Chapter 24: Of Roots, Fathers and Changes
The locomotive's steam whistle let out a loud hoot, announcing that they were approaching the station, and Christine shifted uneasily in her seat.
The time they had spent in Perros had been great, but the closer they were to Paris, the more her excitement mixed with a growing pinch of nervousness. She couldn't wait to see Meg and Madame Giry and celebrate her engagement with them, but the return also meant that they would finally have to discuss their plans for the future.
A tiny knot in her stomach clenched tighter.
She had dreamt about going to England with Raoul since her teenage years, but now, as the prospect became real, she couldn't suppress a hint of anxiety. She had talked it through with him before their departure, and he had assured her they could make the final decision after their conversation with the Girys. Christine believed that, most likely, the Girys would both agree to leave too, and if not, they could implement other solutions, but still, a lot of things were going to change, weren't they?
Her fingers curled around the folds of her travelling dress. A second later, a gentle touch pulled her from her reverie.
Raising her head, the soprano saw Raoul looking at her. His hand squeezed her own, his thumb gently rubbing against the skin above her glove's edge in a soothing gesture. Her fiancé smiled tenderly at her, and she blushed slightly.
Raoul's confidence had always helped quieten her apprehensions when they had been children. And now, after their reunion, they were to walk side by side for the rest of their life.
Warmth slipped back into Christine's chest, easing the tension.
Seeming to partially understand her confused feelings, Madame and Monsieur Debienne had been enlivening their whole journey with stories and anecdotes from their own early years of courtship and marriage, and she couldn't have been more grateful. She remembered her father's tales, but she knew very little about organising a wedding and leading a married life, so every piece of advice meant a lot to her. Besides, it was nice to laugh with their host at some of the funniest memories.
Once again, Christine grinned inwardly at the mental image of young Monsieur Debienne's proposal. According to him, he had been so excited after the acceptance that he had left the estate of his beloved's parents right after, to the utter shock of the latter. What was more, he had done it not only on foot but also in the wrong direction. His poor coachman had had to chase him through the next two avenues until the groom-to-be had finally noticed him!
The train gradually began to slow down, and Christine glanced through the curtain-decorated window. The familiar shape of a railway building came into view, getting closer and closer until she was able to see the people waiting on the platform. A flash of well-known silhouettes flickered among the crowd.
"Isn't that Meg and Madame Giry?" Her heartbeat quickened, and she couldn't stop herself from standing up, almost pressing her face to the glass.
She had sent Meg and her mother a telegram to inform them about the postponed date of return, but she hadn't thought that they would come to greet her at the station.
"I think they are on the platform!" Joy filled her voice, bringing gentle smiles to her fellow passengers' countenances. Disregarding elegant patience, Christine put on her mantle, grabbed her drawstring handbag and hurried towards the exit of their compartment. The train braked more sharply than she expected, making her stagger. Raoul's hand grabbed her elbow just in time to help her keep her balance, an amused but affectionate chuckle escaping his throat.
Christine sent him a grateful look, and together they went out into the corridor. Soon afterwards, the conductor opened the door, and she practically burst outside. Maybe it was childish, but it was the first time she had left her foster family for so long, and she had to admit that she had truly missed them.
"Meg! Madame Giry!"
Meg turned, and her loose blonde stands fluttered in the air as she rushed towards Christine. In the next heartbeat, both friends were already enclosing each other in a hug, flooding one another with a somewhat incoherent symphony of words.
Smiling shyly, Christine pulled off her glove, revealing her engagement ring. In response, Meg let out an excited squeal, embracing her again. At her side, Madame Giry covertly wiped a single tear.
Behind, Christine could hear Raoul's warm and merry voice. Her beloved was approaching in a more dignified stride, chatting with Monsieur Debienne and the porter, and she realised that, despite her slight unease, she probably couldn't have been happier.
She had the three people she loved the most beside her. And no changes or distance had been, nor would be, able to sever these bonds. Just like nothing could take away her memories of her father. She was sure he was smiling at her from above now, proud.
Christine breathed more freely, and her own smile widened.
Her life was certainly changing, but for the first time in many years, she was ready to fully embrace it and start to walk forwards instead of staying in the past.
The Phantom's hands violently hit the keys, evoking low, snarling notes. A moment later, longing minor chords joined the fury, along with a few brighter passages, and the melody evolved, growing and transforming, becoming saturated with a confusing mixture of emotions. The music softened, then once again rose in a stormy crescendo, only to shatter into pieces.
With a frustrated growl, Erik threw the empty sheets of paper on the piano to the ground.
Christine had returned a day after his and Meg's trip to the park, and the news about the humble soprano's engagement with the de Chagny heir had spread through the opera like wildfire. The whole building had filled with excited whispers, and the ballet and choir girls' rooms had been practically flooded with squealed congratulations and joyful giggles. The information had quickly leaked to the press, too. The young viscount somehow managed to curb the most gossipy periodicals, but despite that, soon everyone in Paris could read the romantic tale of true love overcoming social barriers.
All in all, almost everybody seemed to be happy or at least animated due to the union. As for Erik, all he could feel at best was a painful emptiness.
It was already the second night, but his mind still wickedly refused to focus on anything he tried to read, and all he intended to compose turned into melancholic gibberish. Over and over again, his thoughts kept returning to all that had happened recently. To the Angel of Music's time and to the series of disasters after Christine's debut. But also to the other events and the unordinary ballerina who had entered his domain uninvited, imperceptibly becoming a part of it…
His fingers absentmindedly stroked the keys. The opening lines of Chopin's Nocturne op. 9, no. 2 reverberated softly in the air.
His scowl eased a little as a peculiar warmth slipped into his chest at the memory of his dance with Meg. That evening, he had felt completely out of place, but also strangely in place. Uncomfortable due to lowering his guard, but simultaneously unexpectedly good. It didn't make any blazed sense.
His hands slowly glided over the keyboard, mixing together notes from the ball, the festival score and other melodies. On their own accord, his thoughts went to their carriage ride and then to that moment in the park when he had had the impression that he was seeing Meg for the first time.
A wave of heat crept up his neck, and he hurriedly stopped playing, chasing away the echoes. Despite his efforts, traces of them remained, only adding to his frustration and the tangled mess inside him.
With a vexed growl, the Opera Ghost slammed the piano cover shut.
It hadn't been right of him to expect so much from Christine, deluding himself that somehow she could have been his salvation. And it certainly wasn't right to start looking at Meg in a similar way! He simply couldn't allow himself to do that!
His lungs constricted.
A muffled roar escaped the Phantom's mouth, and he ran his hands through his hair in irritation.
Hell.
He had already learnt his lesson and didn't want to go down that path again.
Only… This time, it wasn't exactly like before, was it? There was no pretending, idealisation or impossible expectation. Things had changed. He had changed. And what he felt was different too.
A lump formed in Erik's throat, and he swallowed hard.
Anyway, all he needed to know was that he wanted Meg's happiness. The rest wasn't important. This reassurance, once again, brought him some semblance of peace. However, just below it still swirled a storm.
It was already very late, but he doubted that he would be able to fall asleep. So instead, the Opera Ghost rose from the bench and, grabbing his cape and lantern on his way, headed towards the passage leading to the secret corridors above.
The move and the steady rhythm of his quiet footsteps helped him to organise his thoughts a little. Nevertheless, he still wasn't able to stop thinking about the two women who affected his existence as the Opera Ghost.
Christine had brightened the darkness surrounding him and rekindled his inspiration. Breathed life into the music of the night. Yet despite that, he had never revealed to her any of his deeper thoughts, sticking just to his teacher and guardian persona. After a few of his refusals, she hadn't asked anymore about his identity or about anything that wasn't related to the opera. Music connected them, but apart from that, there wasn't much more there; both of them had been too focused on the illusions they had wanted to see.
Christine didn't belong in his dark world. And if he tried to keep her there, he would only stifle her flame. Now, he finally understood that.
Erik swallowed a lump forming in his throat. His lantern wavered slightly as he strode up another dark corridor.
Meg was someone entirely different. A person much more confounding and different from him, but at the same time more willing to try to understand him. She was able to point out when he was wrong, but also offer support. She wanted to perceive everything as it was, and – though she often tried to change things for better – she didn't judge or condemn blindly.
She really had something in her, like a prying but warm morning ray that undauntedly slipped into the dark shadows, accepting and brightening them simultaneously. And that helped him see some things in a new light.
Something inside him shifted in a weird way.
The new possibilities were the issue he started to think about too. He definitely had more means now than when he had been a child, so what if he tried to appeal against the sentence and once and for all clear his name?
A few years ago, he had already anonymously consulted the topic with a lawyer in a letter. With the right legal help, supplemented by statements from the other circus employees, there was a high chance of success. Especially since the so-called Devil's Child had been sentenced without even being present at the trial.
Erik felt his muscles tense.
Hiring a good lawyer would be easy with the funds he had gathered. Getting the statements wouldn't be very problematic either. The main freak show still functioned, and he had already managed to track down the few performers who had been nicest to him. He had even briefly considered such a solution sometime after he had started to teach Christine, but had quickly dropped the plan. He had told himself then that he didn't trust the cursed courts, but the truth was that there had been something more behind his decision.
Fear.
He had been afraid of facing his past. Of letting Christine see all his ugliness. Of losing what he already had.
His jaw clenched tight, and his mouth twisted in a grimace as his deformed cheek twitched unpleasantly.
Well, he had stayed in darkness and lost anyway. So, maybe another approach was worth the risk?
His throat tightened, and he swallowed again, clenching his fists.
As the Phantom, he had lived a mere imitation of life. A lot of this had been forced on him, but there had also been things he could have done differently, hadn't there? He couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path for himself in the future.
It didn't mean that suddenly everything would become easy, though.
A frustrated sigh left his chest, and he forced himself to focus on his surroundings. His legs had instinctively led him to the storage room, where he once used to conduct lessons for Christine. Wincing, Erik turned and headed to the hidden tunnel next to the chapel.
To his surprise, it turned out he was not alone in his whim to visit this place: through the tiny slit in the wall seeped a faint light. Bringing his eye closer to it, the Opera Ghost saw that some of the gas jets were still burning in the room. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed a familiar figure sitting on the stone floor before the wooden pews.
"Meg?"
His voice made the girl snap her head up with a start. Not being able to see him, the dancer looked around, disoriented.
Erik scolded himself inwardly.
"There is a hidden passage behind the wall on your right," he supplied tersely before getting to the point. His eyebrows furrowed, so that the right one grazed the inner side of his mask. "What in blazes are you doing here at this hour? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" It was a rather brusque question, but the slight concern, evident in his tone, brought a shadow of a smile to the ballerina's face.
"I suppose I could ask you the same." A corner of Meg's mouth tugged a little more up, and then dropped again as the amusement gave way to a more serious expression.
The ballerina sighed and looked down. "I can't sleep," she confessed. "A lot has happened recently, and Christine… well, she has finally discussed her plans with us. She told us that she wants to go to England with Raoul."
The statement hung heavily in the air.
Erik didn't respond, and Meg lowered her head even more.
"You knew or at least suspected that, didn't you? The evening we argued… That's what you meant by talking about her leaving, am I right?"
"Yes." He tried to keep his emotions at bay, but the sound that left his mouth was far more hoarse than he would have wished.
Meg hunched. "Raoul has family there; he could work at one of the companies they own. It's the most logical choice. And yet, somehow I never thought about it. Nor did I ever imagine we could leave Paris…" She broke off for a short while, and her fingers trailed the edge of her cape.
"They told us that they want us to go with them. We do not have any relatives left, and Raoul says he could offer us lodging and help us with finding new jobs, learning the language and everything else, so it sounds reasonable, but… It's still weird to think about leaving the Opera Garnier…" Her voice wavered slightly, and she bit her lip, wrapping her arms around herself. "Will you… will you come with us too?" Her last words were barely louder than a whisper.
Erik could have sworn that for the first time in his life he had misheard.
"Would I go if I were in your shoes?" He echoed, frowning. "Well, I think I would. It would be a logical decision. It's not like anything is holding you here." His chest and throat closed up at the sentence, but he did his best to ignore it. "The new managers are not exactly generous about the ballet. It took your mother a lot of effort to persuade them to stage the last short dance of nymphs. And though the performance went splendidly, they didn't change their ignorant policy." He scowled, not hiding his distaste.
His argument didn't seem to make the ballerina feel much better, though.
"But what about you?" Meg spun towards the wall, concern and something he couldn't quite name etched in her features. "I don't want us to be separated!"
The sight and her words hit him to the core. For a longer moment, Erik couldn't find any answer, nor could he force his vocal cords to work.
"I can manage on my own," he rasped finally. "But perhaps I will leave too. It's not like I'm exactly welcome here." A bitter grimace curved his mouth. "I once thought about leaving France in secret, but now… well, I'm starting to think about a more permanent solution regarding my legal status." He cleared his throat slightly. "After I solve that, I could probably choose England as my destination too." He had no idea why he had added that, but the way Meg's face brightened was all the reward he needed.
"Oh, that would be wonderful! I wouldn't like to go, if you couldn't join us." Meg smiled softly, and for some reason, it did something strange to his heart rhythm. "If there's anything I can do to help, you can just let me know. I certainly won't leave before it." She looked towards his hideout with determination.
A strange feeling flooded his chest.
"I… I'll think about it," he whispered.
Meg's features relaxed. "Good. I would be really happy if you could live with us or at least visit us frequently." Tiny sparks appeared in her eyes. The dancer tilted her head, and her lips quirked in a half playful expression. "And maybe once you've settled everything, we could even finally explain everything to Christine and Raoul? He is a good and nice man. I'm sure you two could get along if you just both gave it a chance."
Erik couldn't help but scoff at the absurdity of that idea.
"I highly doubt that Monsieur le Vicomte would agree with you. The likes of him don't accept anything that doesn't fit their perfect garish world." Low, growling notes slipped into his voice.
Meg hesitated as if she wanted to disagree, but after second thought dropped the topic.
The awkward silence stretched between them, and for a while neither of them broke it. Finally, the girl shifted a little.
"Can I ask you about something?"
Erik grunted an affirmative. Meg glanced down at her hands, clasped on her lap.
"It's probably silly," she began uncertainly, "but leaving Paris will be a bit hard for me. This place is interwoven with my happiest memories and my roots. With my Papa…" Her voice trembled, and she bit her lip, lowering her head even more. "The park and the corners we used to visit are right here. Just like the cemetery where he is buried…" She swallowed hard.
"Raoul says that we will be able to visit France often," she resumed quietly, "especially since his family has some shares in a trading company. He could also help with other solutions and arrangements, even with moving the grave, but…" she broke off for a few seconds. "Well, it's different for him and Christine. They both travelled a lot as children. As for me, this city is almost everything I have known since the day of my birth. I'm excited about going abroad and having a new home too, but leaving France behind won't exactly be easy. Will it be for you?" She raised her eyes, glancing questioningly at the wall behind which he stood.
Erik froze, not knowing how to react. The truth was that most of the time he would prefer not to remember his accursed past. But Meg deserved an answer, didn't she?
His muscles tightened.
"France has never been a welcoming home to me," he said hoarsely, leaning his back against the wall. "A woman with a child out of wedlock is not exactly greeted enthusiastically by society either." His tone darkened.
The Phantom scowled and looked down, gritting his teeth.
"I don't have any roots," he stated. "My mother's parents arrived in France around 1831 as immigrants, but they died soon afterwards. The orphanage didn't have any records apart from that. As for my father, I've never met him. I only learnt who he was when I was five years old, and my mother read his obituary in a newspaper. 'Baron de Castelot-Barbezac tragically dies in outburst of cholera epidemic'…" The way he recited the headline seemed unpleasantly scathing, even to his own ears.
His hands clenched into fists.
"That evening," he forced himself to continue, "she explained to me that she'd met him after she got a job at his family estate as a talented dressmaker. She also showed me a small daguerreotype depicting him, which she still carried around with her. She told me that he was the only heir, so he had responsibilities towards his family and couldn't risk the scandal of having a child with a servant. Not when his position wasn't established yet." Acrid notes slipped into his voice. "For me, it sounded like a poor excuse." His mouth twisted, and he cursed inwardly as a painful spasm went through his distorted profile. "Anyway, even if he had come, I doubt that he would have liked to show society what he had accidentally created," he finished with a low, bitter growl.
When he turned back, peeking through the slit, he saw that Meg was staring at the wall separating them with wide eyes and a pale face.
"I'm so sorry." A shadow flickered across the ballerina's features, and she looked down, evidently distressed. "I've been rambling about my worries while your life has been so much tougher. Anyone who didn't want you as a family member made a mistake, but still… I can't even imagine how hard it must have been for you and–"
"I don't mind listening," he interrupted dryly.
Meg only shook her head. "I should have been more thoughtful about what I said." Her hands clasped in obvious discomfort.
Part of Erik had always admired Meg's kindness, but right now, he couldn't stop the anger flaring in his chest. His fists curled tighter.
"Wait there, Meg." The barked order escaped his mouth before he could fully think through what he was doing. A second later, he turned on his heel, and with a swirl of his cape, strode down the corridor.
"Wait there, Meg." Erik's firm words resounded in the air, and Meg could only blink in utter confusion.
"Erik?" Her hushed question received no answer. She bit her lip.
To her surprise, a moment later, the Opera Ghost's tall silhouette shadowed a doorway. Her heartbeat stumbled like a clumsy dancer during her first training.
A worried part of her wanted to point out that it was too risky for him to come here, but at the same time, she couldn't hide how happy she was to see him. Hurriedly, she rose to her feet. Her smile of greeting dimmed, though, as she noticed her friend's expression.
Erik crossed the chapel aisle in a few long strides, his cape billowing behind him. His shoulders were taut, and he once again looked like the wrathful Phantom in his full, intimidating glory.
The man stopped a metre before her, his mouth pressed into a determined line.
"I don't need or want you to act this way," he ground out.
The seriousness in his voice made Meg's eyes widen in shock. "What way?"
"This way." Erik gestured between them with a hint of irritation or frustration – she couldn't tell.
In response, she could only stare, speechless. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn the uncovered side of the Opera Ghost's face flushed.
"Hell." Erik swore and averted his gaze. His hand went up to adjust the back of his already straight collar. "I'm not an expert, but isn't this whole ridiculous friendship about mutuality?" He looked back at her, his visible eyebrow pulling down. "And yet, it is always you who tries to help others with an incessant smile or a polite expression, often not receiving anything in return. There isn't any blazed scrap of logic in that!" he snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "Besides, you can be sad or worried too, and I–" he broke off abruptly, freezing mid-gesture. A strange shadow flitted across his face, and he glanced down, clenching his fists at his sides.
"Well, I simply don't like uneven bargains," he finished hoarsely. "Therefore, I demand to be informed every time you feel so." His eyes found hers as he resumed his Phantom stance, straightening and squaring his shoulders. Just as in his tone, there was steel in his gaze, but also poorly concealed concern and something she couldn't quite name.
Meg felt a tearful lump forming in her throat. It was the most touching and endearing order she had ever heard.
Erik shifted. "What's more," he added more quietly, "I think you have every right to miss Paris. Especially the places connected with your father. He truly was a good man."
This time, Meg didn't manage to hold back the tears welling up. She hurriedly turned away.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erik twitch and take a step in her direction, only to withdraw the next second. His fingers flexed and unflexed nervously, but then he moved again, and his large gloved hand closed uncertainly around her right palm.
Somehow, this silent gesture of support moved her even more. A quiet sob escaped her lips.
Not being able to resist anymore, Meg spun on her heel and buried her face into the lapels of the Opera Ghost's tailcoat, just before a muffled cry started to shake her body.
Erik's breath hitched at the contact, but he didn't draw away, and she leaned even more into him, desperately clutching the upper edge of his waistcoat with her free hand. After a longer pause, the Phantom's palm awkwardly rested on her back.
It wasn't a full embrace, but still the warmth emanating from it wrapped around her like a soft blanket as she sobbed.
Erik's heart thudded fast in her ear, but there was something strangely calming about the way his chest rose and fell under her cheek. Meg inhaled a faint minty-herbal scent that lingered on his clothes, mixed with a smell of candle smoke. She had never liked any perfume or cologne more.
Her tears dried at last, and embarrassed, she pulled away, sniffling. A handkerchief appeared in front of her, and she accepted it gratefully, making good use of it as she blushed.
"I'm sorry, I think I got your tailcoat a little wet."
Erik grimaced slightly. "I think I'll survive," he said, his tone strangely throaty. "It might be surprising, but I don't have other social plans for tonight."
His attempt at a joke brought a tiny smile to her lips.
"I'm relieved, then." She glanced up. "And thank you for the handkerchief; I'll return it after washing." She stuffed the evidence of her embarrassing breakdown into her pocket.
There was a pause, and then the Opera Ghost spoke again.
"I really meant what I said about your father," he stated quietly. "He was a good man to everyone. And I still remember the nights he spent with me in the previous opera's underground after my escape from the circus." His voice wavered, and Meg saw his Adam's apple bob up and down.
Erik gritted his teeth, averting his gaze; the hoarseness became more evident in his tone. "I wasn't able to sleep a lot, so for the majority of the time, he was just showing me how to carve. All in all, I suppose we could almost have opened a shop with the amount of wooden soldiers we created," he finished stiffly.
He tried to sound as if he didn't care much about it, but Meg knew it was just a cover. Once again she thought about the small carved figure that had been placed next to the photograph of her father.
"The one that appeared in the chapel after the funeral… It was also made by you, wasn't it?"
The Phantom answered with a reluctant nod. A tender smile touched her lips.
"I myself specialised in the ballerinas." Meg took a step away to look back up in a more comfortable way, and Erik's grey-blue irises met hers.
"Don't tell anyone, but I produced quite a large amount of wooden ballerinas too."
The fake serious confidentiality in his intonation made her chuckle, even though it still sounded a bit tearful.
"I promise that your terrible secret is safe with me." Her grin widened, then turned into a strangely soft expression. "Thank you for everything," she whispered.
Erik looked away. "I've only voiced the truth." He rubbed the back of his neck, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight of this awkward gesture. How could she have ever considered the Phantom standing before her cold or fearsome?
"It was still a kind gesture. And something I needed to hear."
Erik glanced down at her again. "Perhaps one young but wise woman did something similar for me once." The left corner of his mouth tugged a little up. "Her mother's moralising tendencies might have had some influence on me too, though I'm not going to admit that in front of her."
His remark evoked another chuckle from her.
Erik's crooked half-smile widened, and the sight flooded her with a weird sensation. Their eyes met. A second later, the man averted his gaze.
For a moment they just stood in silence, but somehow there wasn't anything uncomfortable about it. Yet no matter how much as she didn't want to spoil this atmosphere, there was one more thing she needed to clarify.
"Erik?"
He turned to her, his visible eyebrow raised questioningly.
Meg bit her lip.
"You… you know that if you ever have nightmares or just feel bad again, you can tell Maman or me, don't you?"
She had tried to ask it as gently as it was possible, but still her words seemed to hit him with the force of a falling counterweight. For a split second, Erik's features contorted in pain, then hardened into a tensed, stone mask. The Phantom turned away from her, his hands clenching at his sides.
"There is no such need," he growled.
Something inside her constricted painfully. However, before she could say anything more, Erik shifted again.
"I… I'll try to keep your proposition in mind, though," he added more gently.
The tension inside her eased a fraction, and she smiled again. Perhaps, it was all the answer she needed for now.
"That's good. Because, as your friend, I want to be there for you too if you ever need me." She grinned when Erik sent her a somewhat shocked look.
For a longer while, neither of them spoke, then Erik cleared his throat again.
"What would you say to listening to some music? Maybe one of Chopin's nocturnes? Or something of a lighter mood, like Strauss's 'Blue Danube' waltz?"
He didn't look at her as he asked, but she didn't mind. Her chest filled with peculiar warmth.
"I would be honoured."
Author's notes:
1) Daguerreotype was a photographic process used during the 1840s and 1850s (invented by Louis Daguerre). The same name refers to an image made using this method. The picture was created on a copper plate covered with a layer of silver iodide, treated with mercury fumes.
2) The title of the Baron de Castelot-Barbezac is another thing I borrowed from the original novel. For those who haven't read it: Little Meg in the book becomes la Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac in the end. I don't imagine her getting a title in my version, but... (here, you can imagine my meaningful eyebrows wiggling)
3) When I was writing this chapter, I couldn't stop thinking about the song "Falling Slowly" from the musical Once. I think it describes well this stage of Erik and Meg's relationship. In the Polish cover made by Studio Accantus, the lyrics are greatly changed, but I find them fitting too. :) I really like the ending line in it: „Choć nie wrócą dni stracone, wciąż masz jeszcze czas" – "Though the lost days won't come back, you still have time". Both versions can be found on Youtube.
4) Being optimistic, caring and helpful are wonderful traits, but pushing away your more difficult emotions and forcing yourself to always be supportive and positive, especially for the sake of others, (so-called "toxic positivity") is nothing good. Kudos to everyone who has already noticed this problem in Meg! Especially the ones who paid attention to that one sentence I purposely put in chapter 20 (21): "It was not like her to be upset, after all, was it?" ;P
Huge thanks also to everyone who has faved my story or left a comment/sent me a message – I deeply appreciate and adore each one of them! I simply don't have enough words to express my gratitude and joy; your feedback is super motivating and rewarding, and it makes me smile and squeal with excitement every time! :D Thank you! ‹3
As always, extra loads of appreciation for the help of my amazing beta and grammar checker Lily (librarylexicon)!