Chapter 18: Winter Flashes of Moon and Sunbeams, and Gathering Clouds

"You created something like this within just two days?" Meg Giry stared at him with wide eyes after the final notes had reverberated in the air. "It's a completely new melody!"

Erik shifted on the piano bench.

"The piece in its original form was hardly fitting for a fairy-tale moonlight dance." He scowled slightly and turned more towards the dancer, squaring his shoulders. "I was inspired by a sequence that I wrote down once and composed the rest to fit the theme and the mood, trying to keep it simple enough for an average pianist. I think it's much more suitable now."

To his surprise, a smile blossomed on the ballerina's face.

"Oh, it's more than suitable; it's wonderful! I could almost see the moon and feel the pull of the gentle enchantment of the night!" Her features lit up in awe, hands clasping enthusiastically. "Experience the beauty hidden in it…" Her expression softened even more.

It was absurd that she had become excited about something so trivial, and yet it brought a strangely warm and light feeling to his chest.

Meg Giry glanced down. "I admit that I didn't expect something like this, and I think we will have to be more reserved about further modifications, but… Even though I wouldn't call it a 'minor change', I'm certainly not going to complain about this one." The corner of her mouth twitched in amusement as her friendly gaze met his again.

Erik chased away the memory, left the gondola at the shore next to the smaller spare one (which was occasionally used by Madame Giry) and plunged into the darkness of the further tunnels. The lantern that he held cast interweaving patches of light and shadow on the walls as he strode.

Despite his initial hesitation, he hadn't been able to stop himself from getting more involved in Meg Giry's festival project. All his ideas for improvements couldn't be implemented or even discussed in just one evening, and that had forced them to arrange a few more meetings, which were soon followed by others.

Strangely, the ballerina didn't seem to mind at all. She didn't uncritically accept all his suggestions, and once it even led to a more heated dispute (and a few growls on his part), but in the end Meg could always propose a compromise. Nevertheless, his desire to bring the festival play to at least a decent level had led to an almost complete rewrite of half of the script and score.

The performance was still a simple story about two groups of pixies waiting for the delayed arrival of spring, but now it consisted of more varied (and not so primitive) musical numbers. The play started with a combination of ballet and ballroom dance for the Moonlight Nocturne and then the Dawn Rhapsody, which later mixed together during the Meeting as the two tribes encountered each other, only to be separated again by their distrustful elders. Then came the slow, ethereal Waltz of Dreams, during which the young Prince of Moon Shadow Valley and Princess of Sunny Meadow, along with their entourages, magically met again in their sleep and decided to try to help each other. Everything ended with the Finale, when both groups combined their magic, summoning the spring together.

It all required extra work, and so he started to escort Meg Giry to his abode every few days. He certainly wasn't going to let her walk alone. Whether it was because he could still see her slight unease in the underground or because he just wanted to save himself the time of rescuing her in case she got lost once again, he wasn't quite sure. Anyway, January 1882 undoubtedly became one of the strangest periods of his life.

At their festival play meetings, they mostly focused on their task, but during moments of rest (which he had reluctantly agreed to), Meg Giry stubbornly continued her attempts to talk with him. A few times, she repeated her suggestion that perhaps they could reveal at least part of the truth to Christine and Raoul de Chagny, and once asked if they could talk about Christine, but she wasn't insistent; a simple 'no' or a glare from him was enough to make her drop the topic.

Usually, the ballerina just related current events in the opera house or chirped enthusiastically about her impressions after reading the next chapters of Les Misérables. To his slight incredulity, as time passed, he himself became more engaged in these chats.

The dancer's radiant, bubbly personality and directness still got on his nerves sometimes, but perhaps her company was not as tiresome as he had once thought.

The Phantom recalled their recent underground meetings.

At the second one, the ballerina had brought with her some tea and gingerbread biscuits, stating with a smile that they could share them during the break, as if that were the most normal thing under the sun (or, rather, the lack of thereof). The very fact that something like that had come to her mind shocked him to his core.

Due to the deformed side of his face – which was numb and bulged in a disgusting way – eating in someone's presence was out of question. He could probably divide the food into small pieces and take only small bites, keeping his mask on, but the whole process would still look humiliating and awkward. Meg Giry didn't know, and he intended to keep this secret. Thankfully, his harsh refusal was met only with a confused nod and an offer to leave him some treats for later.

Then, there were also the few evenings when Meg Giry asked him if he could also assist her with a few figures planned to be danced in pairs.

Even now, he had no idea why in blazes he had agreed to it.

An echo of their first awkward practice flashed through his mind.

"You know, when I told you that you could put your right hand on the small of my back, I meant that you really could – and even should – do it. Like, place it there and apply some minimal pressure instead of just hovering." Meg glanced up at him amiably, a trace of amusement in her gaze.

A wave of embarrassment flooded him. With a short nod and a silent curse, he tried to adjust his stance. Technically, his palm still rested on her shoulder blade rather than on her waist, but fortunately she didn't ask him to move it lower. To his irritation, his heartbeat grew quicker and louder, drumming in his ears. He only hoped it wasn't noticeable.

Meg gave him a warm smile. "That's better," she said encouragingly. "Through this frame, the dancers listen to each other and show each other support, all of which is harder to do when the connection is too weak or severed by one side." Her gentle, hazel eyes met his. For some reason, he had the impression that she wasn't talking only about dancing.

Swallowing hard, he averted his gaze. A second later, the ballerina continued.

"I decided to mix a few different types of waltzes, but we can start with the basic rotary steps that I've shown you on my own before. I'll recite them aloud to make it easier." She cleared her throat slightly. "On one, you start with your left foot going forwards at a slight angle, and I move backwards, mirroring you…"

He did his best to comply.

"Good…" Meg beamed. "On two, you bring your foot to the left… Yes, just like that… And then, you turn, stepping in place with your left foot… Great!" Meg smiled even more radiantly at him. "And after that, we simply do almost the same thing, but reversed, as you start with your right foot going backwards."

Erik forced himself to return to the present.

His glove and the thick woollen fabric of his tailcoat made the disgusting ridges and corrugations on his deformed side less perceptible, but he would have never believed that anybody would want to practise dance steps with him, much less be enthusiastic about it…

A weird feeling slipped into his chest.

Meg Giry was undoubtedly the most confounding and peculiar person he had ever met. If asked for their opinion, probably everyone from the Palais Garnier would describe her as a kind-hearted, helpful and rather optimistic young woman, but there was so much more to her than that, as he was slowly starting to discover.

The ballerina always tried to focus on the bright sides of life, but one could not call her carefree or unconcerned. Though, as he had had the dubious pleasure of experiencing firsthand, in some circumstances regarding the wellbeing of others, she certainly could act recklessly. He had once considered her too straightforward and prying, but recently he had begun to realise that she was only so because of her honest concern for other people.

Meg cared for her family and friends and kept a friendly attitude towards everybody else. She was a sensitive person and a talented dancer who deeply felt the music, but she also possessed a practical side that made her always try to search for solutions to emerging problems. She definitely wasn't a scholar, but she had her own mind, and he had been surprised a few times by some of her deeper thoughts, especially when they mostly agreed with his own.

And somehow, among all that, well… she wasn't exactly an unpleasant person to talk to.

He was not the most talkative individual himself, but after all the recent disasters, followed by his old nightmares returning with greater intensity, deep inside he appreciated the fact that he could be distracted from it all for at least a few short moments each week.

Unfortunately, as for the rest of the matters – they weren't much better than before.

Erik clenched his hand tighter around the lantern handle.

Watching Christine replace La Carlotta as Marie in some of the revived performances of La fille du régiment had filled him with pride, but also with a dull pain. It brought back memories of their lessons. Her angelic voice. The way she would smile shyly at his praise or furrow her brow slightly as she listened carefully to his instructions. Their long conversations about music…

A sharp pang pierced his chest.

He had wanted Christine to compete for the role last year, but in the end, she hadn't been able to find enough courage to do so. It had upset her greatly, and it had taken him a lot of time to convince her that he wasn't disappointed in her. He hadn't told her then, but he could understand her fear very well; his own darkest thoughts plagued him, no matter how hard he tried to forget…

He had always known that he was a lost cause – a pitiful creature of darkness – but she deserved a chance to shine and show her true potential. And so, on the next occasion, during the Hannibal rehearsal, he had provided it. It had required a few "unfortunate events" and a curtain dropped on Carlotta Guidicelli, and though he wasn't proud of it, he didn't regret it either. The prima donna had needed to be taken down a notch. And, thanks to his actions, he could see now how much Christine had achieved.

Sadly, it seemed that she no longer needed him on her path.

Something in his chest constricted painfully, and Erik gritted his teeth. A nasty spasm went through his deformed cheek. He cursed. As if out of spite, the tension in the twisted muscle didn't want to go away on its own.

With a furious growl, the Phantom discarded the lantern and tore his mask off. Wincing, he massaged the sore, abhorrent spot, trying to relax his jaw. His eyes stared into the darkness of the tunnel before him.

He had been a fool to ever think that he could hide what he really was.

Christine might have forgiven him, but deep inside, she was still afraid of him. And he could only watch helplessly as she drifted farther and farther away into the arms of her viscount, her ideal. The score delivered by the Opera Ghost – the extended version of The Music of the Night – which, he had hoped, might remind her of her Angel of Music's care and the bond they had shared – had been shoved on the shelf without intention of being staged any time soon.

He didn't expect a sudden change in the winter repertoire, but didn't he deserve to at least receive some reply? The managers had publicly declared that the Phantom's arrival had been a planned part of the New Year's Eve Masquerade to gain more favourable press reviews, but it hadn't stopped them from continuing to ignore him whenever they found it convenient!

Hell.

Erik barely resisted the urge to slam the wall in frustration. Taking a few deep breaths and trying not to trigger another spasm, he put his mask back in place and continued down the corridor.

Thanks to his savings, his lack of a salary wasn't a big problem, but he hated the helplessness that came with not knowing what to do. And as if it wasn't enough, recently he had started to have more and more doubts.

A lump formed in his throat.

Swallowing hard, the Opera Ghost pushed away these thoughts and slipped into a passage leading to the aboveground, hidden corridors of the Palais Garnier.

Taking advantage of a few hours free from the other duties, Meg busied herself with rewriting choreographic notation for the upcoming ballet practice, adding her mother's last corrections.

January had passed almost as quickly as it had come, and so had the beginning of February. The past weather hadn't differed much from any other winter season in this part of France, but somehow Meg had a strange feeling that her days and evenings had been more bright recently, despite the fact that she had been spending many hours among the shadows of the opera underground. More and more often, Christine went out somewhere with Raoul, giving the ballerina perfect opportunities to slip away unnoticed.

The four and a half weeks of her and Erik Engelgerd's (for that was how she had begun to think of the Phantom lately) intensive work on the festival play score, script and choreography had brought quite an impressive outcome. The opening three parts had already been met with great enthusiasm, both from the adults and from the children, as they had started the first rehearsals, and she simply couldn't wait to show the final result during the upcoming "organisation board" meeting.

It didn't cease to amaze her what wide knowledge the so-called Opera Ghost possessed, especially knowing that he had little formal education. Erik was undoubtedly a genius – an outstanding musician, architect and stage engineer – and yet he never made her feel inferior simply because she didn't know something. He still had a guarded attitude and was prone to irritation, but somehow, piece by piece, she was starting to know the person behind the mask.

She didn't understand him fully yet; sometimes just a few words or gestures were enough to put him in a foul mood, and often she couldn't even tell what misstep she had made. A few days after the gingerbread fiasco, she had tried once again to bring some food to share (this time more varied, in case he had some preferences or antipathies), but it had only led to the same conclusion. She wasn't sure what could be so offensive about eating during a break, but by the way the man's countenance had tensed and darkened, his mouth pressed in a thin line, she had no doubt it wasn't a welcome suggestion.

Erik Engelgerd had a darker and more mysterious side, but under the rough surface hid a sensitive artist and caring guardian. Someone who still insisted on escorting her all the way down. Or had made an element of scenography fall, interrupting the moment when one of the new subscribers had tried to be a bit too forward with her and Cecile.

Meg smiled to herself.

The more she learnt, the more she… well, the more certain she was that the Opera Ghost was a good man. A good man whose life had left deep scars on his soul and made him stop believing in goodness. Both in the world and in himself…

The corners of her mouth dropped, and she bit her lip.

Now that she had become used to Erik's reserved demeanour, she was able to see more. The quickly concealed shock and distrust triggered by the simplest manifestations of kindness. The disbelief and insecurity during their dance practice. The pain and darkness consuming him from inside…

She didn't say anything, because it was clear that he didn't want anyone to notice any of his more vulnerable parts. Erik hardly ever spoke about himself, and she tried to respect that. Yet at the same time, she did all she could to show her unprejudiced support and treat him like any other opera employee. It was very little, but slowly it seemed to change something between them, and she was more often allowed to see glimpses of his real self. For some incomprehensible reason, she deeply enjoyed even the smallest ones – like finding out that his favourite character from Hugo's novel was actually Bishop Myriel, who reminded him of a priest who had taught him the basics of music.

Erik was a careful listener and a fascinating interlocutor when he allowed himself to get engaged in the topic. With every passing day, she loved talking with him about the next volumes of Les Misérables, other books, music, current theatrical matters, and many other, both significant and petty, things.

And who would have ever imagined that the fearsome Phantom of the Opera could joke?

Or that he would be helping to direct a rather amateurish theatrical performance for children? The kind most artists of his abilities would scoff at?

A smile returned to Meg's face as she put away the final page. Then, she wrapped her woollen shawl tighter around her and once again glanced out the window of her room, just in time to see Raoul de Chagny's carriage reaching the entrance of the small yard at the back of the opera house.

She had no doubt that escorting Christine to their room for the sake of protection was unnecessary, but she had been obliged to promise the young viscount that she would do it this evening, and she intended to keep her word.

With a sigh, Meg rose from her seat and threw a warm coat over herself, then left the room, heading down towards the exit. Soon afterwards, the heavy outside door swung on its hinges under her push, and a chilly wind swept around her, bringing the somewhat smoky scent of winter nights.

Breathing out a tiny puff of air, the dancer stepped outside into the snow. It was becoming cloudy, but she could still see a bright half-moon shining in the dark sky, giving the white mounds an almost magical silvery gleam.

Meg smiled softly at the sight. A few gentle bars of the nocturne, which the Opera Ghost had written for the festival play's score, replayed in her mind. It was a simple melody, but somehow she had grown to like it more than most of the more elaborate opera arias.

Still smiling, Meg forced herself to focus anew on the present.

Christine and Raoul already stood near the ajar metal gate, chatting politely with Monsieur Etienne – one of the opera house's night watchmen and janitors – while an elderly couple waited in the vehicle. Company politics didn't allow to visit the residents at hours considered nighttime, and the young viscount tried to respect that, considering Christine's reputation and not giving the existing silly gossip a source to feed on. This made Meg like him even more, in addition to his calm but reprimanding rectification of the few articles that had tried to suggest that perhaps the young soprano's career development might have something to do with her rather close relationship with the opera's main patron.

Meg waved to the familiar group, receiving a cheerful response from the whole trio. The ballerina repeated the gesture towards Raoul's butler, sitting in the driver's seat. It earned her a dignified nod that caused her smile to widen a little more. Philippe Roche was a serious, stoic man in his early forties, and it never stopped amazing her how much more stereotypically aristocratically he behaved in comparison to the young master under his care.

Meanwhile, Christine bid farewell to an elderly couple in a carriage, and Raoul did the same to Monsieur Etienne. Next, the viscount bent to place a courtly, furtive kiss on Christine's gloved palm. Even from where she stood, Meg could see how her friend's cheeks, already reddened by the chill, took on a truly endearing rose colour. Judging by that and the soprano's bright smile, her fiancé's bold courtesy was wholeheartedly welcome.

The aristocrat said something more with a charming grin, then waved a goodbye to both of them and vanished inside the carriage. A moment later, the vehicle disappeared behind a corner, along with the fading sound of horse hooves.

Picking up the pink gown peeking from under her mantle in order not to dirty the hem too much, Christine hurried through the yard, accompanied by rustling fabric and the snow crunching under her shoes. Her gentle features were alight with happiness.

"By your sunny expression, I guess that the formal supper with the higher class representatives was quite pleasant?" Meg grinned at her friend, and in response the singer smiled shyly.

"Yes, it was. You were right – I really shouldn't have worried so much. There were some awkward moments," she admitted, "but Raoul was with me the whole time to disperse them. To be honest, some people were exceedingly nice – especially the man who owns the company at which Raoul has his apprenticeship, Monsieur Debienne and his wife, whom you could see in the carriage."

Christine's face brightened. "They are one of the de Chagny family's oldest friends and business partners, so we spent quite a lot of time together, talking," she explained. "Monsieur Debienne was joking for a large part of the meeting, so whenever he was around, the atmosphere wasn't tense at all. But that's not the best part, Meg. It turned out that they used to spend holidays at Perros-Guirec too!" Sparks of excitement lit up her eyes, and enthusiasm slipped into her usually quiet voice.

"They are even going there with their daughters for the last week of the carnival, or perhaps even longer. And they've invited both me and Raoul to go with them! We have a train on Monday the 13th, early morning. Isn't it wonderful?" Christine joyfully squeezed Meg's forearms, but all the ballerina could do was to blink in utter surprise.

"Monday?" Against her will, the information brought a tiny pang to her chest. A part of her couldn't help but wonder how Erik Engelgerd would take such news. "But… but that's just in four days, Christine."

Her lack of enthusiasm dimmed her friend's delighted expression, and Meg scolded herself inwardly.

"I mean, it's really good news, Christine," she amended quickly, "but it's just a bit surprising and… Well, I'm not even sure how we will convince the managers to allow you to leave the opera for a whole week or longer in such a busy season," she finished carefully.

Christine blushed slightly.

"Well… Raoul said he would take care of that…" Her gaze flickered to the side.

In the silence that hung between them, Meg wondered why she hadn't actually thought about it from the beginning. After all, it was obvious, wasn't it? As the opera patron, Raoul de Chagny had some rather large influence on the management, and though he tried not to intervene much in Christine's career, he could help with something like this. Besides, Christine's position in the company was different now, as well.

Some things had changed. And perhaps even more was going to change – even if a part of her still perceived her best friend and almost-sister the same way as before…

The dancer swallowed a lump that was forming in her throat. As if sensing her thoughts, Christine lowered her head. Between her eyebrows formed a tiny, concerned crease.

"I know that we always used to spend the last carnival ball together, Meg," she said more quietly, nervously tucking away one of her brown curls, "but they invited just the two of us, and…" She trailed off, clearly distressed.

Meg reached out and pulled gently at her friend's gown in order to make her look at her again.

"I know that, Christine, so please don't fret." She smiled slightly. "As I said, I was just a little surprised by your news, that's all. We will still have a lot of other occasions to talk, and it would be a shame to refuse such an invitation. Also, Maman is helping with some preparations for the last carnival ball, and the corps de ballet is supposed to give a dance performance, so we probably wouldn't have been able to go even if we had been invited," she added, and the soprano relaxed a bit.

"I'm glad that you don't mind, then, Meg." The corners of Christine's mouth pulled back up in a gentle arch, and she sent Meg a grateful look. "I was a bit surprised by the short notice as well, but Raoul seemed to really favour the idea and…" Christine paused, bashfully looking down, and her fingers reached for another lock slipping loose from her elaborately pinned-up hair. "Well, I've thought that maybe he might want to propose to me there." A shy blush infused her cheeks.

Despite her previous doubts, Meg felt a broad smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, that would be wonderful, Christine!" Meg took her friend's palms and squeezed them tenderly. "My best friend is going to be a fiancée!" She pronounced the words in an almost overenthusiastic theatrical whisper, and Christine beamed too, giggling softly.

"It's still just a guess, Meg. Maybe he won't propose at all." But Meg just shook her head.

"I'm sure he will. I don't know how I didn't realise it from the very beginning. He probably even asked Monsieur Debienne for help," she pointed out, knowing that her friend wouldn't deny the fact that an invitation from a stranger made more sense that way. "He will surely propose, and you have to memorise every moment of it, for I want a detailed report as soon as you get back!" she demanded jokingly, and Christine chuckled softly again, leaning forwards to embrace her.

"Thank you, Meg. You will surely be the first to know if anything happens," she promised.

In response, Meg could only warmly return her hug.

A moment later, the friends released each other and then, arm in arm, directed their steps back inside the opera house, happily discussing the clothes and things Christine should take for her little trip, blissfully unaware that their conversation had had one more witness…

Erik had never told Madame Giry that one of the secret corridors beneath the stage actually reached the opera house's back wall, or that it allowed him to see part of the small yard. It was a rather narrow space, but despite that, he went there quite often. Perhaps that was exactly why he had never mentioned it to the ballet mistress.

It was his second favourite place after the roof because, just like the building's top, it allowed him to see a fragment of the outside world – the other realm that seemed to be almost at his fingertips, and yet always out of his reach.

He would never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed being there. To listen as one of the elderly janitors hummed some of the melodies from the last operetta or a recent popular song while shovelling away snow from the path (they were able to stay acceptably in tune). To watch the employees joking or even laughing loudly on their way home. To observe all the little scenes from the life beside the stage.

Today, that was not what he had come for.

He knew that Christine was supposed to return around that time, and somehow, before he could fully realise what he was doing, his legs had brought him here. Even though he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to achieve.

Torment himself even more by seeing her in the company of that wretchedly perfect viscount?

Or maybe… maybe try to convince himself of something.

Erik swallowed hard.

He had no idea why, but recently something inside him had started shifting, changing bit by bit and slowly moulding into something else, just as the same separate notes could be rearranged to form a new composition. What was supposed to be the outcome? He didn't know yet.

The part of him that had already whispered to him that he should just let Christine go returned even stronger, but it was different now. Even before, he couldn't fail to notice how often Christine smiled now, with her childhood friend at her side, and how she practically seemed to glow whenever he was beside her. She seemed to be truly happy, and somehow, somewhere deep inside Erik, besides the suffering and anger, there started to grow a budding conviction that perhaps that was just how it was supposed to be.

For years, Christine had been the closest person he had ever had, so shouldn't he just want her happiness? He still did not want to lose their bond or back down without a fight, but… Well, now he felt even more conflicted than before.

He desperately needed some answers, and maybe that was why he had actually come. Yet, even his inner questions and qualms couldn't have prepared him fully for what he was about to witness.

At first, he could just dimly see Christine with the viscount at the gate. Then, Meg Giry appeared in the yard too, her fair hair and dancer's posture making her easy to recognise even from behind, especially after she eagerly waved to her friends. A moment later, Christine joined her in an excited flurry of pink ruffles.

The duo stood close enough to his hideout to let the sound of their hushed voices carry to his ears. He couldn't stop himself from listening to their conversation, but as it continued, he almost regretted his decision.

A proposal.

The word pierced him like an ice-cold blade.

Since the encounter on the roof, he had been aware that it could happen, but somehow he had never expected it would go this quickly.

Erik gritted his teeth, and his hands curled into fists.

And Meg Giry… she…

She just sounded so hellishly happy about it all…

His jaw clenched so hard that a muscle twitched unpleasantly in his deformed cheek. Meg's reaction shouldn't have bothered him, but somehow it did, bringing back the chilly, gluey tentacles of pitch-black doubts.

Far above, dark clouds started gathering in the winter sky, shadowing the world beneath, and down below, darkness flooded the Phantom of the Opera.

Author's notes:

1) I think that Victorian-era waltzes looked a little different than modern versions – for example, the frame (the way the dancers' upper bodies are held when in dancing position) was more loose, and a man usually kept a hand on a lady's waist. Writing this chapter, I used references from the Internet (Walternelson webiste, YouTube videos and others).

2) In Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Monsieur Debienne was one of the previous opera house managers, but I allowed myself to use this name for my purposes. In this story, he is just one of the de Chagny's family acquaintances. Philippe is also named after a character from the novel – Raoul's older brother – though here he is just his butler and a friend/caretaker.