3
His Empire
"What!" Madame Giry stared at the towering shadow before her with wide eyes. "Monsieur, I-I..."
The Phantom, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, turned his mischievous amber gaze to the ballet instructor before him. No words were spoken for a few moments, and when the Madame grew tired of waiting for his response, she took a deep breath and continued.
"I'm sorry," she said, voice hesitating as the Ghost took a few steps towards her, his arms still crossed and a menacing scowl set across his features.
"I just can't do what you ask of me. These girls...I think of them as my children. I...just..."
She was silenced by a wave of the Phantom's elegant hand. "Nonsense," was all he said before turning his back on her to stride over towards the fire. He leaned towards it, the reflection of the flames glinting off of his eyes, giving that already unnatural gaze an unearthly look.
"You can do it, you just don't want to. There is a difference between the two, Madame. And I'm not asking, I'm demanding."
"Please, Monsieur, what you a-...demand...is too much."
"Why?" The Opera Ghost growled angrily, fist slamming against the wall and making Madame Giry flinch.
"I will not sacrifice these girls for your...pleasure. They are innocent young ladies, Monsieur! I will not throw their lives away."
The Phantom chuckled softly while turning around, his strange-colored eyes boring into her very soul.
"Innocent!" His laugh grew louder before breaking off and fading into silence; a very awkward silence indeed. "They are not as innocent as you believe. Why, I highly doubt if there is one among them who hasn't already slept with a man! Innocent my a-"
"I understand," the ballet instructor broke him off before he could finish his vulgar statement. "But still..."
With an exasperated sigh, the Phantom closed the distance between him and the Madame, his impressive form engulfing her in darkness. Yes, darkness and a mask of white. But the light that mask gave off was very cold.
"There is nothing to consider, Madame. You will help me or you will not. But know this: I always get my way, and I will have my night of pleasure, whether you aid my cause or whether I have to resort to kidnap and murder. Though, it would be less trouble if you would just agree to my demands. And if you are kind enough, I just might spare your daughter from this disgrace."
Madame Giry's face went pale at the mention little Meg. "You wouldn't!"
"Oh, I would, and if you keep this up I will. She is quite the beauty, I must admit, though a little frail for my tastes. But she would do just fine, I believe."
"How could you do something like this!" Tears were filling her eyes, threatening to spill over at the thought of her Meg, entwined in loves duet with this monster.
Another dark chuckle from the Opera Ghost brought up a dangerous rage - and, admittedly, fear - in the pit of her stomach.
"It's actually quite simple, really. I think of the Opera House as a sort of...empire. And I am the emperor. You and dear Monsieur Poligny are...shall we say, my trusted advisors. The petty stagehands and workers are my servants, there to do my bidding and bend and twist to my will. So that leaves the corps de ballet, which I consider a sort of...harem, so to speak. I have the right and the will to do as I please, Madame, and no one will stop me."
Madame Giry stared intently at the fire, as if it held all the answers to her problems. How ironic, she thought as she mused over everything the Phantom had asked of her.
The moonlight shone brilliantly through the glass paned windows, casting dancing shadows all across Madame Giry's living room. So many illusions, both fanciful and frightening, so different from one another, yet so very alike. They danced across the carpeted floor, not a care in the world. Monster paired with Angel, Beauty paired with Beast, Jester with King, Queen with Peasant. Yes, the world of shadows was a strange world indeed. But a beautiful world, nonetheless.
How odd, that beauty could be so closely related to the feared, the unknown. For, truly, beauty was in the eye of the beholder.
Beauty could be said of someone's outer appearance by most, yet the select few could scoff at the idea, there tastes being completely different from that of others. Some might say one has a beautiful soul, yet the majority of society would not care enough to look and would just assume the handsomeness of one's soul to the handsomeness of one's face.
Ah, yes, a face. The face, some have said, defines the man. For your emotions are most shown on your face, and how you react to someone or something is a mirror to who you are inside. Because even if you wear that cool facade when in company, it is said you are insecure for having to hide your true emotions behind a mask.
A mask.
A chill went down the Madame's spine as that gleaming white mask she had been expecting materialized before her very eyes. At first it seemed to hover on it's own, but as it floated closer you could see it was attached to a tall, menacing shadow. Then the Phantom stepped out into the moonlight and his dark, hard features were basked in an eerie glow.
After all these years, she had yet to get used to that look.
And was it really her fault? How could one truly get used to the presence of a ghost? Perhaps he really was a man, like he so looked, yet he still held the air of something other-worldly and that was reason enough to fear him.
And fear him she did, especially now as he stood before her, a thoughtful yet somehow evilly mischievous look glinting in those strange amber eyes of his.
She held out the basket clutched in her hands to him, the contents that of bread, cheese, fruit, and some wine. The usual supplies he asked for.
But as he took it, he set it down on a chair towards his right and turned his attention to the woman in front of him.
Madame Giry was shocked, to say the least. He had never bothered to speak to her much, and now he seemed to be giving her his full attention.
"Madame," he said elegantly with a nod of his head. Giry just looked at him, nodding slightly in return.
"Yes...?" she said after he didn't reply.
"There is something I would like you to do for me."
Completely confused and taken aback, the ballet instructor murmured a soft "Yes?" and lowered her eyes to the carpet, her whole mind attentive to what he would say.
"I would like you to gather your ballet rats and take them to the stage tonight at midnight."
Now that was unexpected!
"Might I ask why?" She said, straining with every fiber of her being against breaking out and bombarding him with questions.
"You may. I wish to meet them."
Eyes wide, Giry questioned him again. "What?"
The Phantom chuckled softly. "They have been quite...naughty as they have matured into women. I wish to...teach them that such a thing is wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm taking one down to my lair and am going to have her show me what I have been denied for so long: the joys of the flesh. And if she is good I just might do it again. Tonight I plan on doing it, and tonight I wish to choose one of them. Besides, it's about time they, too, paid their salary to the Opera Ghost."
Yes, Madame Giry thought, gazing at the dying embers. How ironic that those fading flames should resemble her soul at that very moment. What she had to do was killing her inside. But she must protect Meg.
"Tonight, at midnight," she said softly, almost inaudibly.
Nodding, the Phantom turned around and pressed a secret compartment on the ballet instructor's wall to reveal a gaping black passage. "You have two hours." With a swirl of his cloak, he was gone.