Chapter 13: Masks, Names and Fairy Tales
Meg stood on the premieres loges level with her hands resting on the marble balustrade, listening to the soft orchestral music and watching the colourful crowd of couples dancing a floor below, at the base of the Grand Escalier.
Christine and Raoul had left the opera house soon after the Phantom's shocking exit – much earlier than they had planned – to attend a party thrown by one of the de Chagny family's business partners. Meg had managed to exchange a few words with her shaken friend, and Christine had assured Meg that she was all right and that they could talk more later. Despite that, the ballerina was unable to enjoy the rest of the evening. Her thoughts stubbornly kept returning to the Opera Ghost, analysing the whole situation over and over again.
It was probably foolish of her to believe that she could fix anything just by talking to the Phantom, but still she couldn't stifle a pang of disappointment that he had declined her invitation. She didn't fully understand what he had wanted to achieve by today's performance, but it seemed that he was starting to get a little desperate. And that certainly wasn't a good sign.
The only good thing was that Christine managed to persuade Raoul out of an attempt to pursue him…
Meg bit her lip and forced herself to focus again on the dancers below. She had spent a nice time chatting with Cecile, Louise and Pauline from the ballet group as well as a few girls from the choir, but now, as all of them had been asked to dance by their partners, or – as in Little Jammes's case – called by their family, she was once again left alone with her thoughts.
The ballerina sighed and absentmindedly stroked the edge of her thigh-length cape.
Both she and Christine had really been looking forward to this ball and had spent a lot of time preparing their costumes, with the help of the opera's costume designer. The theme of this year's masquerade was "Tales of Magic and Things Beyond Imagination", so Christine had happily chosen one of her favourite stories. And Meg had to admit that in her light pink ball gown, decorated with fabric roses, her best friend really looked like the titular heroine from "La Belle et la Bête". Especially with her handsome, freed-from-the-spell prince at her side…
Meg had also taken inspiration from one of her childhood books – or, more precisely, from an illustration presenting a festival of shape-shifting fae-folk. And so, she had ended up in a white dress with a bluish cutaway overskirt with three layers of delicate, spilling ruffles that were slightly longer in the back, and a bodice with a triangular golden-yellow panel in front. Her narrow white mask had a dark stripe going horizontally through its middle, and her blue cape with its grey lining was adorned with pieces of material resembling cerulean feathers, completing her characterisation.
Refraining from elaborate coiffure, she settled for her usual simple hairstyle with her bangs combed to the sides and the hair near her temples gathered and tied at the back, leaving the rest loosely flowing down to her shoulder blades. Her only ornament was a green flower crown decorated with artificial cornflowers and blue violets.
A modest fairy with bird-like wings.
She had been rather proud of her outfit when it had been finished, but now she was starting to think that it didn't matter much what she looked like anyway; she wasn't sure if it was the fault of her own character or her mother's infamous strictness, but as always she was left unnoticed when the men asked the other girls to dance. She hated when some people somehow confused being a ballerina with an entirely different profession and was glad that, thanks to her maman's sharp gaze and Monsieur Lefevre's rules (and, apparently, also a few rather scathing notes sent by the Phantom to a small group of former patrons), certain kinds of behaviour towards them weren't accepted in the opera house. She herself always tried to keep a friendly but professional distance and though she believed that being ignored by some was better than that unsavoury alternative, being completely left out sometimes made her a little sad too. Though – as she had to admit to herself – right now, the lack of a dance partner was certainly the least of her problems.
Meg inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. Well, instead of standing here, she could make an effort to do something more interesting. She hadn't spent so much time preparing for this ball not to at least try to enjoy it. With that thought, she determinedly turned on her heel only to gasp as she almost collided with someone's chest.
"Oh, pardon." She took a step back to let the man pass, but he didn't move. Confused, Meg raised her head to look at the stranger, and her breath hitched as she met a familiar pair of steel eyes staring down at her.
It's him…
She had no doubts that it was indeed the Phantom who was standing in front of her, but at the same time she was unsure that anyone would recognise in him the person who had caused the disruption one and half hours ago.
The scarlet costume of the Red Death was gone without a trace, giving way to a black cutaway tailcoat and trousers, a high-collar shirt, the dark sapphire waistcoat she had bought and a grey foulard cravat that was tucked neatly behind it. Completing the costume was an ankle-length black cape decorated with black and dark blue fabric feathers at its shoulders and bottom hem. The skull-shaped mask that had covered almost all of the Opera Ghost's face was now replaced by a simple black one, reaching just to the lower edges of his cheeks and revealing the shadows of his trimmed sideburns. His dark hair – slicked flat before – was now combed back in a more natural, slightly ruffled manner.
Even his posture was different – not stiffly upright and intimidating, but more ordinary, almost like a usual, well-mannered ball attendee. Upon closer examination, though, one could see that he certainly wasn't as relaxed as the others, with his jaw set tight and hands clenched. She couldn't tell if it was because he felt irritated, or perhaps instead a bit uneasy. Nevertheless, his whole transformation was undoubtedly astounding.
A different mask and a different person… The sentence came to Meg's mind almost on its own, and with it appeared an even more important question: who really was the man hidden behind it?
The Opera Ghost cleared his throat, breaking her musings. "I was under the impression that you invited me here to discuss something, Mademoiselle Giry." His voice was devoid of colour.
Meg swallowed hard, clasping her palms together. "Y-yes, it's true." She hoped that her nervousness wasn't too evident. "There are some things I would like to discuss, so I'm very grateful that you've come, monsieur. I think we could find a free table in a more private setting somewhere over there." She made a gesture, taking a small step forwards. "Please, just follow me."
Forcing an uncertain smile to her lips, Meg turned around, trying not to think about the absurd fact that she was showing the Phantom of the Opera around his own building.
It was almost as if she had truly entered some strange fairy tale…
The man obediently followed her, and soon afterwards, the two of them turned left into the corridor of the Avant Foyer. Sounds of loud laughter and chatter drifted up to them from the adjacent Grand Foyer, but from the few furtive glances she dared to throw out of the corner of her eye, she could see that thankfully no one was paying them any special attention.
The whole prime box floor was allocated for guests resting between dances. And so, both sides of the Grand Staircase's entresol were occupied by long counters with refreshments, while the rest of the space was taken by tables accompanied by upholstered chairs, scattered all around in bigger and smaller groups. The largest amount of seats was right there – in the lounge known as the Grand Foyer – but the room was also crowded almost to its limits, and that was precisely why she had decided to avoid it.
Reaching the end of the hall, Meg walked through the doorway leading to the small round room of the Rotonde du Soleil, and then opened a door in the opposite wall.
The Gallerie du Glacier, located on one side of the opera building, certainly wasn't as magnificent as the Grand Foyer with its breath-taking paintings and lavish golden ornaments, but at least there were spare seats and much fewer people. The gallery was adjoined to the bar at the Rotonde du Glacier, where the spectators could usually have something to eat or drink during the intermissions, and that was likely the reason why most people had decided to choose a different place tonight.
Grateful for this – and for the fact that she couldn't see any too-familiar faces here – Meg headed to one of the isolated tables located in the middle. Then, she excused herself and went a few metres away to pour herself and the Phantom some tea from a large samovar. The porcelain cups clattered treacherously against their saucers as she lifted them, but somehow she managed to stifle her jitters enough to regain her usually irreproachable dancer's balance and carry them to their chosen place.
The Opera Ghost sent her a very strange look as she approached him again, but did not say a word.
Not sure if it was a good or bad sign, Meg took a seat closer to the window while the man sat down stiffly opposite to her. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could have sworn that his gloved, curled hands were flexing and unflexing slightly in an unsettling way. His squared shoulders and rough, watchful demeanour were definitely not helping her to relax, either.
Meg wrapped her fingers around her cup, feeling a lump starting to form in her throat.
"As I said before," she began uncertainly, "I'm really grateful that you've come here, monsieur. Our last two brief meetings weren't exactly pleasant ones, but I hope we can put them in the past. As for today…" The sentences she had prepared so meticulously for this conversation evaporated from her head. Her mouth went dry. "Well, I… I think you know why I invited you here…" she finished awkwardly.
The Phantom nodded in response. "You need some answers and explanations from me. And since you do not trust me fully, you prefer to avoid meeting alone. The masquerade gave you the perfect opportunity – the possibility of talking in a safe place without revealing my identity."
His tone and face were almost completely deprived of emotion, as if he was simply stating the obvious, but Meg felt a wave of guilt colouring her cheeks. It wasn't exactly the answer she had expected.
"I…" She lowered her gaze, ashamed. "I won't deny it's true that I felt better knowing that we would be talking in a public area," she admitted, "but… there was also another reason why I chose this place." Her hands wrapped tighter around her cup, and she sighed.
"I didn't treat you fairly, especially in the underground. So, I wanted to apologise and somehow make up for that. The ball was the only thing that came to my mind." Meg's mouth pulled up a bit in an apologetic smile. She forced herself to look up, and for a split second, saw a flash of astonishment in the Phantom's eyes.
A moment later, the Opera Ghost turned away, breaking the contact. "I could have behaved differently back then, too…"
A hint of pangs of conscience slipped into his voice, and this time it was Meg's turn to stare.
She would never have expected that he would so easily admit fault. It simply wasn't something that the fearsome Phantom from the tales would do!
Only… Well, the person she was talking with wasn't only the Phantom of the Opera, was he?
Again, the ballerina wondered who the man hidden behind the mask really was. Her gaze moved up, searching her interlocutor's face.
Today, when both its sides were equally covered, it was even harder to read his guarded thoughts, even though in the bright light of the gas lamps she could see the rest of his features more clearly than ever before. She could even glimpse the strange reddish shade and uneven texture of the skin around his right eye and–
Realising that she was being impolite by staring at the visible details of the deformed part of the Opera Ghost's countenance, Meg scolded herself inwardly and focused on her tea.
"Anyway" – she cleared her throat slightly – "as you said, the main reason I asked you to come here is that I hoped you could give me some answers. It was quite a shock for me to learn that my family's past is connected with yours, and though I finally see some matters in a different light, in some ways I feel even more lost than before…" she trailed off and glanced back up, finding that the Phantom was observing her again. His stone expression still made her a little uncomfortable, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
"I am now involved in all of this," she said softly but firmly, "and I'm supposed to obey some rules, but I barely know anything. It's a bit as if I were taking part in some complicated dance without knowing the steps or even hearing the melody. So, I hoped you could help me fill some of those gaps," she finished gently, and then breathed covertly with relief when – after a short pause – the Opera Ghost inclined his head.
"I suppose it would be fair that way. I wouldn't be here if I thought otherwise. Though, I cannot guarantee that I will answer all your questions."
Meg felt both her hopes and her nervousness growing. So far, the Phantom had been treating her rather politely, but she was almost sure that he wouldn't like the topics she needed to discuss. She bit her lip, and absentmindedly brushed the narrow, fading scar on her left palm.
"I hope I won't offend you by my first question, then," she began, "but… well, I really need to know what your intentions towards my family are."
Her words hung in the silence. The Phantom furrowed his eyebrows; she could see them through the holes in his mask now.
"Intentions?"
"Y-yes." Realising that she was nervously clutching her pendant, Meg lowered both her hand and her gaze to the table and swallowed hard. "In the underground, you warned me that if I revealed your secrets, members of my family might also suffer. Back then, I interpreted it as something akin to a threat. And now… well, I wonder what you really meant by that?"
She tentatively raised her head, and for the first time that evening she saw the Opera Ghost seem almost completely taken aback. In that short moment, his stone facade crumbled entirely, revealing shock mixed with something strangely close deep guilt.
"I…" The man opened his mouth, then pressed it shut again, looking aside. His Adam's apple moved up and down. "I wasn't exactly careful about what I was saying that day," he admitted more quietly. "But I only meant that if things went wrong and your mother's involvement was discovered, she could also be held liable. I would do everything in my power to not let anyone else pay for my faults, though."
The Opera Ghost's hoarse tone hardened, filling with determination, and its intensity surprised Meg. His eyes moved back to her, a grave seriousness glimmering in them.
"I haven't forgotten what I owe to the Giry family," he stated, "and I would never even think about intentionally harming any of you in any way. Nor have I a desire to cause any real harm to anyone else, for that matter…" This last sentence was added in a more gruff manner, and his lips contorted in a scowl.
Meg wasn't sure if Carlotta or Joseph Buquet would completely agree with this last statement, but she decided not to risk commenting – especially since no serious harm had been done.
"I'm honoured and reassured to hear that," she responded honestly, "but… well, at the same time I can't help but feel a little concerned by recent events." She frowned slightly. "I'm not even sure what the goal of today's performance was; forgive me for saying that, but it was a bit unsettling, especially at the end. And I also can't stop worrying about Christine. She–" Meg broke off, belatedly noticing the tight set of her interlocutor's jaw.
The stone cold expression had returned.
"If you are worried that I've endangered my – and, consequently, your mother's – secrets, Mademoiselle Giry," the Phantom ground out slowly, "then I assure you I took every precaution to minimise risk. I haven't done anything that's against any rule. Furthermore, most of the guests simply thought that my arrival was part of the show. As for the rest of your questions, I'm afraid that they do not concern your family directly, so – with all due respect – I do not feel obliged to answer them."
Meg felt a familiar knot of fear twisting her stomach.
"I-I understand." She fell silent, not sure what else to say. She didn't want to argue that in some ways Christine was a part of her family, nor about the fact that anything he did concerned them, for they would probably share some of the consequences. It was clear that any mention of these topics was highly unwelcome. Unfortunately, that made her attempt to fix all recent misunderstandings much more difficult.
The heavy silence that hung between them had stretched to the point of awkwardness by the time the Phantom eventually broke it.
"If that's all you need from me, mademoiselle," he said stiffly, "then I think I won't be wasting more of your time and will take my leave." Offering her a curt bow, he rose from his seat.
A pang of panic pierced Meg's chest.
"Please, wait!" Without thinking, Meg slipped out of her seat and rounded the table, her left hand instinctively reaching forwards to rest on the back of the chair that the Opera Ghost was sliding back into place.
The man froze. His gaze darted furtively around, her own following it, but it seemed that the other guests present were too preoccupied with themselves to pay them any attention, and the distant music and giggles quite efficiently muffled their conversation.
The Phantom's steel eyes turned back to the ballerina, sliding from her face to her outstretched arm, and with a pinch of embarrassment, she withdrew her hand, clasping it with the other.
"I… I know I have no right to stop you, monsieur," she said quietly, lowering her head, "but please let me say at least one more thing." Her fingers wandered up, unwittingly reaching for the thin chain around her neck as she swallowed hard.
"I said that I wanted to make amends for the way that I acted, but it seems that I have once again behaved ungratefully. I apologised, but also started our conversation in a way more akin to an interrogation than an actual talk, when I should at least have shown some gratitude. And for that, I'm sorry."
Meg forced herself to look back up, summoning all the polite confidence she could muster. "I won't lie and say that I agree with all the Opera Ghost's actions, but you most likely saved my life, and I haven't said even a word of gratitude. I apologise for that and hope you will accept both my repeated apology and my thanks…"
The Phantom stared down at her with an incredulity that was mixed with something she couldn't quite name. His eyebrows furrowed behind his mask. Yet there was an uncharacteristically soft note in his tone when he spoke again.
"You… are quite a peculiar person, aren't you, Mademoiselle Giry?"
Unsure how to respond, Meg smiled nervously. "Well, I can't deny that I've been told something similar before, so maybe there really is something to it." Realising that she was clutching her pendant again, she lowered her hand.
"I probably have no right to ask," she added more quietly, "but I would be happy if you agreed to stay a little longer and gave me a chance to start this meeting anew. Maybe this time we will even be able to drink our tea." She gestured towards their untouched drinks, a shadow of a faint but honest smile touching her lips.
The Phantom eyed her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head.
"I suppose I can stay a few minutes longer…" he conceded warily after a long pause, and Meg felt a spark of hope ignite inside her again.
"Thank you." Her gratefulness earned her another strange look, but this time she was sure it was a good sign. Her features brightened.
"I've realised," she started again, more confidently, "that we've never actually introduced ourselves properly, so maybe we should begin with that. You already know this, monsieur, but" – without removing her glove, she reached out her hand, smiling gently – "I'm Meg Giry."
The Opera Ghost looked down at her with an almost palpable disbelief. After a moment of hesitation, though, he closed his gloved fingers around hers. His face twitched, and a strange hoarseness slipped into his voice.
"…Erik… Engelgerd…"
It surprised her that he told her his surname, but her shock was quickly replaced by a smile.
"Well then, I'm happy to finally make your acquaintance, Monsieur Engelgerd." Meg beamed radiantly.
As the man's slightly shocked gaze gave way to a still guarded, but somewhat softer expression, the corners of her lips rose even higher, and for the first time that evening, there was nothing forced about it.
Erik had to admit that he had never experienced a stranger conversation.
For almost an hour he had been sitting in the Gallerie du Glacier, listening to Meg Giry talking about the most trivial things, occasionally adding a word in commentary. The ballerina had asked him a few more general questions about his actions as the Opera Ghost, but none of them had demanded the reveal of details he would rather avoid. And for the rest of the time she had unflinchingly stuck to casual, neutral topics, making him feel as if it were all some absurd dream.
A dream that turned even more unreal when it was supposed to end.
He had planned to go as soon as the gong announced that just fifteen minutes were left till midnight. At that point, all the banqueters would divide into three groups: the largest heading to the Place de l'Opera before the building, the second taking the loggia in front of the Grand Foyer and the smallest going to the lower front roof to see the planned fireworks. Any of those more crowded places were too risky for him, so his leaving seemed the only rational choice. And yet, as he tried to bid goodbye to Meg Giry, she once again surprised him completely.
With a concerned crease on her forehead, she stated it would be a shame if he missed the show. And then, she brightened anew as she suggested that they would probably be able to see the fireworks more privately from the top roof. She even asked if he knew if any exit would be open there!
Too shocked to form any other response, he replied truthfully that they could probably use the exit in the old storage room, adding as a reminder that it was unlikely anybody else would be there. Somehow the fact no longer seemed to bother her, though.
And so, he had ended up climbing the stairs near the Rotonde du Glacier a few metres behind a cheerful and loud group from the same room, wondering what he was actually doing here…
Erik once again peeked over his shoulder at the petite, blonde-haired ballerina walking at his side. She could easily go join the others without him, so why would she bother seeking other solutions?
As if sensing his gaze, Meg Giry adjusted her mask, looking up at him, and he quickly averted his eyes, focusing back on their way.
A few floors later, the banqueters turned into one of the main corridors, and the two of them imperceptibly directed their steps further towards the backstage part of the building and then even higher up, disappearing among the shadows of the emptied interiors.
Freed from potential onlookers, Erik breathed a little deeper. The invisible band that had been constricting his chest the whole evening finally started to loosen.
The space there was allocated for technical rooms, workshops and an extra costume storehouse, and hence it was not often visited by members of the cast. He would be a pitiful Phantom of the Opera, though, if he didn't know his theatre well, so he didn't have problems with finding the right way.
The gas jets had already been turned off, but it only took him a moment to locate a lantern dangling down from its hook. Lighting it, he ducked under a row of skirts, which had been hung below the ceiling to let the delicate fabric work and stretch naturally before they would be finished, and plunged into the labyrinth of dark rooms, with Meg Giry following close behind.
After a few more turns, they reached a narrow corridor ending with a short flight of stairs that led to their destination. Erik climbed them and pushed the handle, keeping the door ajar for the dancer. The girl stepped inside, curiously looking around at the mostly forgotten (and somewhat cluttered) storage room while he put the lantern on a wooden crate and moved over to a roof entrance in the opposite wall.
"Here."
His quiet voice sounded awkward and a bit rough in the silence, but the ballerina thanked him with yet another utterly confusing half-smile as she approached doorway. Her heels clattered softly against the zinc coated roof tiles as she walked outside, raising her mask.
A moment later, in the distance, the first fireworks exploded into full bloom, brightening the night sky like fire flowers. Soon afterwards, even more astonishing and colourful bursts followed. The accompanying noise wasn't something he enjoyed, but it was bearable from afar, and he couldn't deny the spectacle held a certain fairy-tale charm.
Taking advantage of the fact that Meg Giry's attention was focused elsewhere, he glanced at her again, trying to read her features. He could see the gentle contours of her face quite well despite the prevailing semi-darkness, but somehow that didn't make things easier.
The truth was that he had no idea why she was doing all of this. He had expected that she would ask him some questions, but her almost friendly behaviour puzzled him completely.
Sure, if he had to point out the nicest people in the opera house, Meg Giry would definitely be in the top three on his list, but he would have never guessed she would make an effort to have a casual conversation with him or try to treat him almost as if he were a regular opera employee.
And as if that hadn't been enough, she had even decided to come here with him, making him even more confused than before.
It was probably just her way of showing him that she trusted him enough not to suspect he would suddenly go mad and try to strangle her with some absurd magic lasso from Joseph Buquet's stories, but he couldn't understand what she wanted to gain from all this. Make him trust her more in return? Why?
Blazes, he really had no idea what he was supposed to think about this woman!
Erik sighed inwardly in frustration. For some reason, his thoughts went back to the day when, for the first time, Madame Giry had asked him not to involve her daughter in his secrets.
It had been the very end of August, shortly after his thirteenth birthday when – in spite of his declarations that he didn't needed help – the ballet instructor had visited him again to bring him some new clothes; he had been outgrowing them at an appallingly fast pace back then. Yet, in addition to the new garments, he had received something else that afternoon – a children's fairy tale book with slightly crumpled corners…
Madame Giry explained to him that her eight-year-old daughter had accidentally found the clothes intended for him hidden in their flat and, having received the evasive answer that they were "for a boy who needs help", she had insisted on also giving him her book.
When he opened it later that evening, he found a framed set of crooked capital letters on the first page, scribbled with pencil and forming an inscription: "THIS BOOK BELONGS TO MEG GIRY", though each S was written in reverse. Below, in slightly more even, but still childish handwriting, someone had added: "But now it can belong to you too", completing the statement with a little picture of sun in the form of circle surrounded by dashes and a crooked frame in which he was probably supposed to write his own name.
Later, he heard that Little Giry's parents had bought her a new copy of the book soon afterwards, but her gift had still been one of the kindest gestures he had received in those dark days.
The last firework exploded with its richness of colour, bringing him back to the present just in time to see the dancer turning back to him.
"It was a perfect place to see this show. Thank you." The corners of Meg Giry's lips rose in a grateful smile, and once again Erik couldn't help but feel strangely out of place. Not sure how to respond, he just nodded rigidly, and then stepped back to let her go inside.
Wordlessly, they left the room, returning to the sections of the opera that were now plunged in a deep slumber. Neither of them spoke as they went, and it was only when he finally stopped among the shadows a few metres from the lightened staircase that the ballerina looked at him again.
"I guess this is where we part ways for tonight."
It was more of a quiet statement than a question, but he confirmed it anyway.
"The official and the masked part of the ball was supposed to end soon after midnight." He left the further implications unsaid.
The dancer still remained in her place, though. Her mouth opened, but that same moment the muffled, excited voices of other ball participants, returning from the front roof, washed over them, cutting off their conversation. Both of them fell silent, nervously looking towards the source of the sound through the semi-darkness separating them.
Another bitter reminder that, despite all his pretending, he could never be a part of the outside world.
The Phantom clenched his jaw.
After a few minutes, the voices began to fade, and Meg Giry turned towards him again.
"It was certainly a bit of a strange night," she said quietly, "but I still quite enjoyed it. I only hope that my ways of passing the time weren't completely unpleasant for you…" Her eyes met his, and a warm, empathic spark visible in them shocked him as much as her statement.
Could she have noticed his discomfort during the ball? Why would she even care how he felt?
His lack of reaction made the ballerina lower her gaze again.
"I know that I probably shouldn't have any more requests," she whispered, "but… would it be possible for us to meet again? There are still some matters I would like to talk about." Meg Giry glanced up at him, and he couldn't stop himself from staring back in response, utterly surprised by her request.
With the answers he had given her today and her mother as a source of information, she didn't actually need to see him again, especially now that he had made it clear that there were topics he would not discuss. So, why would she ask for this?
Erik furrowed his forehead behind his mask.
A part of him wanted to decline straight away, but the other reminded him of the promise he had made during the masquerade, along with one more tiny fact: it was clear that Meg Giry was up to something, and if he wanted to understand her motivations better, he definitely needed to gather more data. And that could only be provided by further observation.
His eyebrows pulled down a fraction more. "We could probably meet again in the same storage room on Monday, when most employees will be occupied with interviews for the lead actors. Though, once again, I'm not guaranteeing that I'll answer all your questions."
Meg Giry inclined her head, accepting this.
"I think it would be fair that way." Another tiny yet strangely amicable smile flitted across her face at this reprise of his own words. "Happy New Year, and goodnight." With these wishes, the dancer simply turned on her heel and vanished from his sight, leaving him alone with his bewildered thoughts.
The truth was that he had even less idea what to think. He didn't like to admit it, but today Meg Giry had disoriented him more than anything before.
She surely had to have some hidden reason behind her behaviour other than just her friendly disposition, hadn't she?
It was logical to suspect. A cautious approach that reality had painfully taught him.
And yet, his mind wouldn't stop reminding him about that day, over seventeen years ago, when their paths had indirectly crossed for a first brief moment…
A part of him wondered if Meg Giry even remembered that she had given away the first copy of her favourite fairy tale book to some unknown boy, making his gloomy existence a little more bearable. He hadn't paid much attention to it before, but both of their costumes were probably inspired by the same picture from that collection of stories.
A weird feeling slipped into his stomach as it suddenly occurred to him that she might have noticed it too. Could she have realised that he was the one who had received the book back then?
And if so, would she ever have guessed that, on that evening, he had written his name in it too…
Author's notes:
1) "La Belle et la Bête"– "Beauty and the Beast"
2) The Grand Foyer, the Avant Foyer, the Grand Staircase, the Rotonde du Soleil, the Gallerie du Glacier andthe Rotonde du Glacier are real parts of the Opera Garnier. The rest is just my imagination.
3) In case anyone is curious which birds Erik's and Meg's costumes are based on, they are a rook and an Eurasian bluetit. It's also the reason why there are two bird silhouettes on the cover picture I made using GIMP and free pictures from pixabay.
The grey in Erik's outfit represents the colour of the beak and the bald area around it that adult rooks have. The real rook's feathers are black with just a slight bluish or bluish-purple sheen, but rook-faes can be a little more colourful, can't they? ;)
4) Meg's outfit is also inspired a little by the robe a la polonaise (or simply polonaise), which was a type of women's garment in the 1770-80s, as well as its revival in a slightly changed from around the 1870s, which consisted of a gown with a cutaway, draped overskirt worn over an underskirt.
5) Foulard (from Fr. foulard) – is a type of lightweight fabric, made of silk or a mix of silk and cotton. It can also refer to articles of clothing, such as scarves and neckties, made from this fabric. Here, I imagine a mostly rectangular, somewhat scarf-like cravat.
6) In case somebody isn't familiar with such a device – a samovar is a metal container used to heat and boil water. Traditionally it had a central tube running through the middle of it that was filled with burning charcoal (or other fuels and additions like for example dry pine cones) to heat the surrounding water. It was also equipped with a tap near the bottom and usually some sort of attachment/crown on the top to hold a teapot with tea concentrate/essence. In 19th-century Europe, it was quite popular in Russia and also in eastern and central parts of the continent where it spread through Russian/eastern culture, but it could be also found in other countries, France included.
7) I had a bit of a hard time choosing a surname for Erik. It's an alternative universe story, so I didn't want to use any that have been already used in movies or other adaptations to distinguish "my" Erik from the others. Since he is called the Angel of Music, I thought it would be nice if his surname actually had the word "angel" in it :). The name "Erik" (written with "k") most likely has Scandinavian or Germanic roots, so I settled for the word "Engel" (der Engel – German for angel) and checked up some names on the Internet.
If anyone is curious, according to the nordicnames website, the name Engelgerd/Engelgard "gerd" comes from the ancient Germanic gardaz – enclosure or the old Norse gardr – enclosure, protection, while "engel" comes from Angles – the name of the Germanic tribe. What's more, the suffix gerd/gard is a bit similar to the word garde (or guarde – old French – protection, act of protecting – garde). All in all, I thought it would be a good name for my character. :) I think that an English phonetic transcription similar to the way I imagine it's pronounced would be "engelgərd".
8) I probably added too many author's footnotes to this chapter, but I simply couldn't resist… :) Thanks for reading! And sorry that it takes me so long to update – so far, I've written 27 chapters out of 32-33 planned (plus epilogue), but they all need some revision and language correction. Once again, huge thanks to my amazing beta, Lily/librarylexicon!