Hello again! For me, this was a pretty fast update, so I'm proud of myself. :)

Also, thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm delighted at all the feedback after only one chapter!

grandma paula: Thank you for being my first reviewer! :)

Whitherwings7: Thank you very much, for your review as well as your fave and follow!

Not A Ghost3: Thanks for the thoughtful review!

Rainstorm The RainWing: Wow- you like Phantom of the Opera?! It's nice to see someone else from my other fandoms who likes it! Thanks for the review!

Now, onto the story:

A dream. It had to be a dream. Meg felt a sort of numbness as her mother's breathing ceased. A dream…

Yet, somehow, her mother's death-white skin blending in with the pale sheets created such a realistic picture that made Meg uncomfortable. She closed her eyes and prayed, clutching Mme. Giry's limp hand with unnecessary force. Please, oh please be a dream. It's just too much to handle.

Any moment now, Meg would wake up, disgusting and sweaty yet relieved, laughing at herself for being so scared. But long, slow seconds passed, and Meg could still feel the disturbing chill in the air that comes with death. She could still feel the rough floorboards beneath her knees, and the hand so desperately held in her own. Worse yet, the last few words of her mother hung sharp and impossible in forefront of her mind.

To her frustration (and slight unease), no matter how hard she pinched herself, she wasn't transported to her familiar bed, which she found herself longing for, no matter how small and worn it may be.

She felt suddenly dizzy, as white-clad men poured in to take away the body. The scene swirled and danced in front of her eyes, reminding her of the image of dozens of ballerinas twirling across a stage. She felt strong hands on her shoulders, leading her from the room. She was vaguely aware of being led from the distant corner of the Opera House where her mother let out her last breath, to the dorms of the other ballet girls. Several pairs of curious eyes settled on Meg, some filled with sympathy, others hungry for new gossip. But none said anything, noting Meg's obviously lethargic expression.

She stumbled to her bed (the person who had led her away having rejoined his colleagues) and collapsed onto it. As she faded out of consciousness, her last thought was, Maybe now I'll wake up, and everything will be normal again.

She slept deeply and dreamlessly, only waking hours later when Aurélie, one of the newer ballerinas, shook her roughly by the shoulders.

Meg blinked open her eyes, smiling when she took in the familiar picture of several girls of various ages scuttling around like frenzied insects. So it was all a dream. Everything is normal! I was just having another strange dream! She grinned in delight.

"Wake up, Meg," Aurélie told her. "The managers, M. Firmin and M. André, have an announcement! They want the whole crew; everyone who will be in the new production has to be there!"

Meg nodded, still reeling from her disturbing dream. She hurriedly brushed her curls back, checked to make sure her outfit was decent, then obediently followed the rest of the dancers as they swarmed up to the main opera hall, where rehearsals took place.

When the entire cast had gathered, M. Firmin stepped forward to address the crowd in his booming voice. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted. "We have a very tragic-" He exchanged glances with M. André- "bit of news. Our own Mme. Giry, ballet instructor, has passed on; she died of disease."

Meg thought she had heard him wrong. But as the dancers, chorus, and other cast members began to whisper among themselves to spread the terrible news, Meg knew she couldn't keep fooling herself any longer. She must've been helped to her bed afterwards, to horror-stricken to remember. But it was all real.

It wasn't a dream.

Mother's really dead.

She's gone.

Forever.

Meg stared at the wall, even as André continued to say that the show would still go on, a replacement would be found, they mustn't panic…

I'll never see her again. The colors blurred, but this time it wasn't because of dizziness or a fainting spell. She didn't feel the tear slip down her cheek as she allowed herself to think of all the things she refused to think of before, when she had thought it all a nightmare.

Wait.

Meg was halted even in her grief by what she thought of next. Instead, cold, blank horror replaced it. No! Please, no.

This can't be happening.

If everything that happened to Mme. Giry was true, that meant that what she said must have been true as well.

The Phantom of the Opera- had her mother called him Erik? -was her father.

Of course, Meg thought, with no small hint of bitterness, He's dead, too. Or at least he's disappeared; I saw it myself.

I have no one.

The other ballerinas didn't like her very much- she worked hard and was rewarded for it, though many of the others thought that her privileges were out of bias, having the instructor as her mother and all. Even the select few who were nice to her- Aurélie, Jammes, Colette- weren't quite what she'd consider friends.

Then, of course, there was Christine. She was probably the only person in the Opera House whom Meg felt she could confide in. But the soprano was staying at the de Changy manor, now, with her fiancé the Vicomte. She hardly ever visited the Opera anymore, and the only subject she ever discussed with Meg anymore was weddings. Dresses, of course, and music, but also the miniscule details (such as the different patterns in lace) that Meg couldn't care less about.

She cared about Christine, she really did, and she was sure that the soprano's love of singing would draw her back to the Opera Populaire soon enough, but she simply wasn't enough for Meg. Meg truly felt alone in that instant, with her mother gone (and her father too, apparently), her closest friend preoccupied, and her fellow dancers petty and jealous.

Maybe… A thought was forming rapidly. Maybe I could go down, to the cellars and passageways underneath the Opera House, just this once. If mother was correct, and not delirious in her last few moments, I suppose I'd like to learn more about him. After all, the Opera Ghost doesn't lend much to what he was like. I know about Christine, of course, but that doesn't define his character. I want to know what my… my father… was like.

She grimaced, having stumbled over the word "father" even in her head, but her mind was made up. Late at night, when everyone was asleep, she would sneak down into the underground lair she had entered once before. She would explore it quickly, learn a little more about him, and be back in her bed in time to get a few hours of sleep before morning rehearsals.

Oh, and by the way, this will mostly be a mix of Leroux and ALW. Some things will be taken from the book, but several details (such as Madame Giry being the ballet instructor, because she's awesome that way) will be similar to the musical. Oh, and could you guys tell me if you think this chapter is confusing at all? Or was her train of thought too rushed? Thanks! Reviews appreciated!

That's all, I think!