A/N: Okay. Tired of the rehashing? Well it ends, for the most part, here. Well, not exactly HERE here, but within this chapter. *ahem* Once again, I own nothing!

I was not given very much time after that to dwell on my sadness over his words. But then, nor was Mama given much opportunity to question me about my absence, and for that, I was grateful. In the few moments I did have to think about everything, I became more and more confused. Was this too heavy a burden for me to bear? Was I really never meant to have seen him…to have spoken to him? But he had spoken of destiny, and so I supposed I was meant to. And he had treated me so kindly—how could he have said that he did not deserve to be called my friend?

With a heavy heart and a head full of questions, I decided to confide in my mother. And so, early the next morning, before everyone else was awake, I made my way to Mama's quarters, where I knew she would be up.

As I entered, she turned away from her mirror and smiled at me. "Why, Meg, what a pleasant surprise…"

"I know, Mama…the Phantom…I know…" With a heavy sigh, she stood and grasped my hands.

"I can see in your face that you are not talking about the stories…" I shook my head, and she sighed again. "Did he come to you then? Like he did with Christine?"

"No, Mama…I went to him." As I said this, she lowered herself to her bed. "He did not break his promise."

"You know of that? What else do you know?" She listened carefully as I told her about the rooftop and the exchange of gifts…how I had gone down to his lair the previous morning. With each meeting I told her about, I found it harder and harder to read her face. Finally, after a moment of silence, she sighed.

"Meg, my child…I did not have him make that promise because I was fearful of him. I knew that you would someday have the caring heart that you do now. You should not have to bear his pain…you should not have sought him out like this…you must forget about him."

"Mama, I did not come here to seek your permission. I came here to seek your advice. You and I both know that I cannot simply forget about him…" She studied me for several minutes, and then sighed.

"I see my caring nature is not everything you inherited from me, my dear. But what advice do you seek from me?"

"Has he ever called you his friend? Have you ever referred to him as a friend?"

"No my dear…at best I have been his helper…his assistant. He has never confided in me anything that was not necessary to the carrying out of his orders." She gave me an apologetic smile then. "I'm afraid my fears have kept me from questioning him further."

"But surely…surely you believe he is deserving of friends…"

"Of course, my dear. I could not be, but perhaps you will be the one. Just be careful. Do not take on more than you can handle."

"But how do I go about it when he has rejected me?"

"Persistence. He is a man as stubborn as we are…but then he may insist on doing one thing and then suddenly change his mind. So do as you said you would and go to the rooftop tonight. You may find that he has surprised even himself."

"Thank you, Mama!" I threw my arms around her and kissed her cheek, and she laughed.

"Ah, Meg, my dear, you are certainly my daughter! Now then, let us go to breakfast!"

By the time night fell, however, I had a more urgent reason to go to the rooftop than simply checking his stubbornness. I burst through the door and ran to the edge, grasping onto a statue for dear life while trying not to be sick. Be here…please be here… "Well you certainly keep your promises, I shall give you that." I could hear the smirk in his voice, but I had no time for smirks. As I attempted to catch my breath, he came up beside me. "Why so breathless?"

"Mama…she heard…told me to tell you….urgent…"

"For goodness sake, child, sit down and rest!" I turned away from the roof's edge and slid to the ground, burying my face in my hands. I heard him sit down in front of me, and when I finally looked up, he was sitting against the statue, watching me with concern while waiting for me to explain myself. Several minutes passed, and then he spoke again. "Marguerite?"

"Don't be angry, Monsieur, but I told Mama about our meetings…"

"You did what?"

"Please, Monsieur…I had to…I needed her help…"

"Very well…go on…" he groaned.

"Today…she met with the Vicomte and several others…they're plotting against you…" He sighed and nodded as I said this.

"Yes, I did happen to hear that conversation…"

"Did you also hear the one between the Vicomte and Christine?"

"When?"

"Tonight…in the chapel…"

"And what did they say?"

"He's…going to use her to distract you… to bring you within reach of the police…she's going to betray you…"

"No! She wouldn't!"

"But she is, Monsieur…I heard her myself. She was hesitant at first, but he talked her into it…"

"And how did you happen to hear this, Little Giry?"

"Accidentally…I was looking for Christine, and I got to the chapel door and…I heard them." As I spoke, he stood up and began pacing.

"She's…going to betray me?"

"Yes, Monsieur…"

"Do you know how?"

"No…but I felt I should warn you…and tell you to be careful." He stopped pacing and lowered his head, bringing his hand up to rub it. Suddenly he turned and flew back over to me.

"If I find you have lied to me…"

"Why would I lie to you?" I met his glare evenly, and he studied my face before letting out a sigh.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't lie…" It was several minutes before he spoke again. "Very well…tomorrow night, whatever happens… take your mother and go down to the lake."

"Why would I…"

"The lake, Marguerite. That is all you must know. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Monsieur…but what if…what if she won't come?"

"She will. I will send her a letter."

"Very well…"I nodded, and he touched my shoulder.

"You were wise to tell me what you heard. Now go…get some sleep." I nodded again and silently went back inside, not wanting him to see my fears.

I was somehow able to get sufficient sleep that night. I mention this only because the next day was so hectic that there would have been no other way I could have survived it. Final rehearsals went as planned, but surrounding everything we did was a thick tension that set everyone on edge. Throughout the entire day, his words of warning repeated themselves constantly. The lake. Go to the lake. The instructions were simple enough. It was the unknown that made me so nervous.

Before I knew it, the curtain was about to open. Part of me wanted to just grab my mother's hand and run down to the lake at that moment, just to get it over with. And yet every ounce of my upbringing and training told me that the show had to go on. Mama had told me that she had received his note, and that she agreed to go. Now all we could do was wait—but for what? He had failed to mention any sort of signal. But it was too late to try to track him down. My cue was drawing near, and so I quickly turned my expression of very real anxiety into a fake grin that hopefully no one could see through.

And then I was dancing, pushing my worries aside and putting all my energy into remembering the routine. It was never far from my mind that he had written what I was dancing to, and yet I knew that he had composed this entire opera with her in mind. Not my dancing.

Before I could scold myself for my selfish attitude, the song was over and I moved off stage, immediately going to the dressing room to change costumes. I was usually quick in doing this anyway, but this time I didn't want to miss a single thing. And so the finishing touches were done on my way back to my mother's side. She was glancing upward, to the bridge onstage, and there was a look of horror on her face. As I followed her gaze, my heart leapt out of my chest and into my throat. He was there…the Phantom of the Opera, performing onstage with Christine. And once again, I found myself caught in the power of emotion between them.

I reminded myself that this was, after all, a performance that required such emotion, but this was not acting. This was very real. She played herself, a young innocent damsel trapped in a snare. And he was the mastermind behind the trap, using all his genius and trickery to get her where he wanted her. This opera was his…more his than the opera house in which we were standing. Was that the message he was trying to send? That even though he didn't officially own the building, he owned this opera...the music, the characters-the actors? Christine. "You belong to me," he had said at the Masquerade. And apparently he had meant every word of it.

As I watched them, I heard them sing the scripted words "The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn…" He was holding her from behind, singing into her ear, a position that would have made me melt. But then I saw his one hand subtly reach over to a lever, and as he pulled it, the chandelier over the audience began to swing dangerously above. He then grabbed the nearest candlestick and lit the railings of the bridge. In the uproar of screams from the audience and cast, he pulled another lever which caused them to disappear below the stage.

"Now Marguerite! Come with me!" Mama was pulling my wrist as I watched the bridge come crashing down, completely blocking the trap door into which they had disappeared. I watched the stage upon which I had danced so many routines become completely consumed by the flames. I watched the chandelier come crashing down to the seats below, and with tears in my eyes, I finally allowed my mother to pull me to the passageway behind the mirror.

A/N: Okay this was the last chapter FOR NOW that I will be publishing. Next one needs a bit of tweaking. So, now would be a good time to leave a review…and check out my other stories…while you wait! Stay tuned! :)