to come would surely put out the icy fires that were left by the torture I had endured. . . The Phantom's chilly mark. Her breath was warm against my cheek and lips, and I leaned forward and kissed her lips chastely, still holding one of her hands to my heart. She felt warm then. I felt warm, then. Her hair fell around my face and it was then that the dormitory door was opened for a second time.
Unfortunately, I could not help my situation. I could not see until it was too late. I had fallen further into his labyrinth.