Disclaimer: Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera was originally written by Gaston Leroux or something like that, and I in no way shape, fashion, or form own his characters or the captivating music created by the man who did such a splendid job on Cats The musical…you get the picture.
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Part III of The Phantom of the Opera II
Meg gazed at the letter with mixed feelings. She was in her room, perched on the edge of a satee in a long black night robe. She was in the middle of loosening her corset when she had noticed the letter after returning from a dinner engagement with Mr. FitzHenery. Meg put it down with a sigh and resisted the urge to scream. How could Christine up and run off again! She had been so close…and yet, how could Meg be sure? Oh yes, nobody but Meg and Christine had known of the door leading to the wine cellars. They had found it one night when they were feeding sugar cubes to Caesar, the white stallion for Hannibal.
Meg got up from her seat and climbed into bed with the confused maelstrom of worry flooding her head. The anniversary was in one short month. Could Meg hold out until then? Would the Phantom stay hidden, and could Meg resist the urge to travel once again down that path to his dark world to find him?
The success of the "Phantoms" return spread the Operas fame even farther, and helped the tickets sell faster than anything the Count could have ever anticipated. As people gossiped about his possible existence, an idea came to the Countess that helped heal the damage done to her husbands name when she impersonated Erik. As the count sat down to breakfast one crisp December morning, she brought the thought to his attention delicately, and when his Patron and his composer found the idea quite intriguing, The count put his idea into play, and hired a writer and an investagator to carry the plan out.
"I have found nothing worth noting about this said Opera Ghost…except what I heard from Meg Giry. It seems a certain Saprano by the name of Chritine Daae was the apple of his interests when she resided here. Perhaps if you could find her…we could er, tempt this man out of hiding," the investagator said lightly as he and the count paced around the warm office. Snow was blowing with a fury outside as a fir crackled merrily in the fireplace.
"We do not wish to find this man, if he is still alive," The count said haistly, goving the other man an appraising look, "just to merely find out a bit more about him. I have my composer and a very reknowned writer finishing up a little performance about him. If he was alive, then he would have thwarted my plans at exploiting his riveting past…"
"Then I am afraid I can not help you, sirrah. What I have told you is all that I can gather. But if I may, I think at this point it would not be wise to exploit his story," The investigator muttered. He held his bowler nervously in between his sweaty hands. "There uh, used to be a Joseph here at this very place before the fire. He er…died when the Phantom found him too meddlesome, sir. I'm just saying, sir."
When Meg saw the music sheets for the play, she nearly fainted. The count was herding all the cast and crew to the stage it seemed with an important announcement. His face was glowing with excitement, and in his hands he clutched a leather folder with the lettering flashing The Phantom of the Opera. Nervous mutters went around as everyone else caught sight of their new assignment.
"After the success of our gala, I heard from reliable sources that something fresh was needed. Ladies and gentlemen, I am please to inform you that we are going to be putting on a new performance, that I hope, will be an even greater success," He said to the crowd assembled. Meg shifted next to Barnaby. "I don't think you should do that, Mousier Le Count. His business is no one's but his own." But the older man merely smiled to her, and read out the parts. Meg was pleased to hear that only one part was realistic, and that was the Phantoms himself.
Practice went on late into the nights of everyday. December flew by and Meg unwillingly learned her part for the play. The songs were poor compared to the fire one felt in their heart with Erik's music, but the audience was not interested with the soft possessive hold of the music. They wanted a story to torment the mind and baffle the soul. They wanted a young boy forced into insanity because of his horrid disfigurement.
As the story went, Erik was a young boy cast out of his family when he was eight years old. After running away he went to join a monastery until they threw him out, and finally after he wandered around joining freak shows and circus's, he made his residence here at the Opera. The fire was cut out, as it was the count's feelings that after such a short time people would still be upset, but the story was a comedy of sorts portraying the Opera Ghost as a dumb phantom like man with a taste for mischief. The ending was about him stealing a check safety pinned to mm. Richard's coat, and them going insane in their determination to stump this phantom. There was no mention of his numerous killings or of us infamous escape.
After practice, Meg would always stop by the Ballet dormitories to check on the little Jemmies and Madam Faya. After attending to them, she would eat a simple meal, and almost always decline an invitation to dine with Barnaby. Recently however, he had taken to eating with the countess, and so that roadblock was out of her way.
But sometimes, when she was bored, Meg often went to the old dressing room. It was where she remembered searching for Christine when she had been lead by the Phantom three years ago. It was dusty, and the countess never came to toy with her instruments now that Barnaby filled her every thought. It was sad, Meg thought, at how little the count could understand, and yet how much he could see.
The dust that had gathered on the organ greeted Meg as she fell onto the stiff wooden bench. Next to her, the original script for Don Juan Triumphant balanced on the edge of the wall. It stood proudly next to the cracked mirror that the count had not bothered to replace since the organ used to cover the entire thing.
Meg looked at her distorted image as she reached a tentive hand forward and pushed aginst the mirror. She had not expected anything to happen, but her mind hoped and her heart pounded frantically in her chest as the little pieces of glass fell to the floor and revealed a wall with little cracks on three sides. Below near the bottom, she felt a sort of hinge, and she groped around the mess of screws and springs until her deft hands caught hold of a latch. Once sprung, she was pushed out of the way as the mirror began revolving. With a desperate lurch, her hand shot out and stopped the mirror, revealing a dark, dank passage way.
With no mother to pull her back to safety, Meg crept into the passageway, and heard the wall swing close behind her. Past the point of no return, she thought as her feet carried her down deeper into the mystery of her Beloved's tangled web of deceit.
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