Chapter 8
Meg traced the outline of her white and silver chiffon gown while she stood alone in her dressing room. She held up the feathered mask that she would where with it. It was a stunning dress, and she would look like an elegant swan for dancing the night away at the Masquerade.
The Opera Populaire had seen many balls and masquerades in its day, but this one was going to be more extraordinary than anything prior. The new managers, Francois and Jacques, were using this Masquerade as a way to bring attention to the re-opening gala. Everyone in Paris who was even remotely socially significant was going to be there.
The stage hands had been decorating the atrium of the Opera for almost two days. There would be wonderful flowers, food, and endless amounts of wine and champagne. All the girls had been talking about was who would be there and what they were wearing.
Meg couldn't help her excitement; it had been so long since she had clothed herself in a beautiful gown and danced with gentleman at a ball.
She had not heard from the Phantom since she had recovered from her injury. Although she missed their late night talks, she was a little bit glad he had not contacted her. She knew he would not approve of a night of drinking and dancing. And Meg planned on dancing with every man who asked her.
She looked at her dress one more time. Although, it was very lovely, something just was not right. She didn't know if something was wrong with the dress or with her.
I don't feel like a graceful, white swan, she thought.
Almost all the young girls at the Masquerade would be in white, pink, or cream gowns, trying to look pure and virginal for any prospective husbands that may be lurking about. But Meg, had no intention of finding a husband at this Masquerade, and she wanted to astound everyone.
She left her room and headed for the costume wing down the long corridor. When she walked into one of the immensely large rooms, her eyes started searching the through hundreds of colorful costumes that lined every wall and were strewn all over the floor. Then she spotted who she was looking for.
Adora, the elder costume designer who seemed absolutely ancient to Meg, came walking out from behind a cloth mannequin wearing a half completed royal blue dress with gold brocade. Adora had known Meg's mother for many years, and so she was always exceptionally kind to Meg.
"Oh Adora, that dress is so gorgeous," exclaimed Meg.
"Thank you my dear, let us just hope that are lovely diva, Princess Parnella agrees with you," Adora replied with a laugh.
"Oh she will, I'm sure she will," Meg said still staring at the dress in awe of Adora's talent.
Adora smiled and then asked, "To what do I owe the honor of this visit so late in the evening, Mademoiselle? I'm certain you didn't come here to talk about Parnella's costume."
Meg suddenly felt a pang of guilt for coming to ask Adora a favor. She rarely came to see her when she did not need something, like a fitting, or mending of a costume she had damaged in rehearsal.
She paused, but then shyly asked, "I know you are terribly busy Adora, but I was wondering if you could help with something?"
Adora smiled "For you, my dear, I can always make time."
About an hour later Meg returned to her dressing room. She closed and locked the door behind her to get ready for bed. She was very pleased that Adora had agreed to help her, and she knew tomorrow's Masquerade was going to be a wonderful evening where for once, she would not go unnoticed.
Meg began to get changed for bed when she saw a beige piece of paper on her bed. She walked over timidly, unfolded the note and reluctantly began to read it.
Dear Marguerite,
You will meet me at midnight. You know where to find me.
-O.G.
Meg's mind started reeling. She had only just begun to get over the disappointment that she had felt when she realized that the Phantom…Erik, had grown bored with her…that she was never going to replace his beloved angel, Christine.
She had forced herself to accept the fact it was senseless to continue developing feelings for a man who would always love another. She concluded that he could never care for her, and any efforts to win his affection would be futile.
"So what does he want with me?" she said quietly.
Then it hit her. He had been watching her. She had been going out to dinners very frequently, and she had also seen many different gentlemen. Of course they were all pompous idiots, but Meg knew this was against the Phantom's wishes.
"The Masquerade," she said to herself, "he's not going to allow me to go."
It all made sense at that moment. The Phantom didn't care for her in the least, and she had been a fool to think that he might. He just wanted to control her behavior to keep her at her best for the re-opening of his precious Opera.
Meg paced the length of her room about thirty times before she finally decided that she was not going to the roof that night.
"I'm going to the Masquerade," she said aloud with great conviction. "I will not become a recluse because some man who hides in the shadows commands it."
Erik waited impatiently in the bitter cold for Meg to come to the roof. He was hiding in his usual place behind a large stone statue next to the outer wall of the theatre. He was growing angrier with every passing minute. Midnight had come and gone, and Meg was still not there.
At half past, he resolved that she was indeed, not coming. His first instinct was to go straight to her room and demand and explanation even if he frightened her half to death. He could scarcely believe that she would have the impudence to disobey his command.
Didn't she know what he was capable of?
Then Erik forced himself to get a hold of his anger.
She is terrified of me, he reasoned. She would not dare disregard my command. She must not have seen the note. That would explain her absence. She must have just overlooked it and gotten in bed, or perhaps she was not in her room at all.
But she couldn't be out this late, he thought.
He decided to find out for himself. Only moments later Erik was peering into Meg's dark dressing room through the large silver mirror. The only reason he could see anything was a small window that allowed some illumination from the moon to enter the room.
He could see the tiny shape of Meg asleep under the covers with only a few stray blond strands of hair lying on her pillow. At least she is here, he thought. His gaze continued throughout the room.
There sitting on the vanity was his note, unfolded. She had read it. She had read the note, and she had purposely defied him.
Erik was unsure what to do. He could not allow this insolent action to be ignored. He would not be disobeyed in his own opera by anyone.
Erik's gaze froze on Meg's white ball gown which seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. He had planned on suggesting to her, that she not attend the Masquerade in order to be well-rested for the next day's opening night. Despite being unwilling to admit it, Erik still despised the idea of lustful men trying to take liberties with her all evening.
"Perhaps my dear, Marguerite, you will see someone at the Masquerade, that you least expect," Erik whispered in a devious tone.
