I don't usually respond to reviewers more than a large and bellowed thank you followed by a chapter that is proportionate in size to how happy I am about you all. However Herbie McGuire brought up a point I am passionate about and I thought that I would rather share it with all of you once, in case it were to come up again. Firstly Herbie, thank you I think you've made my day better with that review. I would have shown it off to my friends but they don't enjoy Phantom of the Opera on such a level so…yeah.

You brought up the point about how his walls have come down relatively quickly and made the suggestion of correlating it to his vulnerability. This is a creative approach I hadn't thought of and may put in the story after all. What I did see it as though is that Erik wants to trust people, especially women. So very quickly he comes to trust them. However at the slightest hint that they aren't completely honest with him or at the slightest reminder of his difficult childhood, all the walls are back in place. Each time he closes himself off it gets harder to get through to him. When I read the book it seemed like no matter what Christine did, he wanted to trust her. So I dunno, I just sort of saw it going that way for Megan too. Though Megan is not some wilting flower like Christine who will try to placate whoever she is near. If Erik angers her she's going to fight back and that's where I saw the problems arising.

Also, because Rio made me happy, reviews are INDEED like drugs and I don't speak latin (though my best friend is apparently the state latin champ who knew) but I do know that as far as I've been taught all my life this latin is right. I'll explain how I know this and not latin, the words I've chosen I'm going to explain later but because it seemed to stress you so, its all from the latin translation of Catholic Mass. You can go look it up but yeah I will explain the stuff I've used at the end of the story. Its not exactly important to the plot, but they do correlate to the chapters. And just to let you know, "Kyrie, eleison" means Lord have mercy. I know that one for sure. I'll try to put some angst in there, but Meg and Erik aren't the only characters so I hope its okay if other characters have angsty moments. I try to keep it real though so…hope I succeed.

Just a reminder: I went by the ALW version for the ending (at least the bit about the mob) and so for that there is the concept of all the French police are looking for him…Plus there is the Baron—I promise that won't go like Raoul at all—and Madam Giry…There's several turns at which I'm going to make it difficult for our favorite couple, or at least our favorite couple if we ourselves cannot have Erik…

Now I have some other things to say.

I cannot afford a DVD copy of the complete Tristan und Isolde yet so unless you plan on donating to that fund please don't point out errors in A translations if they are put in here or the ballet bits I explain. If you choose to donate money to me to buy that DVD then complain all you like.

Oh...yeah,...and erin...sorry. The Baron is sort of an important character. But I swear on all Phandom this is an E/M story.

WARNING:

The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of Requiem can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.

I was running late that day so I was one of the last girls in the dressing room as I sat to pull on my toe shoes. One went on, smooth as ever and I wriggled my toes, without paying much attention I grabbed the other slipper and pulled it on, only to have a sharp pain shoot through my foot, up into my ankle and draw a curse that would have killed my mother from my lips. I ripped the shoe off and shook it lightly. Several small shards of glittering light tumbled to the floor.

I had seen feuds in the ranks of the rats before but I had never been the one to suffer the wrath of someone. My foot was bleeding lightly and I sighed, hobbling over to another girl's cupboard. I took the bandages I could find and wrapped my toes as best I could, watching for a moment as the white turned pink and then red. I did not know what I had done, but someone was angry with me. Glass in one's slippers was a horrible thing to do. The girl would have to dance on the soars and to tell anyone would only incur more wrath and so I did as any other rat would do. I pulled on my slippers once more and bound my hair, walking out to the stage where the other rats had already started warming up as though nothing were wrong at all. The mistress yelled at me as though I were the only girl to have ever made a mistake. And like I was meant to I took it, head held high and eyes straight forward.

My injured foot ached and after a particularly high leap that forced me to land hard on my foot all I managed in the way of landing was to crumple to the floor. Jammes was at my side in an instant, a friend even if she wasn't the most intelligent person in the corps. She helped me to my feet and I pressed lightly on my injured foot, testing its strength after such a fall. Sharp pain shot up my leg in response but I could at least support myself for the rest of practice, at least, I hoped I could. I assured everyone that I was fine and the Mistress was angry that I'd fallen. I didn't tell them what had happened, I already explained why, and started back into the exercises. It was only after, in the changing rooms, that I realized I had ruined these slippers. My rush job of bandaging my foot had failed and my shoes were now stained with blood. I was more careful as I wrapped my foot to go into my boot. It would help a little that there was more protection in the shoe, but not much.

I walked around the bench once and decided it was not well enough to survive the jump from the tree into the mirror room. I had to be careful. I had known girls who cut their foot (as I did or entirely by accident) and it had never healed, their careers ruined. I didn't care about the money. If it came to it I would marry the Baron for Maman but I wanted to make money doing what I loved. Dancing was my life, it sang in my blood and I knew this Opera house well. Not as well as Christine or Erik, but I knew it well and I was familiar with it. It was like a friend, a comfortable blanket that I could wrap around myself whenever I wanted—or at least whenever I walked into the building—and it was as much my home as that horrid little apartment on le Rue de Saint Charles. I didn't want to give up dancing and I didn't want to give up the Opera House. A loss of either would kill me I was certain. If I had to, to save my mother, I would give it all up and I would beg the Baron to let me come to shows if nothing else. I would dance while he was away, turning the whole home—wherever he decided to keep me—into my dance floor. I didn't need to be before an audience, I just had to dance, no one needed to see me.

I would still wither, slowly, because for all my preaching, there was something to be said about dancing on a stage, looking out at the shadowy lumps that I knew to be people as they stared at me.

I decided to cut through the dancer's lounge and exit that way, crossing the stage just to enjoy the lights while they were still on. If I was lucky, Monsieur Reyer would still be there and sometimes he would talk with me. He was a nice, kind old man and he was the only one I saw who really stood up to Carlotta. The managers wouldn't because the public loved her and many famous Aristocrates came just to see her perform. With Christine gone she was the only, and best, soprano so I could understand that they appeased her whenever possible. Sorelli used to stand up to her, but she was too...

Entering the studio the only reason I didn't trip after running into him was because he caught me, his hands gripping my elbows. He was much too much of a gentleman to wrap his arms around my waist as Philippe might have done for Sorelli…

Poor Sorelli. We all thought she was so strong, so wild, and so free and that Philippe was just a toy, just fun. Her reaction to the news of his death showed us how very wrong we were. Her depression showed in her dancing and I could watch her and even with my eyes closed I could feel why I was not as good as her. You could feel the pain in everything she did and as morbid as it sounds I have come to realize that we as humans—or maybe just Parisians—find pain beautiful. Maybe it's just those of us in Paris, surrounded by lights and laughter and art and always acting happy. We wore masks, too busy enjoying life to weep. As such when we see pain, in dance or hear it in music, it is beautiful and exotic, something we don't understand, and something that seems to elude us. Sorelli had pain inside her and she converted it to beauty whether she meant to or not.

"Megan, the prettiest dancer in the whole of the Opera." Not that the words he spoke didn't give him away but I would know the Baron's voice anywhere. He had a think accent from the country and unnecessary h's were scattered throughout everything he said. "I was hoping to catch you before you went home." He added, letting go of me and reaching into a pocket. He extracted a small envelope and held it out to me.

"Monsieur I cannot accept gifts from you." I told him softly, ducking my head. He always did this and it was never anything I wanted. Perfume I never had a reason to wear, clips which could not tame my hair—little short of the styles we used for performances could—and jewels I ended up returning.

"It is an early birthday gift mon petite. Or have you forgotten that it is only a fortnight away?" He asked, taking one of my hands in one of his meaty fists and pressing the small envelope into my palm. I sighed heavily and prayed that the Lord would forgive me. After a lifetime of watching Christine and every other rat being courted, it was nice that there was someone after me for once. I took it and opened it, spilling the contents out. A tiny brandy colored gem winked at me from a silver chain. Tears welled in my eyes as I realized that this would have been able to pay for my mother's treatment several times over. The Baron took these to be tears of joy and took it from me, offering to put it on. I was displeased but I pulled aside my hair and allowed him to clip it. His fingers brushed against my skin and chills shot down my spine. I jerked free and realized my mistake. I was used to mistakes like that though, showing revulsion when I should be thrilled, so I twirled and gushed about how pretty it was. The stone was the size of the nail of my thumb and it was heavy around my neck.

"I am glad you like it Megan, now come, we're having dinner and don't try to tell me otherwise I asked the ballet mistress and she says you're doing wonderful and can stand to miss a late night here at the Opera." I wanted to say no. With all my heart I wanted to say no, but being in too much pain to see the Phantom, and with all the meals I had missed lately I couldn't think of an excuse before he declared my silence an agreement.

To tell the truth I might have enjoyed myself if he didn't force me to come. My mother was strong and I knew it was why she would forever be in mourning colors, but I still adored that strength and I still could not stand to play little doting woman. I did not know how Christine could do it. I wanted an opinion, I wanted my life. I did not mind the idea of being a wife, I just didn't want independence and marriage to be mutually exclusive, I wanted my husband to hear what I said when I spoke. Maman would kill me if she knew these carnal thoughts(1) but I had seen the passionate looks that some of the rats shared with their lovers and I wanted that sort of passion to burn within my relationship as well.

The Baron shed his cloak and wrapped it around me, it was too short and too wide but it was warm and I was grateful. He had a large carriage waiting for us with two white horses that looked old and tired. There was a cushion waiting for me, not that I needed it. I was used to walking or dog carts (2)if it was raining or snowing and I had the extra money. There was another blanket but it was itchy and I left it folded at my feet and tried to ignore the soft throbbing that was fading. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The Baron talked endlessly about things I did not care about. I only cared about dancing and my mother, and maybe the Phantom, the dark man who had no one but me and even he didn't want me there. What did that say about my life?

He took me to dine at a restaurant that was as grand as the Opera House I loved so much. I ate much too much and I couldn't help but feel guilty that I was eating so well and my mother would have cold porridge and Erik would have moldy bread and soup that wasn't all that fresh. It weighed heavily within my breast and it made the food taste wrong in my mouth, but my stomach didn't care what the food tasted like. It just cared that I had not fed it in much too long and it would be damned—Lord please forgive me—if it was going to pass up the chance to eat well while the money came out of someone else's money-pouch. I took small bites and cut my meat just as I was meant to, following everything that etiquette dictated, but I still ate as much as I could, finishing the soup, the salad, the main course, the dessert. Everything that they put before me I ate as quickly as I could, filling my stomach which had been empty for so long.

I also drank more wine than I should have, more than I was used too at least. It was a wonderful taste, warm and rich and red, tasting like everything the wine I had never tasted like. However on the rare occasions that I was able to drink at all it was much stronger than this. Your tolerance builds quickly like that.

As such I laughed a little bit more than I meant and I was much warmer than I had been when this evening started. The Baron's face was red and he was laughing as much as I but other than that he didn't seem too drunk. Even if he was drunk he wouldn't manage anything. He was a man and I knew he was stronger than me but I hadn't so much to drink that I had lost my speed or grace.

I realize that with a rich gentleman you knew you would probably marry thoughts along those lines weren't normal but I was in many ways still Little Meg. I still clung to the idea that maybe someone would come along and save us, a magical fairy from the stories I now danced in, the stories I adored. I knew that I lived in a sort of dream world most of the time, and Maman and the Mistress often reprimanded me for it, but I had an imagination and I couldn't help but wish for things I would never have and could never have. I could not help but wish for someone to take care of my mother and leave me to my dancing.

I knew that men could be cruel though. I saw little rats, going off with men who had money, thinking that they could improve their lives and ended up alone and with child, unable to live their life and not prepared to support someone else's life. I had seen it happen more times than I cared to know and I had gone with girls who sought to kill the life growing within them. I had seen them die and I had seen them wish for death. It was a horrible cycle and I was terrified of becoming that. So far only the Baron had kept vying for my attention when I turned away his affections.

I didn't know if I liked that dedication or if it bothered me that he would not leave me alone. To see that possibility, that idea that I could be free of all my worries with a simple word and a binding promise. He stood in front of me, smiling at me while he held my hand, lifting it slowly to his lips in his customary goodbye. I could say it now. 'Yes. I will marry you.' He had asked me three times now and I had turned him down every last time. I could accept and mother would get better and I would be free of worries. I could eat every time I was hungry and—

and Erik would die alone in his basement thinking I had abandoned him—which I would have—and I would never dance on stage again. My dream of being a Prima Ballerina would die. No hope, not that there was much now, but I would never have the chance if I married him. I would bare him children and I would lose my muscles and figured that I fought for every day. Every last day I struggled to stretch and tone my muscles just to be adequate at dancing and if I lost what little I had acquired in pregnancy…I would have no hope left at all.

We took the long way 'round to my home, passing the glimmering Eiffel tower and the empty Opera House. The tower looks like a blanket of stars spilling out of heaven, and looking at the lights winking against the dark backdrop of the night I could only hold my breath in awe of it. I had seen it hundreds of times, in day and at night. And through it all, whenever night had fallen and I saw those twinkling stars of lights, I couldn't help but gasp. It was beautiful and I wished my dancing could be half as gorgeous as the look of that tower.

As for the Opera House, I never realized it could look as foreboding as it did in the night. I had never really seen it all closed up and silent. And yet, though the gargoyles looked meaner and the whole thing looked like a ghost house, haunted by the souls of people who were lost and forgotten. The artists who never amounted to anything and died sad and heartbroken, but still, it was beautiful and it was home. I loved it and I would never fear it no matter what came to befall me within those high, elegant walls, walls that stretched so high into the night that I couldn't even see the roof where we played in the summer as children.

We reached my home after a while and he helped me out of the plane and to the ground, following me up the steps to the apartment I shared with my Maman. Not long standing on the tiny porch and I felt his lips press to the back of my hand and his overly hot breath fanned out over my glove into the small space between my glove and my sleeve. I shivered and struggled not to tear myself free, trying not to show the awkward feeling that bubbled within my full stomach.

"My poor, poor petite angel. I wish you would agree to marry me and leave this behind. A being such as you should not have to live in such humble accommodations. I would have servants there to bring you food in bed and care for your things. You would never want for anything." He whispered, stepping closer. I frowned, ducking my head and backing up, my back pressing hard against the door.

'I would want my freedom.' "I am sorry monsieur but I want to be a prima ballerina, until then I will not think myself worthy of your doting." I explained, hoping to deter him once and for all.

He took a quick step and his lips pressed scandalously to my cheek and for a moment I was dizzy with the smell of alcohol. "I am leaving again, going to Canada for a few weeks. And when I return I will ask you to marry me again. But before you tell me no," His finger pressed tight to my lips, silencing whatever I could say to turn him down again, "I want to assure you I would never ask you to stop dancing. Dancing is for you as much as air is for me." And then he turned and walked away. Suddenly it was much harder to say no to him. Suddenly I could think of no reasons to turn him down.

Erik's pained face flickered through my mind and I realized that if he were better and did not relay on me to care for him, then nothing was there to stop me from marrying the Baron. My life would be perfect if I married him. Mother would still think I was marrying below myself—somehow she had it in her head I would marry a King—but I would be able to take care of her and I would be able to dance and I would not have to worry for anything.

…I wanted to say yes. I didn't even want to wait until Erik was better but I would. I would wait until Erik was better and I would agree to marry the Baron. I would get my dear Maman her surgery and with the best doctors, maybe even on in London or New York. I would continue to dance and I would dance even harder to prove to the man who had debased himself to marry me that I was worth it. And maybe, maybe respect and thankfulness would turn to love and I would find the passion I wanted so dearly from whomever I chose to marry. I could picture my life.

We would move into his apartment here and he would buy a nice home for Maman and she wouldn't have to work anymore. Every morning I would wake to a large breakfast in bed and I would ride in a grand carriage like the one tonight to the Opera House. I could attend the masked ball and I could have one of the grand costumes I saw the lords and ladies wearing. I would be able to afford to go see Christine and Raoul—they were moving to the Netherlands as I heard—any time I liked. I could go to America and I could travel in the off season of the Opera.

I could even have a dance studio in my home, built just for me. I sighed and brushed my hair, glancing to my toe shoes on the floor near my bed. They were stained, ruined. I would need to buy more. I didn't know how I was going to afford that. But I would need to buy more, until then I was sure that Jammes or one of the other rice girls had an extra pair I could perhaps borrow.

Not that I enjoyed asking for help. It was really rather difficult and Maman almost always cursed me for that pride. Refusing to get help when I needed it. I would rather an endeavor failed than to have to ask for help and I could not deny the truth to that. I didn't like feeling helpless and I didn't know how Christine did it. I never understood how she was so naieve, so helpless. Even when I was helpless I did not act that way and I had trouble trusting people. I knew that Erik was good, deep down, but I did think that he had tricked her. I loved Christine but she was a foolish little child, more even than I was and he had taken advantage of that.

I wondered if he was just taking advantage of me, but I didn't know what he would want from me, I wasn't pretty, I couldn't sing, I couldn't play instruments…I was nothing but a chorus girl.

As that thought echoed in my head I flipped onto my stomach, curved my back and started thrashing it with all the strength I could draw.

I was nothing, I was a little girl with dreams too big for her head and when the Baron returned I would marry him because that was all I could hope for.

In those carefree, careless days I did not realize how much a person could change. I did not think that a person could change much throughout their life and yet my world would turn upside-down in the six weeks the Baron was gone. I did not realize that everything I knew would fade and vanish only to be replaced by new worries.

Again the only constant was my dance and Erik.

I didn't think anything as I got ready for bed and fell asleep. I didn't think anything because in those days I was as childish as Jammes, no matter to what I thought.

(1)I don't mean carnal like porn-o flick carnal. I mean carnal as in relation to any sort of physical relationship, even just kissing and hugging I mean with this word-choice so don't think I've gone lemon on you.

(2)British cart, very small, often used just for animals but also the poorer people. I don't know if France was the same but I knew that and so yeah…