A/N: I'm going to make this clear – I will make no guarantees about how frequently I will update. If I give myself deadlines, I'll butcher my chapters just to get them posted as quickly as possible. I hope you don't hook off this story though, because that'd be the last thing I'd want to happen! I'm a perfectionist when it comes to writing, especially when it comes to characters, their essence and their interactions. Not to mention that there is so much Star Wars in my life: managed to watch all 6 films in one week (I'm pretty damn proud of myself while I shouldn't, but I did also work at my job 40 hours per week during that time because I need money, so basically no vacation for me except on Christmas and New Year), saw TFA, and my fingers are prickling for SW fanfiction because I'm trash while I have this to write. So yeah.

Chapter 6

"Well, that is quite fortunate. I always wanted to have a wife to take on walks on Sundays."

The sarcasm in Erik's voice was palpable. Thankfully, it hadn't got into an outburst like earlier that day. Meg had sat down her forgotten meal, uneasy, while Erik would pace around in a way to calm down his anger.

"Well, there's no use to keep on complaining about this. It was to be done, anyway."

"Of course I knew it was bound to happen. I'm no fool," Erik snapped. "I just didn't expect all this to become a public event. They could make us do anything in front of hundreds of people and we'd be powerless to refuse."

Meg lowered her head. She wished for a while that she could say something useful, something that would have to do with her taking charge, at least partly. Her life at the Opera house now seemed so easy, with all those silly conflicts happening from time to time at the corps de ballet and where she sometimes had to play the mother since Madame Giry was after all overloaded with work and certainly would want nothing to do with those childish arguments. There were some girls who quite liked Meg, and others who didn't, but were either clever enough or too scared to show it since she was, after all, Madame Giry's Daughter. She had, because of that non-official title, a certain position of respect among the ballet girls, and whenever they were frightened, or sad, or angry, they would often turn to Meg, whatever their relationship with her was, more or less secretly depending on the circumstances.

Thinking about the corps de ballet made her shift her gaze towards the piano, and back to Erik, as a smile slowly formed itself on her lips.

"Well… instead of wallowing over that, maybe… well, I haven't danced for weeks, and my feet are aching… could you play something for me?"

Meg almost regretted to have spoken, as Erik's gaze jerked towards her and as he furiously glared at her.

"But of course, dearest," he sneered, imitating Meg's chirping tone in such an eerie way she shivered. "Let's forget about all this and think only of happiness and sunshine!" He let out a dark chuckle. "You're just a child, after all. Why would you care?"

Meg let out an annoyed sigh. Oh, certainly, she was young, and her mother would complain at times on how rash and impulsive she could be in her outbursts of joy, but Erik was getting patronizing. But it slowly occurred to her that perhaps he… didn't have quite the same perspective on life. She straightened up. He was rather hard to grasp. She had had her share of grumpy people, in the past – Monsieur Reyer was certainly one of them – but Erik was a whole other matter. She knew him only since yesterday, and it was already obvious that he had quite a temper. What did play in her favor was that he was on her side. Or rather, they were, considering the situation as a whole, on the same side, since it both advantaged them.

She was not a child. She never admitted it out loud, but she hated when someone else than her mother called her "little Meg". She hated when someone would tease her on her height. She hated when someone would look down at her condescendingly, advising her by a single glance that they thought she was nothing more than a silly little girl who still hadn't lost her baby cheeks, and who was only good to twirl around and look pretty.

Erik was supposedly the man she was going to spend a lifetime (or at least a good part of hers) with. And no matter who he was, she was not going to let herself be belittled by him.

"Well, monsieur," she snapped, insisting ironically on the "monsieur" in a way she tried making similar to his own sneering, "I'm not one to believe that wallowing all day about the trials of life is going to help me in any way. I understand my request may have come out all of a sudden, but if wallowing all day suited you until now, it's not going to work anymore. Not while I'm around."

"Oh, so you think I'm going to let you twirl me around your little finger?" Erik sneered. He came closer to her, in an almost reptilian way. "It perhaps worked with your suitors back in Paris, mademoiselle, but not with me."

"For your information, monsieur, I didn't have any suitors," Meg replied, lifting up her nose. "But if you want to keep going that way, well… I'll be doing my own thing, then."

She then resolutely turned away from Erik, not even glancing once to see what his reaction had been to her final words. She looked down at the slippers she was wearing, and found herself missing her pointe shoes – she wouldn't be able to perhaps impress that big, pessimistic, prideful… man with her dancing on pointe. She decided to go barefoot. It'd be more comfortable than having footwear she wasn't even used to walk in.

"You were a ballet dancer, weren't you?"

Meg twirled around upon hearing Erik's voice. She tried reading his expression, but, certainly thanks to the mask, it was utterly indecipherable.

"Yes," she replied. "I was even starting to get a few solo roles."

"That's surprising. You certainly don't have the build to be a ballerina. They have to be lanky and tall. And being dark-haired always helps, since the great Italian ballerinas are all brunette."

Erik certainly didn't expect Meg to let out a sigh so exaggerated it seemed as if she positively fumed.

"Oh, well what do you know about the matter, monsieur? What do you know about ballet and opera and all that? I get told that all the time! "Oh, mademoiselle Giry, when it comes to technique and emoting, you are the best in the corps de ballet, really! It's a shame you are so chubby, and blonde, and tiny!" My God, someone was once stupid enough to tell me I should be dancing at the Moulin Rouge or at the Folies Bergères instead!"

Erik's eyes had widened at the outburst. Meg could imagine eyebrows lifting up as well. It brought her a strange sense of satisfaction, for a short while.

"Well, if you get told that all the time, mademoiselle, and that I say the same, perhaps I know more than you think," he replied coldly.

"That's not the point," Meg retorted. "You may know about music and playing the piano and everything, but I bet you've never been in an Opera house in your life!"

"You know nothing of my life, mademoiselle." Erik said, always as coldly. "I had assignments outside of Persia. I had the opportunity of assisting in secret at representations of the Russian or Italian Ballet, and also at quite a few operas during my time in Italy. I was in charge along with your uncle to find your parents, after all."

Erik couldn't help but smirk while seeing Meg crumple her face in annoyance, but for once unable to reply anything. "What I meant, however, mademoiselle," he continued, on a softer tone, "is that you may not have the build for a ballerina, but for you to start getting a few solo roles, you must have some talent. Especially that I must say your mother certainly mustn't have helped you in any way in your career as a dancer."

"Oh." Meg said flatly. She felt herself blushing again. Did she ever hate blushing in front of him!

"If it contents you, mademoiselle, I'd accept to play while you dance with pleasure."

In another context, Meg would have beamed, squealed and jumped in excitement. But Erik's behavior was so unexpected all she could do was smile a bit. But there was a sparkle in her eyes which showed the intensity of her sudden joy quite well, and which didn't go unnoticed by Erik.

He slowly installed himself at his piano, letting Meg stretch. She was careful to do it as well as she could, since she had been quite a while without dancing. It was hard, since her excitement manifested itself by the tip of her feet tapping eagerly on the ground while it didn't look as if she had some sort of control on it.

Once she was done, she looked down at her feet with a frown.

"What's the matter?" Erik asked rather impatiently.

"Oh, nothing," Meg sighed. "It's just that I don't have my pointe shoes. It's a shame. I like how I look when I dance with pointe shoes. It looks as if I'm floating. Oh well. You can start."

"And what shall I play for you, mademoiselle?" asked Erik, seemingly indifferent to what she had said before.

Meg sighed, as a thousand melodies with different rhythms resonated in her mind and as she found herself unable to choose. "Anything you want. I'll go along and improvise."

He started with something with an well-paced rhythm in order for her to stretch. But he quickly saw, though it was barely perceptible, that there were signs of boredom in her body language.

And so he became vicious.

He made a sudden change of tempo, as the music took a rather frenzied pace. Meg jumped at that change, and glanced at Erik in surprise. All he could do was to respond with a curt nod, but it stung more than anything else he could have done as some sort of mockery.

He couldn't help but feel a small pang in his stomach when he saw Meg's eyes sparkle as if she was defying him.

It didn't get any better when she started to dance – no, really started to dance. He had no idea if she knew what she was doing. He wanted to inwardly snort and tell to himself that she probably had a swarm of suitors she would twirl around her little finger, but that rather cynical idea quickly vanished. For heaven's sake, she was Anouar's daughter, and Anouar was probably just as protective as three fathers. This concept made their whole situation rather ironical…

She was a little temptress, and she didn't even realize that. She was probably one of those belles gens from medieval tales, fairies who would seduce knights who were afterwards never seen or heard of again, supposedly because the belles gens had abducted them to their realm. Meg didn't look the part at all. She looked more like one of those flower fairies who had no other purpose but to cause innocent mischief.

It made her all the more dangerous. She didn't know she had a power.

The music became more aggressive, and quickly switched to something he never thought he'd play in front of Meg Giry – not her, of all people!

He expected her to collapse on the ground, in a trance – his music had that effect on people, and this was grander than anything he had ever composed.

He saw her struggle. He saw her feel the pressure, but she didn't fall. And he didn't see a girl anymore. But a woman.

He finally let out the final note, begging for this paradox he couldn't understand to stop, as he distinctively heard Meg let out a deep breath. For a moment, Erik stared dumbly at one of the piano's keys.

"Well, monsieur, I think I did mention I haven't danced for weeks! It's a miracle I actually made it without collapsing on the ground!"

Erik glared at Meg in disbelief. Really? That was all she had to say? He expected her to be on her knees begging!

He was even more perplexed by the fact that she looked at him questioningly, as if she couldn't understand his almost lethargic state. She turned away, heading back towards his room.

Erik simply let his head fall on the piano, letting a discordant sound come out quite loudly.

"Is everything alright, monsieur?"

To be honest, Meg realized that for the first time, she didn't exactly remember how she felt when she danced.

She remembered the music. It was quite unlike anything she had heard until now, and she had had her share of rather strange scores. There was something… disturbing. Disturbing, yet appealing.

She had to admit she wouldn't have minded listening to it again, except more attentively. But she had a feeling she wouldn't hear it again, at least for a while. Or maybe even never again.

If there was one thing she loved about ballet, it was becoming another character entirely. She wasn't just little Meg Giry anymore. She could be a swan, a mechanical doll, a ghost, a sylph. When she danced, she danced with soul, since she entered a whole new world she created herself and in which she was the empress. It gave her a strange sense of power, and she loved every single bit of it.

She remembered that old fortune teller she had seen once, when she had gone to a fair with a couple of other ballet girls. Said fortune teller told her that in 1882, she'd become Empress. Of course, Meg stayed polite with that old lady, but once she came out of the tent, she couldn't help but giggle about it with Pauline and Sophie.

Perhaps it was a very lovely metaphor to say that she'd become prima ballerina. Meg didn't believe in fortune telling, of course. But it was a nice thought.

It was now 1881, and she was in Persia, with next to no hope of going back home one day. It was hard not to cry in front of the irony of the situation.

It could have been comforting for her to dance again. But the music, unlike anything she had heard before, had confused her in her creating an interesting interpretation.

She danced. She didn't know what she was doing, however. All she could remember was her trying to dominate the music, but not succeeding. It was frustrating.

It was Erik's fault.

He had challenged her. She had accepted it without pondering about it two seconds. Well, she had to admit that it would have been quite hard to just refuse. There was no way she would have to deal with Erik's condescending demeanor. She had had a taste of it earlier, and it was one of the most irritating things she had ever experienced.

She had impressed him, judging by how… haggardly amazed he was afterwards. She couldn't help but smile and bit her lip in an attempt not to laugh out loud as she reminisced.

Meg Giry had more power and strength that she thought she had, even in a situation such as hers. And this was only the beginning.