:A/N: Yes, I know, I know! But I thought I'd make this your Christmas present and just write on for you guys! For I'll have lots of time on my hands for the next two weeks. Take care, you'll meet a load of One-Shots about Mme Giry and Erik!

Besides, anybody wants another Raoul – Antoinette fic?

:Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. What – a – shame.

:Claimer: Maxime as well as the cook are mine. Don't try to steal them. I won't give them for anybody to borrow. No way. Heheh.

:Thanks to Robika, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Zidler's Strawberry (which actually sounds to me like Hitler's Strawberry, but never mind tee hee), Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz, and last but not least at all Meg Giry:

:Beta-Read: by Lady-Miranda-Van Tassel

Far Cry:

: Chapter 12 : Unfaithful:

Madame Giry woke up in a dark room, feeling the person's heat lying next to her who had eventually put his arms around her. Her heart almost stopped beating at the mere thought of what had happened. But as soon as she remembered the joyful facets of the night, her breathing slowed back down and she sighed.

Finally, after years of suffering from not being looked at, not being touched, hugged, honestly smiled at, she was in his bed, in the middle of the night – left alone she was feeling good. Satisfied, she slowly got out of bed, clearly trying to avoid waking him up. The room was so dark she could barely see where she was going, but as she stepped with her bare feet on her dress, she knew she'd find the way outside.

In the hall, Raoul's servant nodded to her and opened the door. "Shall I call for a carriage?" he asked.

"No, thank you. The Opera isn't too far away. Good night."

"Good night, Madame."

As she stepped outside, she breathed in the nippy air and her nose refused to smell the dirt in the streets. She only felt the good in the world, the beauty, as if there had never been anything to disturb her peace.

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"Where have you been?" Erik was sitting on his bed, shooting darts at Christine's painting with an expression which revealed proximately that he was angry… very angry.

"Nowhere," Maxime lied and sat down next to him.

"I can smell him." Erik closed his eyes, feeling the pain clutching his heart. "You've been with another man."

"I haven't," she said again.

"He smells like chicken."

'He most definitely is a chicken from what he planned on doing with me tonight. Didn't even know how to spell what I wanted to do.' Maxime shook her head. "It's just the smell of my dinner. We had chicken today. So, are we going to make some plans?"

"About what?" He denied settling for her lies. "How to create more lies so that I'll make myplans on dealing with you?" His voice was suddenly much colder, as if he had changed into a different person. His eyes steaming with anger, he trembled. "And I trusted you! Weren't I enough for you?"

"But Erik, there was nothing!"

He stood up. "How dare you lie to me? Didn't I give you my unconditioned love? I thought we'd be a couple!"

"We are!"

"Lovers are NOT unfaithful!" He was half screaming, half crying and strongly gesturing. "You darn it did it with another man who smells like chicken! Couldn't you at least pick somebody worthy of it?" Although Maxime was used to his emotional breakdowns, this was too much for her nerves. She had strong ones, for she had learned it was only wise to stay far away from Erik while he was screaming, but since he was screaming at her this time, she felt her fingers tremble.

"Erik, I-"

He slapped her.

"Don't call me that! My name's no longer to be said by your tongue! Unworthy you are! Unfaithful! How dreadful this day is, how much pain you caused me – leave! And if I ever again see you with another man, oh, you shall burn!" The last words he said so loudly, so clearly, that Maxime already felt the fire's heat that would kill her. She stood up, turned around and left.

Some moments later, Erik couldn't hear her steps anymore and sat back down on his bed, still breathing heavily. He had just threatened the women he loved – and God, the old Erik would came back to daylight.

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Meg Giry sat up in bed. A dream had haunted her so badly she had died in her dream. Her heart beating hard against her chest, she touched her forehead and felt the sweat pearls. 'This can't go on any further. I can't be with the Vicomte. He loves my mother. How wicked this is. She's not even his age.'

But things were the way they were, and apparently, the big-breasted, blonde ballerina had developed honest feelings for Raoul. These feelings destroyed her, made her stop eating, stop sleeping properly, although her dance improved. 'There is no way for me to show my feelings. I don't want to hurt Mama.' Yes, Mama… Mama… Mama…

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The next morning, Christine sat in front of her mirror, combing her almost plastic-looking locks and smiling brightly at her face. 'I'm a princess, I'm a princess.' Every human being in the world knew she was one, for a princess of cruel nerve-killing skills. Suddenly, a thought stroked her mind. Extremely astonished, she stood up immediately, causing her make-up table to shake, and her mouth fell open.

"My boobs are too small! That is why he didn't want me!"

And so she decided to go down and see the Phantom. He was always able to help her. Maybe he'd even make her boobs a little bigger.

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To be continued….

starring the insane-driving Chris. For God's sake.

:A/N: For those who are wondering why this isn't funny anymore, I decided to make the drama a little more.. sad. I feel for Meg, and for Madame – and for Erik. I hope you're not too disappointed.