Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

I've been reading through the previous chapter and have noticed some glaring grammatical errors that my grammar check did not show me, so I'll be correcting them soon. Also, I don't think I made it clear when the scene changed in the previous chapters: apparently this site doesn't like repeated underscores, so from now on I'll just leave bigger gaps and hope that works, but I'll go back and change the other later. I've now enable anonymous reviews, because I hadn't realised before that it was disabled, so all those of you who don't review no longer have an excuse.

I wasn't quite sure how to get this plot going so if it's a bit weird at the moment I'm sorry. I promise it will get better later.

I've finally managed to get a copy of the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux! (starts reading frantically). I've noticed some major differences, but for this story I am going to continue basing it on the Lloyd Webber film, because it would be too much hassle to change him to having the whole of his face disfigured rather than just one side, and also the film leaves the story much more open ended and provided more room for elaboration. So to all the Leroux purists out there, I apologise, but I have other stories planned that will be much more Leroux based, although I may add some more Leroux elements into this story later: it depends what mood I'm in.

So, here's the chapter.

"Sadness flies on the wings of morning

and out of the heart of darkness comes the light." - Jean Giraudoux.

- Estelle Tiniwiel –x –.

Meg stood there for a moment in awkward silence before she managed to get her tongue and vocal chords to obey her and form some sort of sentence.

"Oh. Well, I'm… er… I'm…" she trailed off, not being able to recall the sound of her own name in her shocked confusion.

"Meg."

"Yes, yes, that's it. Yes, Meg." How could she have forgotten that? Monosyllabic and boring. She gathered her confused wits and rallied herself, gracing the Phantom with a slightly shell shocked but also quite pleased smile.

"Well, Monsieur, if you wish to have fresh bread this morning I had better get to the boulangerie before the crowds come. Good day."

"Good day, Mademoiselle."

And with this she turned and walked out into the street, locking the door securely behind her.

The Phantom almost smiled at her obvious amazement at his revelation, but caught himself in time and went back to brooding over a lost love that he had no hope of retrieving.

About ten minutes after Meg had left, Madame Giry came into the living area to see that the bound Phantom had manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and was glaring fixedly at a point on the floorboards. She left him in silence for a while, getting tea cups out of the cupboard and stoking up the stove to heat the kettle. When she had finished this she moved over to the other side of the room and seated herself in an armchair opposite the Phantom.

"Good morning, Monsieur. How are you today?"

"How do expect?" came the somewhat sharp reply, "it has been less than twenty-four hours since I relinquished the love of my life into the arms of that fool of a Vicomte, I have been exposed in front of the cream of Paris and I am again on the run from the law: and yet you still have the audacity to ask me how I am!"

Madame Giry pursed her lips slightly at his harsh attitude and tried to keep her calm, seeing that retaliation would get her nowhere.

"Excuse me, Monsieur; I was only trying to be polite."

"Since when was anybody thoughtful enough to bother being polite to me?"

"Generally since you threatened them so much that they felt that they would be very much in danger if they were anything other than perfectly cordial to you. But I am being polite to you, Monsieur, because I think you could be a magnificent human being if only you changed your outlook on life and I have a great level of respect for you."

These honest truths were met by a stony silence, the Phantom's gaze staring so hard at the floorboards that Madame Giry was surprised that they didn't combust. She was about to add something more when she realised the change in the man's eyes, burning hot and then cold, anger and emotion whirling together till the poor man looked so pitiful she would have gone over and comforted him, had it not been for the fact that she was still mortally afraid of this beaten wreck of a human being. She saw the tears roll down his cheeks as he attempted to talk to her whilst constantly trying to avoid eye contact.

"Then… I don't see… why… you won't call me by my name… if you hold me in such high esteem – ". Madame Giry's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise and consternation at the man's hitched breathing, as he fought to hold back the tears he did not want to show. She rose from her seat and went to kneel in front of him, not daring to reach out and smooth the tears from his cheeks.

"Erik…"

His head snapped back, his eyes frantically locking with hers and asking that most unanswerable question: why?

Meg walked into the boulangerie in a daze, so much so that the shop girl had to call her three times to get her attention.

"Meg? Meg? Meg!"

"Oh, what? Yes, who is it?"

The girl behind the counter smiled slightly, a look of amused concern on her face and in her eyes.

"It's me, Meg. Martine, the same girl that's been living here for sixteen years and been working her for two, whom you've know for – ooh – quite a while now."

"Sorry, Martine, I was off in my own little world, you know me."

"No, Meg. I don't think I do: you never used to go off into little daydreams like this, although you spun some wonderfully inventive tales; not, that is, until Christine became involved with the Opera Ghost. Dreaming of Angels and Demons are we?"

Meg's face blanked out again and a strange light came to her eyes.

"Yes, I was: I was dreaming of an angel," then added at a whisper, "a fallen angel."

Suddenly Meg snapped out of it, realising with horror that she may have given far too much of herself away, giving her order and taking the bread as fast as she could and shoving the money into the amazed shop girl's hands before turning and all but running out of the shop and round the corner out of sight.

"Meg! Wait! You forgot your change!"

Martine's father came out of the baking room, mopping at his brow with the corner of his apron and casting a cheerful glance over his bemused daughter.

"Everything alright, m' dear?"

"Yes, father, everything's fine. But something's up with Meg."

Meg jammed the key into the lock and rushed into the apartment, slamming the door behind her. She was about to shout out when she pulled up short in horror and curious fascination: her mother was kneeling in front of the Phantom of the Opera, hugging him and rocking him gently back and forth as he sobbed into her shoulder. Meg felt the blood rise in her cheeks at the awful sense of being an intruder on this complete loss of another's self control.

"Erm… I…," she began, but stopped abruptly when her mother looked over her shoulder and shook her head no.

After several long and painful minutes the broken creature sitting tied up on the floor stopped its hysterical outburst and merely gazed forlornly at its feet, a world of pain and anguish shut up behind its eyes, refusing to surrender itself again in indulging its self pity in front of the two others.

Meg looked at this man, the Phantom of the Opera, the man she now knew was called Erik, and suddenly understood how beautiful his soul was, how exquisite the pain and how deep the hatred, and knew that this was all because of man's doing, but she also saw how this soul longed only to love and be loved and to be seen as something other than a freak. She felt indescribable pity well up inside her. Then she did something that horrified her mother and shocked the man no end: she stepped boldly out from her place by the door, crossed the space between her and the man called Erik, knelt down in front of him and, not allowing him to pull back or make protest, kissed him.

Erik tried to jerk back when he felt her lips meet his, but met only the wall. He felt himself caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, not sure which of them were right: he was angry because he had only just been sundered from Christine; he felt an indescribable sorrow at the thought that this was not Christine kissing him; he felt shock and surprise that this girl who hardly knew him was willing to kiss him whilst she could so obviously see his face, but gratefulness that she would do so; and above all he felt desire.

As Meg broke away and moved back to end the kiss he lowered his eyes so that she could not see what was going through his mind, though she could see quite clearly the bright flush that rose up his neck. This wasn't right: this girl was no older than Christine had been: a mere child. He should not want her like this; but a lifetime of no love and no physical contact from women woke something in him over which he had no control, and it frightened him. He did not love her, this pretty young girl kneeling in front of him; she had only kissed him out of pity, not because she loved him for himself, but despite this he felt the instinctive longing for a mate rise within him and he immediately knew that if he were to surrender himself to it all he would end up doing is hurt a lot more people again, including himself. He suddenly found that hurting people who had cared for you did matter, and that he was not free of guilt when it came to this or to hurting himself. He did not want to let himself want her, for she would just deny him again, as Christine had. With Christine he had thought himself in love, but now he knew different. He knew that he had been obsessed, craving comfort and love and had fooled himself into believing that the singer loved him back; there had been no love there, only desire, and that's all there was here. He did not look up at Meg or acknowledge her in any way, turning his head and remaining silent.

Madame Giry did not speak, only stared in astonishment and horror as her daughter knelt down and kissed the Phantom. This could not be happening again: she could not be losing her other daughter to this man. He was unsuitable in every way. She wanted to yell and shout and ask Meg what on earth she thought she was doing, but she couldn't get the words to come out of her throat.

Meg looked at herself in shock. She could not believe she had just kissed the Opera Ghost. Christine would kill her. Glancing over at her mother she realised that her mother probably would, too. Why had she done it? Why? Sure, she pitied the man, but that was no call for such a … a … physical demonstration of emotion. She was lost. For the first time in her life she didn't recognise herself.

Gradually, she became aware that her mother was still staring at her and that the man on the floor was pointedly refusing to look at her. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and she grasped desperately at the news she had been going to tell them before she had kissed Erik.

"Erm… I…" she tried desperately to swallow the lump of embarrassment constricting her vocal chords, "oh God, how can I tell you this? I…" she paused again, trying to collect her thoughts, "I think I might have exposed us. The girl down the shop saw me in a bit of a daze and asked me what I was dreaming of and I said angels and demons and she gave me a funny look and then I left rather quickly and I think she might be suspicious." She said the last bit without taking a breath and then turned and ran from the room.

Erik's head rose slowly to look after her, his gaze curious: the girl had been daydreaming of angels and demons.

Meg ran into her room and slammed the door shut, placing her back against it. Her breathing was quick and deep and she felt tears of fear and humiliation fall down her cheeks.

"Oh, God, what have I done?"

A/N: So what do you think. I think that chapter was a bit wordy and Meg spent most of her time being confused and amazed so if you think it's rubbish please tell me. Criticism is gladly accepted, just don't flame.