Author's Note: I decided a long time ago that I didn't think Christine deserved the Phantom. Yes, I do believe she had some idea of what his life had been like and the sort of person he was by the end but she had to be forced into seeing those things. Christine practically threw herself at Raoul like some weak, fainting woman without the ability to stand up for herself. So…I present to you a slightly stronger woman!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera and make no profit off of this story.


It was not an unusual thing in the Opera house to hear someone praying, not now with dread hanging on everyone's shoulders and death just around the corner. No, what would be unusual would be to hear someone praying for the cause of everyone's panic. And yet, in the dim and lonely hours of morning, that is exactly what one little dancer was doing.

"Heavenly Father. Please hear me. Please…keep Christine away from the Phantom. She's destroying him! She doesn't care about him and she'll go with that vicomte of hers. It's not fair and she doesn't deserve the Phantom. He doesn't deserve that. Please, Lord, keep him safe." Meg paused, searching the fancifully designed window glass before her for inspiration, for the words that would sway God to her side. She found nothing and so she just repeated "Please," before adding "Amen." With nothing left to say she rose to her feet lightly, brushing the dust off her frilly pink skirt.

The voice stopped her at the door. "Did you really mean that?" It echoed across the room and Meg looked back curiously, even though she knew she would not find him.

"Yes. Christine's my friend, Phantom, but all she wants is someone to take care of her. Her vicomte is young, attractive, and rich. She'll see him as everything she needs. She sings for you because you promise that protection right now."

"The Music…" His voice sounded uncertain, even though the distortion of the echo.

"She will marry the vicomte knowing that any wife of his could never lead a life on the stage." She knew that for certain, remembering giggling and girlhood confessions whispered in friendship. Then, softer, she added "She doesn't love you."

She waited for the voice to say something else but it was silent. "I'm sorry," she told him, not knowing if he was still listening or not. With one last backward glance she left the chapel and the Phantom to their silent contemplation.


She knew better than to pray aloud now, when she knew he could hear her. She was right too, as he addressed her as soon as she was alone.

"Doesn't she care about the Music?" the voice, as before, came suddenly, startling her.

"I don't know. It's all she's ever known; first from her father and now from you. And she thinks you are her father's angel."

"Is that the only reason why?" There was anguish there in that beautiful voice, that voice that gave her delightful shivers.

"I don't know." she repeated.

"The Music…" the half-sob hung in the air.

"Phantom?" she called but, like the last time, he had apparently gone. "Phantom! There are other people who can appreciate music!" But she didn't know if he had heard.


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