Fears Within a Dream...

Light flooded through Meg's eyelids, promptly following the click of the locking door. Bringing a hand to her forehead to block the intense light, the young woman attempted to open her eyes, only she found herself unable to do so. In a nervous fit of confusion, she cowered back into the door, groping at the air fruitless in front of her. Something dangerous could be in the room, and she could not see! Why were her eyes not opening! My God, have I gone blind? Meg thought in panic, moving her hands to her eyes. No, they were simply shut, why could she not open them...? The panic fled from her, and Meg sighed in relief- that is until she ran her index fingers under her eyes. Scowling, in both disgust and confusion, she brought her hands out in front of her face, the sensation of some sort of viscous liquid sticking to her fingers, and whatever it was had begun to slowly seep down her cheeks. Exhaling loudly in an exclamation of disgust, Meg flung out her hands pointlessly. Still unable to open her eyes, apparently because of the substance, she dare not wander forward. Turning round instead, Meg fumbled to locate the doorknob, relieved to find it still present. Tugging, Meg fought for freedom, but the door refused to be opened.

Cursing under her breath, Meg kicked the door, before collecting herself and unsteadily turning again to face the light. Strangely, the light had dimmed to a soft, red glow through her eyelids. Though, instead of being comforted, this only added her uneasiness. Inhaling deeply, Meg put on a firm countenance, before boldly stepping forward. Pain was pain, whatever was waiting, surely she could handle it. Though, she nearly shuddered at the remembrance of the unbearable pain from shattered knees. She had lived through that, Meg reasoned, as well as technically drowning. "This is all a dream..." Meg murmured, as if she was speaking to some unknown person in the room. With this, her mind began to drift to Erik. 'Yes, think of something else. Think of Erik.' Her mind endorsed. Though, Meg had no time to mull, as a sharp wind rushed over her, and with that carried the hard scent of rotting flesh. "Ugh!" Meg sounded, bring her hand to cover her nose, despite the still present sticky substance. "What is that?" She cried in disgust, before her foot caught on something. Gasping, Meg threw out her arms to steady herself, again fighting to open her eyes, growling in frustration when she found it useless. What had she tripped over? Curiosity overcoming the little uncertainty in her mind, Meg kneeled, making her again aware of her damp clothing. Shrugging off the discomfort, in light of more serious issues, Meg tentatively lowered her hands down toward the floor. Her breath caught for a moment, until a faint laugh passed her lips- the carpet- it was nothing but a bunch in the carpet. "You could have done better.." Meg remarked coolly, sneering faintly. A house of horrors, right? Allowing a bit of uneasy laughter to pass from her throat, Meg made to stand, before the stench of death altered with a subtle gust of wind.

Remaining motionless, Meg stilled crouched on the ground with her hands on the carpet. Frozen, not from fear, but wariness. No, Meg found she was no longer afraid, and imagined she would be fit to face whatever was in front of her- the problem was- she could not see what was in front of her. Though, the calming scent of roses was nice, an extreme leap from whatever seemed to have been dying some moments before. As well, her dress was no longer wet. Enjoying the sudden, tranquil atmosphere, Meg leisurely stood. "Open your eyes." A voice instructed, divine and even, it sounded as if some celestial being was commanding her. And so- she obeyed with no question, finding her eyes allowed this, though the substance not only made this into a delicate procedure, her vision was additionally distorted and tinted amber.

"I cannot see..." Meg murmured, her voice taking on a softer tone. As first she took no notice, until replaying the complaint in her head, she nearly scowled. Meg guessed the light feeling of contentment and comfort, was taking effect on her. Slowly, it seemed the amber liquid fell from her vision.

Meg found herself in a fairly normal sized, red-tinted room, from some light source Meg had not cared to locate. To the right was a pine armoire brocade and to the left of that a rather large commode, topped with well placed red roses, with lit candles, which stood where the stems crossed. Closer to Meg, on the left as well, was a large fireplace, though it was not lit. Elaborate brocade curtains canopied the inlaid sleigh bed that rested against the wall in the middle of the windowless room. It was not until Meg's gaze fell on the shadowed figure that stood aside the back curtain, that she brightened, lost her dazed countenance. "Erik.." Meg breathed in a gentle tone, and nearly choked when the voice that came out was barely her own. In her mind, she had voiced his name in a somewhat vivacious exclamation of relief. Finding herself unable to clear her throat, Meg instead tried to speak again. "I am so glad I found you." She enlightened, less taken back by the way her voice sounded.
"As am I.." Erik replied coolly, in the same heavenly voice. Though, Meg decided their was something wrong with it, it was almost artificial.

Staring blankly, Meg watched as the masked man moved from the shadows and to the commode. "Erik, I believe there is something wrong with my voice..." She trailed off wryly, watching as he leisurely began to put out the candles with a simple wave of his hand.

"I find nothing peculiar regarding your voice." Erik responded, in the same level voice.
"How is it you cannot tell?" She inquired politely, despite how she had meant to sound taken back. It was quiet, and Meg realized that Erik had no intention on answering her query.
"Marguerite..." The unreal voice began, as Erik lifted his gaze to her, the last of the candles being extinguished. The room was dimmed, though the red tint still remained. Strolling toward Meg leisurely, Erik continued. "As a child...I...interested you, did I not?" He inquired in a soft, intoxicating voice as he approached her. For a moment, Meg stood still, staring at the masked man before her. Erik had stopped at an unacceptable distance from her, with a fixated gaze that made Meg extremely uncomfortable.
"Yes..." Meg admitted, her voice sounding wistfully despite how she stepped back. Her voice was not her own, if this was Erik; it was her who was provoking him. Why could not speak her own words? Frustrated, Meg showed this clearly in her expression. Erik would understand by that, would he not? Meg had no intention of toying with him, but she was afraid to speak again, if her own voice betrayed her. No luck, the look in Erik's eyes had not changed, and instead of drawing away, Erik had reached to cup Meg's face in his hands lightly. Finding herself unable to move, Meg struggled to keep from speaking. How could he not tell? Surely, she looked terrified, why was Erik not pulling away? "Then...allow me to fascinate you..." He began, leaning forward in a sort of motion to bring his lips to hers.

Eyes widening, Meg suddenly let out a loud shriek, throwing her arms out into Erik's face. Shoving him away, she stumbled back, watching as Erik pressed his hand against his mask to assure Meg's attack had not thrown it off. Meg expected him to look hurt, or confused, instead, he was sneering. Glowering, Meg pointing an accusing finger at the man. "You are not Erik!" She cried, inside cheering, at the recognition of her own tone; her not so crystal clear voice was hers once again! Meg was amazed at how thankful she was to once again fully be herself. Though- she quickly collected herself, and began to step back and move away from the man who posed as Erik.

"What does it matter?" The impersonator chuckled, watching Meg all the while. "He belongs to this house, as you do. The Phantom is as much Erik as I." He paused, as Meg stopped her retreat, to scowl at him.
"There is no Phantom." Meg corrected, as if she was scolding the other ballet girls. Rising her hand, she shook her index finger at the impersonator. "Erik is Erik. Maman told me so."

"Your mother is dead." The impersonator informed smugly, and Meg visibly flinched.
"Yes, she is." She replied coldly, in a near snarl. The impersonator held out his hands in apology, before straightening up, and placing his arms akimbo.
"Forgive me, I spoke impolitely. Marguerite, there is no way you can escape. Hopelessly, you are trapped here, left to wander for eternity. I offer you this, because I so wish you will accept, if you agree to stay with me- forever, you will live as if you would with the phantom you call Erik." The impersonator made his offer, and for a moment, Meg's countenance went blank. She surveyed the impersonator, and found him no different than Erik. But his voice, the impersonator's voice was different.
"No." Meg replied easily, crossing her hands over her chest in a childish manner. Though, with no time to continue, or scoff, Meg felt a death grip tighten around her neck. Eyes flying open, she found herself staring into the burning eyes of the impersonator, though, in instead of fury, they flared with amusement.

"Do you think he will love you?" The impersonator sneered, tightening his grip on her neck, the more she thrashed. "With that voice?" He laughed loudly, before murmuring something about a face, watching Meg's terror filled eyes, as she gasped loudly for breath, pushing back on his wrist. "You are-" The impersonator began, voice loud and resounding, before it cut off in a horrid retch. His grip on Meg's throat loosened, and promptly Meg sunk toward the ground, inhaling in deep, uneven breaths as life returned to her. Head spinning from the lack of oxygen, she forced herself to slink away, as she stared at the two identical men.

Erik had seemingly appeared in the room from no where, having ran to the fireplace furtively, and retrieved a fire poker, he had returned to lance the impersonator to the right, under his ribs. Meg watched as blood began to rush from the wound, flowing down the wrought iron and rolling over Erik's hands. The impersonator gagged, smile falling lopsided as Erik pressed the poker farther into his side. Erik's glare was vicious and intense, even as the impersonator slowly began to maneuver to face him, the sound of his flesh tearing as he did so, his caught clothing twisting oddly. The blood was running in rivers now, pouring down onto the floor, creating a puddle round his feet. In nearly all manners, he appeared careless, if not for his ragged breath. "Monster." The impersonator spat, blood mottling Erik's mask. He smirked for a moment more, before his body went rigid, and whatever kind of life in the doll seemed to seep from him. Pupils dilating, he withered, going lifeless before he crumbled to the floor before Erik's feet.

It was quiet for a long moment, as Erik released the fire poker. Staring down, at the dead man on the floor, he was nearly interested in viewing himself as an actual corpse. Stepping back, the floor again caught his attention- it was spinning, altering to a dust colour. Steadying himself, Erik waited until the surroundings settled, before he lifted his gaze to Meg. She was staring at him, looking bewildered, and somewhat frightened. Erik expected her to run, after seeing him kill; did it matter who? He had done it without thought, without care- like a genuine maniac.
"Thank you Erik!" Meg cried in relief, her voice echoing through the empty foyer. Running forward, dust trailing her, she wrapped her arms around him. Going rigid, Erik stared in surprise past her, until she moved away in a somewhat uncomfortable manner. "Yes..." She murmured, averting her eyes for a moment before clearing her throat. "Really, Erik. It was all quite a strange story; do you want to know what happened?" Meg inquired, she was proud of herself, being so resistant, and wanted Erik to know how she had replied to the impersonator's query. He did not answer, and instead had taken to staring at her in a curious manner. Though, Meg ignored this and began to explain in an unclear manner. "There were roses, quite a few actually, it was...very, cliche. Roses."
"What is wrong with roses?" He inquired, though sounded disinterested."Nothing...it is simply that..." Meg trailed off, as Erik reached for her face. Freezing, she stared blankly, until his fingertips gently brushed her left cheek. She waited patiently, until Erik took his hand back, and watched him as he studied his fingertips.
"You have honey on your face, mademoiselle." He enlightened, in a dry manner.
"That is what that was!" Meg exclaimed, before bringing her hands to her face. Thinking back, Meg could not help but put on a disgusted countenance. Wiping the sweetener off on his dinner jacket, Erik noted the missing corpse, and the blood that seemed to disappear from his hands. With a wary glance, and looking suddenly exhausted, he took off without a word toward the stairs.

Staring dumbly after Erik, it took Meg a second before she started after him. "Erik, I am quite tired, do you think we could rest?" She inquired, following him up the steps, her trail from before still present. He did not speak, until reaching the top of the stairs, and reaching the nearest wall, which turned to form the first hallway to the left.

"Yes- if you so wish." He allowed, sounding somewhat irked; though Meg believed he was thankful for the chance to take a break himself. Tentatively, Meg strode to him, before sighing softly and sinking to the floor in front of the wall. When Erik had not moved for a nearly a minute, Meg looked up at him, leaning back against the wall. The air between them was awkward, and had begun to annoy Meg.
"I knew it was not you, monsieur." She informed, and this seemed to pull Erik from his thoughts. He had lowered himself to the floor as well, and graced her with a glance.
"How clever you are." He commented dryly, though it seemed he was not trying to insult her. Really, Meg felt pleased. Erik had sat beside her, not across, or down some ways. Without an answer, Meg turned her head away, staring through the wrought iron bars of the railing impassively. It was then, in a brief moment, a faint sort of sadness washed over her. If she were alone, Meg did not doubt she would have gone insane in this place. Erik had been alone. Now, after thinking back to the simple, now unfamiliar sentiment of comfort she had in the room before being approached, she was desperate for something other than dust and blood. Looking over at Erik, she hesitated visibly, before shifting and then very quickly, leaning against him.

Meg felt Erik tense; though despite how Erik appeared uncomfortable, he had not move. Meg waited for a moment, before she exhaling deeply and maneuvered to rest better against Erik's shoulder. Inclining her head, she breathed in his scent and smiled subtly. 'He smells nothing like roses.' Meg discovered, finding the idea was foolish to begin with. No, Erik smiled like sandalwood. Closing her eyes, Meg exhaled, drifting off to sleep before she felt Erik relax.