A/N: I have to tell you something... I wrote out this whole thing before...and then it got erased! Somehow, I think I made it better for you the second time around... there is a little surprise coming up very soon that I'm sure you're all dying to know about, "We must be patient" Slithered the little worm that is writing this story, (Me, lol) Please Read and Review, you guys are great for the reviews you've given me already, hugs for all my readers.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of it's characters.
Meg frowned. Her, keep a secret? Since when had she been able to keep a secret? She was the weakest flood gate in this history of gossip. She looked up at Kristen through those worried eyes of hers,
"How can you trust me with this?" she asked, "You know I am the most foolish of all the girls in the ballet." She hung her head low in mild shame, it was not easy to admit those things about herself, but she knew they were accurate.
"Oh Meg, don't speak of yourself in such a way," Kristen replied, "I have to trust you, because you are the only one here I can count on to make this work for me. If I cannot rely on you, my chance to stay here will be gone. I believe in you Meg, you can do this." She encouraged her friend.
"I will try," Meg answered quietly, though still deep down inside she did not know if she could resist her mother's interrogations. When Madame Giry wanted something from her daughter, she usually got it, especially if it was information. "But Kristen, the Opera Ghost?" she asked, "You're in love with the Opera Ghost?"
Kristen's eyes grew wide, "SHHHH!" She held her index finger over her lips in an urgent signal for her friend to keep silent, "I do not wish for him to hear it from me yet." She whispered.
"Do you not take into account the stories? the talk? He is a mad man, and a murderer!" Meg stated, once again in absolutely no regard for the feelings of the person she was speaking to. Kristen's eyes grew to a strange level of darkness upon hearing these words, and her voice seemed to ring with quiet anger,
"Erik, is not, a mad man."
Meg watched her friend grow to this state, and she slightly winced back a bit. She had never meant to hurt anyone with those words... but as she had said, they just seemed to come out, as if they were unstoppable. "I'm sorry" She muttered in soft terror, and as Kristen realized what had just happened, she quickly calmed down.
"Oh, I'm sorry Meg, but you cannot say those things about him. He is not a mad man..."
"But he hung Joseph Buquet by the neck!" Meg said, in terror over the memory. Kristen looked at Meg with a bit of question,
"Meg, Erik has never known love, he has never known compassion, nor friendship. The world has rejected him, and you know why. No one could accept that he was born different, no one could show him the slightest amount of love... They don't know what a gift he is to the world." Her voice was brought to softness as she gently fiddled with the silken bed sheets. It was quite clear to Meg that what Kristen felt in her heart was something powerful, her eyes alone seemed to melt as she spoke of him.
"But what he did to Christine..."
"He was in love with her. You know what sort of things people do when they're in love, they become crazy!"
"Yes, that's easily observed..." Meg said, looking Kristen over as if to tell her that SHE was crazy.
"Christine wouldn't love him either... she perhaps deserved to be kidnapped. And you can't tell me that anyone really misses Joseph Buquet. From what Erik has told me, the man was a filthy pervert who deserved to be knocked off anyway." Meg sighed. She couldn't really disagree with her there. Ever since his death she found it a bit easier to sleep at night, knowing thathe wasn't there, gaping through some peep whole. She herself knew the fancy he took to young girls, the way he always spent time with the dancers after the performances... the other girls never seemed to mind much, however.
"I guess you're right," Meg said, "He hasn't really done much harm other than scare people a little. I guess I kind of liked what he did to La Carlotta though, on the night of Il Muto." she quietly laughed. Kristen joined in with her silent moment of humour, but she knew the situation was far from fine.
"If you could see the way he really is, you would not fear him. He is so kind, he is so very gentle. How anyone can refer to him as a monster is beyond me. Oh Meg, promise me you'll come visit me sometimes, we will have such fun together."
Meg gasped, "Here?" she asked, "What about... " She pointed towards the curtain entrance, to gesture that she was speaking of Erik. Kristen frowned. She really didn't know how things would turn out between them.
"I'm sure he will not mind having one visitor here" She guessed, "But you know, Meg, he did nothing to you to make you shy away in fear from him like you did that time. He even let you go without a fight. I promise you, you have nothing to fear from him."
"I don't think he likes me very much" Meg said.
"He is only saddened because you were afraid of him. He loathes himself Meg, though I cannot see a reason why..."
"Kristen... um... have you seen his face yet?" Meg asked, remembering the incident of his unmasking during Don Juan, and wondering if Kristen was still somehow under the impression that he wore the mask only to give himself that element of appealing mystery, even though they all knew he was born with some sort of horrid malformation. Wearing the mask, he was one of the handsomest men Meg had ever seen, if she could imagine the other side of his face being identical to the left side. Was it possible that Kristen hadn't yet seen his true face?
Kristen nodded, "I have, he removed his mask."
"After you could see?"
"Yes Meg, I have seen his face with my own two eyes, and I'm telling you, people make a big deal over the smallest things." Kristen knew that what she said had been an understatement. His disfigurement truly would horrify someone who was caught off guard, but she had the advantage of her twisted nature and her growing love for him. That fascination of hers towards him would only get stronger, she predicted.
Meg sighed somewhat. "I will only be able to come here if my mother doesn't know. Kristen, if I were you, I'd be careful, my mother may wish to come here once again to see if you've awaken."
Kristen nodded. She looked back out towards the light coming from the outer region. She could only think of Erik now, somewhere out there in the lair waiting for Meg to make her departure. It would be cruel for her to spend all of her time in this room conversing with Meg while he contemplated what the little rat could possibly want with Kristen. So in response to Meg's latest comment, Kristen nodded her head,
"Perhaps you should leave, then" she said gently, "If she will be back soon, the last thing you want is for her to discover that you are here."
Upon that, Meg's eyes grew wide in realization of what could, or would happen, if or when her mother found her here. She quickly nodded, and stood to leave. Kristen followed her out of the bedchamber, and held the mirror door open for her,
"Take care Meg," Kristen said, "It was really really nice to see you again!"
Meg bid her farewell, and left. When Kristen could no longer see her form moving down the shadowed tunnel, she closed the mirror, and turned around to face the lair.
Her eyes came to settle on Erik, who had been sitting there at his dark wooden desk, observing her.
"Did you enjoy your little chat?" He asked dryly, as he looked over at her from that exquisitely furnished desk. Kristen sighed, why was he being so difficult?
"As a matter of fact, yes, I did." She claimed boldly, walking towards him with an air of confidence. "You should really try and be more friendly towards her, I mean... she will be coming back, you know" She reached his desk, and stopped before him at the other side. Erik frowned immediately, his eyes igniting in their flames of green as he looked up at her.
"What?" He asked lowly, and darkly.
"Well, if this is to be my home as well, it is only fair that you allow me one or two visitors" she said. He froze in disbelief. Visitors? Plural?
"Are you crazy?" he bellowed, his voice must have echoed throughout the entire lair, and lake.
"Yes, quite." She replied. "Please Erik, try to understand. Meg is not a bad person, she is so kind and caring."
"Well, I suppose you could notsee the way she looked upon first laying eyes on me... she was horrified."
"It is not her fault that she is an immature adolescent, and I'm sure she did not mean to be so rude. You cannot blame her though" she said, "You have spent many years making your reputation here quite a fearful one... dropping props on singer's heads, making the leading lady croak like a toad, leaving little notes for the managers..."
He couldn't answer to this right away. Sitting on his desk, was the pile of many unfinished scores which he had neatly stacked there after that mob of enraged stage hands had sacked his home, scattering the pages about. Sitting on top of the pile, was a small paper weight, in the shape of a little bronze lion. Kristen smiled as she saw him begin to tinker with it, as it seemed, he would now do anything to avoid looking up at her. He looked so guilty, and it was the most adorable thing she had ever seen from him.
"Those things had to be done" he simply stated.
She laughed, "Yes, I'm sure they did."
He frowned at her, "Meg was afraid of me, not the stories. If she had feared the stories she would not have come down here to begin with." Kristen's brow lifted in anguish for the sadness she could see begin to fill his beautiful eyes.
"Erik, when she learns that she doesn't have to fear the Opera Ghost, she will come to learn that you, as a man, are nothing to fear at all. She lives in a dream land, to her, you are a cloak and footsteps. To her, you are not the loving, gentle, and not to mention ingenious man that I have come to know."
"I will be quite surprised if she is not already on her way up there to tell everyone that the young Ms. Verlaine is awake and has regained her sight..."
She grimaced, "Yes, I know, the girl can't hold a secret any better than she can hold a bar of soap, but she told me she would try, all we can do is believe in her."
"You really wish to have her come down here on occasion?" he asked her, finding it annoying that the young girl would be intruding upon their privacy together.
Kristen paused for a few moments before deciding that she should touch up on a few other subjects as well, "You know Erik, you really ought to try and think about forgiving Madame Giry." she said. And she could tell that she had struck a nerve within him regarding this particular subject. Upon those very words, he rose from his seat, walked around the desk and faced her, with a dark and silent fury.
"You do not know what you are asking" he told her with that lowest voice of evil he could muster. Kristen watched his eyes, she caught her stare begin to travel unintentionally from those pools of deep green, to his lips. She couldn't put her finger on the reason why, but his fury seemed to entice her.
"If it were not for her... we would not be together."
"That woman..." he began, then had to momentarily pause. The very memories were maddening. "First she abandoned you, to come here with that filthy pathetic excuse for a man Raoul, and ruin everything. She ruined any chance I had of ..."
"Yes yes, I know, being with your precious Christine" She finished for him in frustration, crossing her arms and looking the other way. Her voice had expressed her emotions, defeated and distressed. Would the memory of Christine never leave him?
Erik watched her in this state, and he sighed. Never did he imagine that this could turn so foul. He did not realize that she would be jealous of Ms. Daae, but obviously she was.
"Come on Kristen, what's wrong?" He asked her.
She exhaled in a tired checkmate, "Christine Daae... how do I even compare? She had a voice to match your compositions, and apparently, from what I heard, she had undeniable beauty, charm, and appeal. What do I have but a tarnished past and an empty future?... I cannot sing, nor dance, nor lay an intelligent hand to an instrument."
His eyes grew worried. How long had she been feeling these things without saying them? "You and Christine cannot compare to each other." he told her. "She was my prisoner, not my companion. She was nothing like you, she was naive and still very much a child. She was everything I thought I wanted..." he said, tracing her jaw line with a warm and gentle touch, "Can I trust that you will never row away with some young prince charming if one ever happens to show up at the theatre?
"Can you promise me that you will never leave me to pursue an old dream, should Christine Daae ever return to the Populaire?" she returned. They both gave each other the same look, as if to tell one another that they were so damned insane for even thinking it, and upon that, they smiled. Once again, a situation which was taking a turn for the worse seemed to heal itself right before their eyes.
"I still think you should have a talk with Madame Giry. You know she only does the things she does because she loves the people she does them to." She said, "And if it were not for her, I wouldn't have even come here in the first place. I might be off in some hospital right now trying to read little lumps on a page. She let me live here so that I could learn to love you, she abandoned me so that you could... rescue me," she began to smile, "And she tried to make me leave you so that I could see again. Can you not realize that these things all happened for a reason?" She asked, taking both his hands in hers and bringing herself closer to him.
"But Kristen, this place, it's a... cave. People can't just come down here as if it is a real home, you know..." She playfully scowled,
"But Erik, I thought this wasour home now." She gently pushed him. His jaw nearly hit the floor. Sometimes he still wondered how she had the audacity to pull such stunts.
"You speak as if it isyour home now..." he gently pushed her back. She had opened her mouth to say something in response, but words seemed to give way to a bit of a playful fist fight, ultimately they ended up kissing each other more passionately than they'd ever kissed before.
Meanwhile, in a rather less joyful region of the Opera Populaire, Madame Giry paced the entrance back and forth, contemplating how she should remove Kristen from that horrid, horrid place. She could contact Dr. Perdoux and have him find an opening in a blind school for her... she would be better off there than in this place, under the rule of Erik, the Phantom. She had to wonder though, could Kristen have truly wanted to stay? Was it her own free will? It was hard to tell, when Erik had such an overpowering hold on people.
"MADAME GIRY!" A very gleeful male voice carried itself through the rotunda. It was Armande, and he was running down the stairs as if he were half mad. "We're saved! We're saved!" He laughed out joyously. "We've found a patron! We are being sponsored! And these blueprints of yours, they will be put to use as soon as next week!"
"That is grand" Madame Giry said. Before she could inquire as to who was to be this latest sponsor, a tired looking Meg Giry came around the corner yawning, as it was very late in the day, and she was dressed in her night clothes,
"Maman, is everything all right? I heard yelling."
Armande smiled with friendliness,
"Young Meg..." he said, "Of course, you will not believe the good news." He looked up at Antoinette, giving her the honour of voicing these greatest tidings to her daughter.
"Oh Meg!" Madame Giry said. Meg looked a bit startled. Her mother had given her such a look of pure joy. She had not seen that come out of this strict ballet instructor since the day La Carlotta had left Paris for good. "We are being funded! the Populaire shall be rebuilt after all!" she joyfully explained.
A small squeal of gladness passed through young Meg's lips, and before she knew it, she was both hands with Monsieur Armande, jumping up and down for joy.
"Oh mother, who is to be our patron?" she asked, wondering with infinite curiosity.
A smile came to her expression, "Who shall be our patron?" Meg repeated. With that, Armande's appearance paled somewhat, and he was silenced completely. Antoinette recognized the sudden discolouring of his cheeks, and only the worse thought came to her mind. The only time she ever saw Armande in this sort of worry, was when it regarded the Opera Ghost. Was it possible that the newest patrons of the Opera Populaire were the count and countess de Chagny?
