Chapter 21: A Glimmer of Moon in the Clouded Sky
"We did it! We really did it! We finally danced a separate ballet, and we were amazing!" Pauline thrust her fists into the air with a triumphant shout, and Cecile joined her, jumping up and down and starting something akin to an improvised happy dance.
Meg couldn't help but grin a little as she fastened the last buttons of her ball gown. Their little performance depicting the dance of nymphs had gone splendidly, receiving thunderous applause, so they really had reason to celebrate.
The other girls quickly copied Cecile and Pauline, forming a squealing, whirling, hugging tangle. A moment later, Meg felt somebody's arm link with her own, pulling her into a whirl as well. Even more excited giggles reverberated in the air.
"We did it!"
Sorelli, who had exceptionally decided to use the common ballet changing room with them, rolled her eyes, but the smile adorning her lips didn't vanish.
"We've already heard it. As have the rest of the Palais Garnier. But if you don't calm down and hurry up with changing, you're still going to miss the ball."
Her reminder managed to partially quieten her younger colleagues, and the girls finally scattered to finish their preparations. A few minutes later, the whole group flooded through the door. Cecile decided to once again do the pirouette sequence that ended her choreography, practically colliding with Lucien waiting for her outside. This evoked another wave of laughter and hoots.
The blushing stagehand assistant stammered out his greeting and invitation to dance to his – similarly scarlet – attacker. Cecile's squeaky acceptance was met with a round of cheers. Sorelli, in a much more refined way, linked her arm with her own beau. Then, everybody finally directed their steps up the corridor towards the representative part of the opera. Lucien's ears remained deeply red.
Meg smiled again. It was hard to believe that such a shy and sensitive boy like Lucien could be related to Joseph Buquet – a man of… well, an entirely different character. On the other hand, it was hard not to notice how much the chief stagehand had softened and changed since his nephew had joined their ranks. The lead mechanic still had a tendency to tell awful and rather dirty jokes, but he was much less unpleasant and more considerate – probably even more so than after her "Catwalk Encounter". Maybe, like everyone else, he just needed someone close?
The thought brought a pang to Meg's heart as her mind went back to the man who was probably the most alone on this day.
Erik hadn't given her any message or signs of life since Monday. She justified it to herself with safety reasons and pre-ball commotion, but nevertheless, she couldn't stop worrying.
Meg bit her lip, trying not to show her concern as she followed the others. Soon, they all spilled onto the Grand Staircase entresol, blinking as the bright lights and decorations stunned them for a second.
The last carnival ball in the Palais Garnier wasn't nearly as magnificent as the New Year's Eve masquerade, but it had its own charm. The party had already started, and so they soon divided into a few streams that headed either to the dance floor or to the buffet.
Taking advantage of the regrouping, Meg waved to a few of her colleagues and quietly slipped aside. She liked all the ballerinas and enjoyed spending time with them, even if they weren't exactly close, yet today, she didn't quite feel like being part of the loud and garish crowd. She didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to her troubles, so she had decided to attend the ball, but the truth was that she would have preferred to be elsewhere.
Her fingers grazed the cool marble balustrade. A strange sense of déjà vu filled her, and she realised it was the same place where she had stood during the New Year's masquerade. She was even wearing the same gown, with its cerulean overskirt and pale golden front. Since it was the ball "when all the disguises fall", though, she had retired her mask, feathered cape and flower crown, only tucking a few fabric cornflowers, forget-me-nots and blue violets behind her ear.
Just like on that night, her thoughts kept returning to the Opera Ghost, filling her with a mixture of disappointment, sadness and apprehension. Only this time, instead of being nervous about what the Phantom might do, she was concerned about him. And the fact that her words, though true, might have hurt him as much as her reaction.
A lump formed in her throat.
She missed Christine, but she knew her friend would spend tonight happily. Unfortunately, that wasn't something Meg could say about the Opera Ghost.
Sighing, Meg leaned back, resting against the pillar. Her gaze wandered far up to the Grand Escalier decorative vault and its last tier. For some reason, its gas lamps were turned off, so everything there was drowning in semi-darkness.
A frown formed on her forehead as a strange idea came to her mind.
Before she could fully think it through, she was already heading towards the staircase next to the boxes' entrances.
Meg had to cover the last flight of stairs practically blind, tightly clutching the railing, but it didn't stop her. A moment later, she stepped into the shadows of the last tier that opened on the Grand Staircase. Even up here, the soft music drifted up, along with the distant murmur of the crowd. Aside from that, everything was sunk in quiet semi-darkness, brightened only by the dim light seeping from below.
No living soul around.
The fact brought a pang to her heart. Perhaps it was naive to expect him to be here.
Biting her lip, Meg came closer to the marble balustrade and gazed down. The bright hall, full of whirling and merry people, seemed to be both very close and impossibly distant.
Part of her couldn't help but wonder if this was how it always looked for Erik. The unattainable outside world, full of colours and life, that seemed almost within your grasp. And the darkness that you stood alone in, never fully able to cross the invisible barrier.
Her chest constricted painfully, and she blinked, trying to chase away the welling tears.
What was she even supposed to do if he didn't want to see her? And how–
"Meg…"
Erik's quiet voice made her spin around. Her breath hitched.
As always, she hadn't heard him coming, but there he was – enshrouded in the semi-darkness that stretched out of the circle of faint light, as if he were one of the shadows himself. His features were tense, and he was straightened stiffly to his full, imposing height, hands clenched at his sides and his bone-white mask even more ominous in the dimness.
At first glance, he looked like the fearsome Phantom from the tales, but she wasn't fooled by this façade – she glimpsed the regret and uncertainty in his eyes, the nervous twitch of his fingers; all the tiny details that formed the complex person she had learnt to see. Besides his usual white shirt and black cutaway tailcoat, he wore a silverish grey foulard cravat and the dark sapphire, well-fitted waistcoat that she had bought him – and she had no idea why she was paying attention to any of this.
Nor why her heart made a strange little leap just because he had used her first name again.
Erik took a few steps towards her, strands of semi-darkness clinging to his billowing cape.
"I…" he paused, and his eyes flitted to the side. "I came to apologise to you, Meg," he said hoarsely. "I had no right to treat you that way."
Meg felt a lump form in her throat.
"I'm sorry too. I thought that we needed to talk, but I could have been more delicate. I shouldn't have pried so much, forcing you to continue the topic when you told me not to, and–" Her hurried words stumbled over each other, turning into nervous babble, but the Opera Ghost stopped her with a shake of his head.
"No, you did the right thing." Erik sighed, then came closer, stopping a metre away from her. His gloved hands rested on the stone railing, and the soft glow of the faraway gas lamps brushed his half-masked face. "I needed somebody to tell me the whole truth, even if part of me didn't want to accept it." The corners of his mouth twisted in a bitter, rueful grimace. "Deep down, I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but I just couldn't give up. And Christine… she…" he broke off, searching for the right words.
"She is one of the kind, isn't she?" Her gentle statement made Erik look at her again.
"Yes, she is…" His tense features softened in an almost tender expression. For some reason, it filled her both with warmth and a pinch of incomprehensible sadness.
The Phantom looked away. Since he stood on her left, his mask prevented her from reading anything more in his countenance.
"Christine accidentally heard me not long after her arrival at the opera," he continued quietly. "She seemed so sad, lost and lonely, and when she asked me if I was the Angel of Music that her father had promised her, I… I just couldn't ignore her, even though I probably should have." His Adam's apple moved up and down.
"I started to play violin for her occasionally or speak with her in the chapel. As time passed, I noticed her exceptional talent, and her love for music became something that bound us even more. I encouraged her to return to singing and supported her as she applied for a part-time position in the choir, giving her some advice. Somehow, over the years, it turned into full lessons. But for me, it was much more than that…" He exhaled loudly.
"It was an escape. A chance to pretend I was someone else. And, recently, this illusion became more important to me than Christine." His teeth gritted, and his broad shoulders hunched.
"The night after her debut, I ruined everything. I lost control when she knocked off my mask and frightened her even more. After that, I kept telling myself I needed to fix it, for her sake. But the fact is that what drove me the most was my own selfish desire." His hands clutched the balustrade's edge, and his jaw clenched so tightly that Meg couldn't fail to notice as something twitched in his deformed cheek under his mask.
When Erik spoke again, the hoarseness in his voice was even more evident.
"I always detested Joseph Buquet's tales about the Phantom, a monster lurking in the depths of the opera house. I hated the title 'the Devil's Child' and the newspapers' articles comparing me to a demon. But, at the end of the day, I proved them all right…" Bitterness flooded his words, and Meg felt something inside her twist painfully.
"We all stumble and make mistakes, but that doesn't make us monsters, just human." Taking a step closer, she tilted her head to look into her friend's face. "It's only important not to continue making them and try to fix our wrongs. As the Phantom, you made some morally questionable decisions, but you didn't cause any serious harm. And in the circus, you were just an innocent child."
In response, Erik made a dry, harsh sound that could probably pass for an imitation of a bark of laughter, but there was no trace of merriment in it.
"I seriously injured a man, Meg. An excuse for a man, that's true, but it doesn't change the deed. He never regained full control of one hand, from what I heard, and he could have died if he hadn't been found. I just wanted to trip him so that I could escape, but when I saw him sprawled on the ground with his head cut, part of me felt satisfaction." His lips contorted. "Dark, soul-consuming satisfaction coming from the fact that that worm finally knew my pain. And I ran, even though I noticed that there was definitely too much blood pooling on the straw." His eyes turned to her, and the pitch-black void, hidden just behind the yellowish reflection of the gas lamp, terrified her.
But as she looked closer, she also noticed shadows of entirely different emotions.
"And yet, you don't feel good about it, even though he was your tormentor." Her simple statement made the Phantom flinch, the truth chasing part of the darkness from his expression. "What's more, Maman told me that you heard the showman be found just a moment later, so it's not like you deliberately left him to die," she said softly but firmly.
Erik averted his head.
"Perhaps," he agreed grudgingly. "But still, all I ever did was bring misfortune everywhere I went. To my mother. To your family. To Christine. To your father…" He paused, and Meg couldn't help but frown.
"You did not. And if you are talking about Papa's accident, it was not your fault."
The Phantom sent her a dark glare. "He was there because of me. Because your family needed additional money for my sake."
Irritation slipped into her chest. What was with this whole polemic? Was he trying to scare her away by proving how wicked he was? Well, if he thought he could convince her with his faulty arguments or that she would let one of his moods carry her away as well, then he was sorely mistaken!
Meg straightened, lifting her chin; she was still much shorter, but the stance gave her a boost of confidence, regardless.
"Maybe," she conceded. "But it doesn't make you guilty. None of us could have predicted that there would be an accident at the construction site where he took that extra job, nor could we have stopped that beam from falling. And as for the rest, then, yes, you had some missteps, but you didn't do anything terribly bad."
To her growing frustration, Erik only let out another bitter huff.
"I frightened and hurt Christine. I tampered with Carolla Giudicelli's vocal spray, and I started to behave like a reckless fool. Hell, for a moment I really wanted to harm Joseph Buquet!" A frenetic, distorted chord slipped into his voice. "All I did recently was do something wrong and lose blazed control!" His last sentence ended dangerously close to a yell as he spun violently towards her.
A second later, a hint of shame flashed across his face, and he averted his gaze, hunching. His fingers once again closed around the balustrade's edge, but it was hard not to see that they trembled slightly.
The sight was like a punch in the gut.
Heavens.
He truly believed all of that, didn't he? And, despite maintaining the image of the fearsome, unaffected Phantom, deep inside he was scared and lost too.
The thought hit her as fiercely as if she'd collided with a wall in the middle of a pirouette. Meg felt her chest constrict.
"Erik…" Covering the distance separating them, she uncertainly put her hand on the Opera Ghost's arm. The man twitched under her touch like a startled stray animal, but he didn't draw away, and she took it as a good sign. "I… I don't exactly know what you have to deal with," she whispered gently, "but if you ever need to talk, I'm not far away. I see there are some things that haunt you, but every time, you've stopped yourself from going too far. You are not a bad person." Her fingers tightened around his sleeve.
Erik didn't turn to look at her, and his back bent even more.
"Then why do I sometimes feel as if I'm losing the remains of my sanity?" His hushed question surprised her completely. "I still have the hellish memories and…" he broke off and swallowed hard. "I'm still angry. Angry at others. At myself. At this whole cursed world for being the way it is." His tone hardened, and his teeth gritted. "I doubt that this is the way a good person should feel."
Meg could only blink, astounded.
"But none of that makes you a bad person!" Withdrawing her hand, she took a step back to look up at him in a more comfortable way. "Feelings are… well, just feelings. You have the right to have them." She winced at her inability to choose the right words.
"What I mean is that," she resumed, "they just show how we react to something. And what can be truly bad are the actions we take. Sure, sometimes we should work on changing our attitude or not focus on the emotions that lead to nothing good. But sometimes, I think it's just a sign that we want to change something." She glanced down, suddenly embarrassed.
"When I'm upset, I usually try to find possible solutions, talk with someone, or just vent it out through ballet training. But sometimes I get angry too. At situations in the opera house, at Maman… And lately, quite a lot at you. Especially when you talk badly about yourself and don't see the obvious." She raised her head slowly.
Erik stared at her, shocked.
Meg exhaled. "I want to listen to everything you might want to say. And if you ever doubt yourself or struggle with something, I want to know about it, so that I'm able to help. But if you don't quit this unconstructive self-condemnation, at least for today, I swear I'll start to scream out of frustration." She pulled down her eyebrows, doing her best to imitate her mother's stern teacher's expression.
The Phantom's steel eyes bulged in utter bewilderment, but for once he didn't try to argue.
Meg grinned inwardly and focused on her hands. Her fingers brushed the edges of her pendant.
"You are a good man, Erik," she said quietly. "A good man whose life has been very rough. And yet, despite that, you've helped many people, and you really care about others. You made this opera a better place. You even assisted me with a simple festival performance." A gentle smile touched her lips, and she lifted her gaze. "And that's what I see most when I look at you. A sensitive and caring person."
The mixture of emotions she saw on the uncovered part of Erik's face was almost overwhelming. A second later, a spasm went through him, and his eyes hurriedly shied away from her.
There was a longer pause, while they stood in silence, and then the Opera Ghost cleared his throat slightly.
"To be honest, I think that I saw your more angry and temperamental side only once. Around seven years ago, when you chided the ballerinas who were making fun of Christine's Swedish accent and language mistakes again."
Despite herself, Meg felt her cheeks burn red.
"You saw that?"
The Phantom nodded.
"I saw, heard and silently applauded. A wonderful tirade. Probably the best I've ever witnessed, opera included." A tiny spark gleamed in his grey-blue irises as he looked at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "I was truly impressed by how long you could go on without taking a breath. To this day, I wonder where you kept all that air."
Meg couldn't help but grin. It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but she didn't mind. Especially since she really liked this more joking part of him.
Actually, she liked all of him a lot.
The realisation evoked a strange, fluttering sensation in her chest, but the rational part of her quickly supplied an explanation: Erik was her friend, so it was only natural for her to like him.
"Besides," the man added, "it certainly was a better reprimand than misplacing their belongings."
Meg gaped. "So that was your doing?! I spent almost an hour helping look for them!"
"And that was the only reason why they were found so quickly."
Meg glowered at the Phantom. This time, he had enough decency to look at least somewhat contrite.
"A very immature trick, I know." His hand rubbed the back of his neck. "But I needed to do something more than sending a letter. I assumed it would be better than trying something out of Joseph Buquet's tales." A more serious timbre returned to his tone. "Anyway, I'm glad that Christine had, and still has, such a guardian as you." Erik's eyes found hers, and his rough features softened once more in a way she would have once thought impossible.
A peculiar warmth flooded her.
"And vice versa."
For a brief moment, they looked at each other, then the Opera Ghost turned away.
"I also wanted to assure you that I will try not to bother Christine against her wishes from now on. I would like to apologise to her if I get the chance, but that's all. And once again, I'm sorry for the way I treated you during our last meeting." Guilt tinged his voice anew.
Meg sighed. "It takes two to argue, and I'm glad that we talked. However, there is still one thing I would like to clarify…" She bit her lip and took a deep breath, lowering her head. Her fingers closed around her pendant.
"I… I won't deny that I was a little startled when you took off your mask. But it was mostly because I didn't expect you to make such a sudden move. I agree it's not the prettiest sight, and it must have made your life difficult, but… well, I really think it doesn't look so bad." Her words slipped into the space between them as she glanced back up.
Erik looked away.
"I'm not so sure, but I know it could have been worse. When I was in the circus, I saw more terrible deformities." His jaw clenched. "People reduced to sideshow freaks, forced to endure prying gazes and mockery, as if their disability wasn't hard enough to bear alone…" Something twitched under his mask, and he scowled.
"What I have is just an ugly appearance, a diminished sense of touch and stiffness during some movements. Perhaps I should be grateful. But if it's not so bad, then why did it bring me hatred everywhere I went? I can't stop asking myself that, but at the same time, a part of me almost understands." A sour, crooked grimace twisted his mouth.
The Phantom slowly took off his right glove.
Just like on his face, the deformed skin beneath was reddish and uneven, entwined with a net of paler, thicker protuberances that looked like a horrifying combination of tendon-like structures with some callous, inhuman tissue. Erik flexed and spread his fingers; the distorted flesh bulged and shifted in a gruesome way.
With a pang of shame, Meg realised that she had drawn her breath loudly.
The Opera Ghost scowled again and averted his gaze, lowering his hand.
"I myself can barely look at my own hand, and it's not even half as bad as my face. I suppose that I shouldn't expect anything more from others…" Bitter notes filled his hushed voice.
The pain hidden in it pierced Meg like a blade.
Her thoughts went back to the underground lair, with the mirrors of always covered upper parts. Only now it occurred to her that Erik had most likely done so because he didn't want to risk even an accidental glimpse of his own face.
Her chest constricted, and she knew she just had to do something.
"I'm sorry that you had to go through so many hardships." Her whisper came out strangely faint, and she had to swallow hard to chase away a lump in her throat. "I don't know why it had to be so, but… well, I'm sure of one thing: There are and always will be people who see you differently." It was perhaps a silly impulse, but before she could fully think it through, her white elbow-length gloves were already lying abandoned on the marble railing. Her fingers wrapped around Erik's deformed hand.
The man inhaled sharply, but didn't back away, and Meg only deepened her gentle grip.
When she looked back up, the way the shock and disbelief on Erik's face had been replaced by a mixture of entirely different emotions told her that she had done just the right thing.
Erik couldn't help but stare down at the petite, delicate hands resting on his own furrowed skin. His sense of touch and heat in his deformed side didn't work right – it was always as if he were touching something through very thick material – but still he could dimly feel the hint of warmth seeping from Meg's palms.
The sensation was as overwhelming as the most thunderous aria and as soothing as the softest lullaby at the same time.
A lump formed in his throat, and he averted his gaze, ashamed by the wetness welling up in his eyes. A confusing tangle of emotions stirred inside him.
He had promised himself that he would explain everything to Meg, not hiding anything, yet somehow he had ended up telling her much more than intended. It was undoubtedly embarrassing, but he also felt a peculiar relief, as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders…
Meg held his hand a moment longer and then gave it another squeeze, finally drawing back her fingers. It was just a tiny gesture of kindness, a small bright chord in the semi-darkness surrounding him, but somehow it was enough to cause a resonance that reached the deepest, most desolated regions of his soul.
A strange feeling slipped into his chest.
"I wrote my name in your fairy tale book." The hushed words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think about what he was saying.
The dancer glanced at him in utter confusion.
"Pardon?"
Erik inwardly gave himself an award for the most stupid conversation opener of the year.
"Your fairy tale book," he repeated. On its own accord, his hand went up to adjust the back of his collar. "The one on which you based your masquerade's costume. When you were about eight, you gave away your first copy of it, and I was the one who received it through your mother. It had your name written on the first page, along with some sort of dedication or encouragement for the next owner to write down their name too. I did. And I'm telling you all of this nonsense now because… well, I just wanted you to know that it and your other actions weren't something I would call insignificant or unnoticeable," he finished rigidly.
Meg's eyes widened.
"So you do remember it too…" An undefinable mixture of emotions passed over her face, and she glanced aside. "I started to suspect it was you when my mother finally told me how your past intertwined with my family. And after the masquerade, I was even more convinced. I even checked the book again." She smiled.
"Our characters weren't playing any major roles – they were just mentioned in the description of the ball participants – but in the picture, they were standing next to each other in the shadows of the second plan, away from the crowd." She paused for a moment, then glanced back up. "Anyway, I'm really happy that you told me about that." Her gaze met his.
Erik quickly looked away. "You're welcome."
The silence once again started to stretch between them, and he cleared his throat.
"I suppose we won't see each other much, now that we've explained the most important things?" He did his best to keep his intonation and expression unaffected.
"Is that what you want?"
Meg's voice was a little saddened, and something inside him shifted in a peculiar way at the sound. Nevertheless, he only let himself answer with another question as he finally turned back to the ballerina:
"Don't you?"
Meg sighed.
"No, I don't," she said quietly. "I've already told you so, but I really consider you my friend, Erik. It was a bit of an odd time, but I enjoyed spending it with you." She slowly raised her head. "Even though you can sometimes be as dramatic as I am prying…" A tiny grin tugged at her lips.
Most people would probably consider "being dramatic" an overly polite euphemism for describing his actions, but somehow it was strangely fitting. The corners of Erik's mouth twitched.
"Do you think I am already advanced enough to start giving lessons to La Carlotta in that scope? It could turn out to be quite an enjoyable occupation."
Meg huffed a chuckle.
"Hard to tell. But I'm not sure if I would want to see the fearsome results of your potential cooperation." She looked back at him.
She had a very cute laugh and smile.
A pinch of embarrassment heated his good cheek as he caught himself on this thought.
"So…" His fingers rose again to rub the back of his neck. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to say, but the blonde-haired ballerina once again came to his rescue.
"Officially friends?" Meg reached out her right hand to him, smiling, and he could only return the gesture, belatedly remembering that he still hadn't put his glove on. The dancer's small hand almost drowned in the folds of his distorted skin.
For some incomprehensible reason, it didn't seem to bother her at all. Her squeeze was gentle, but strong enough that he could feel it faintly.
A lump formed in his throat, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.
"Officially friends," he confirmed, softly.
Meg's expression brightened even more, filling his chest with even more of the unusual warmth. Then, both of them turned back to the balustrade, awkwardly donning their gloves. The ball was continuing below, and they focused on watching it.
The music of that night's orchestra – at that moment, Strauss's lively waltz – drifted even up there, and with a deep breath, Erik let it wrap around him and carry him with it. Beside him, Meg rested her forearms on the marble railing, looking down at the colourful whirling couples. She stood close enough that he could feel a slight trace of her perfume; it made him think of wildflowers and morning spring sunbeams. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how she swayed with the flow of the melody.
She would definitely enjoy being down there, laughing and dancing with the others.
The realisation filled him with a strange melancholy.
"You know that you can just return there if you want, don't you?" His quiet, hoarse whisper startled her from her reverie.
Meg shifted. "I know," she said with a tiny sigh. "But… I would prefer to stay here tonight, if you don't mind the company." Her hazel eyes met his.
His heart thudded faster without any sensible cause. A moment later, Meg returned to her observation of the ball participants, leaving him with a peculiar feeling inside.
Down below, the last bars of the waltz came to an end, and the conductor announced a slight break to listen to a few piano compositions. Soon afterwards, the first gentle notes of Chopin's nocturne (op. 9, no. 2, to be precise) filled the air. And with it came an idea.
Words often failed him, but he could always count on music.
Erik smiled slightly and glanced down at the petite ballerina.
"Would you like to dance?"
The gentle sound of the piano reverberated in the air, curling around them as Erik slowly approached her and bowed, offering her his left hand. She accepted, of course, and the Phantom hesitatingly placed the other on her shoulder blade. Closing the frame, Meg put her palm on his quite well-defined bicep, drawing closer. Erik's trembling breath brushed her hair, and the faint scent of his herbal, minty aftershave or cologne swept over her. For some reason, her heart made another jump.
The Opera Ghost kept a bit bigger distance between them than was customary, but she didn't try to correct him, knowing it must be awkward for him. He seemed even more nervous and unsure than during the evening when she had asked him to assist her with the festival play choreography.
It crossed her mind that she might be the first person he was able to dance with for years, and it evoked an indefinable feeling inside her.
Swallowing hard, Erik slowly moved forwards. He acted almost as if she were made of glass, and his steps were somewhat clumsy, but she wouldn't be a good dancer if she couldn't adjust easily. After a few bars, the Opera Ghost gained a little more confidence, and she couldn't help but smile as she recognised the dance figures she had practised with him for the Moonlight Nocturne. They seemed fitting, even though the current melody was different from the lighter, dreamy tune created for the pixies celebrating the night.
The nocturne they danced to now was more complex and melancholic, but she realised that she liked it just as much. There was some longing, sadness and pain in it. But also care, tenderness, dreams and unspeakable beauty. And she couldn't help but think that it could tell the story of two very different souls uncertainly forming a bond. A tale of two people who didn't always understand each other, but they still tried.
A delicate smile touched her lips anew.
Erik gently spun her around and released her from his grip. Freed, Meg made a complex sequence of ballet moves, then turned back. Her fingers slipped into Erik's reached-out hand just as the last notes resounded, his strong arm giving her the support she needed for the final pose. Her smile widened.
A moment later, another melody started, and just like before, they allowed it to wrap around them and carry them with it in a strangely ethereal dance through the shadows, which somehow no longer seemed so dark. They were warm and gentle. Much more tender than the garish light of day or gas lamps.
As a dancer, Meg often dreamt of similar moments. Sometimes she even let herself imagine herself being swept up to dance by some dashing gentleman, and then dancing through a well-lit ballroom in a perfect sequence of elaborate moves, earning dozens of gazes of admiration. The reality turned out to be vastly different from her dreams, though.
There was no shine of glory, no crowd, no applause and… no perfect dance.
Erik possessed an excellent, astounding sense of rhythm, and he could really feel the music, but at the same time, he was awfully tense. Each of his movements was filled with stiffness, spoiling the whole effect. It was also hard to ignore that he knew only a few basic steps.
Yet, all these small deficiencies didn't really matter to her. And she wouldn't swap this quiet, shadowed dance for anything else, not even a waltz with the best dancer in the world.
The song changed to another, and another, and suddenly the whole orchestra was playing again.
Smiling softly, Meg stole another glance up at her unusual friend. The corners of Erik's mouth twitched slightly in response, forming a small, crooked arch.
A strange warmth flooded her heart. It was a moonless night, but for some reason she couldn't help but think of the magical glimmer of the moon in the clouded sky.
Author's notes:
1) Erik definitely needs a pep talk, combined with a gentle reprimand of his unhealthy way of thinking. And a hug substitute (a lot of hugs and their substitutes, actually). :P
2) Fryderyk Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major, op. 9, no. 2 (or as it is called in Poland – nokturn Es-dur opus 9 nr 2) was quite popular in Paris, where it was published in 1832. When I did research for my fic, I found that the melody was used much later for the final dance of the ballet In the Night, created by Jerome Robbins. It depicted a couple whose relationship was a bit melodramatic, going through many quarrels and reconciliations. I think that it describes the dynamics of Erik and Meg's duet quite well. ;)
While I was writing the end of this chapter, I also couldn't stop imagining Erik and Meg dancing to the full orchestra playing the song "Beauty and the Beast" (from Disney 1991 animated movie of the same title). The other song I find really suitable to Meg's more melancholic mood in this and the previous chapter is "Lend Me Your Voice" from the anime Belle. I recommend listening to it. :)
These three are definitely some of my favourite Meg/Erik songs. If you have yours or if you like something in this chapter, you can let me know. ;) As always, thanks for reading! ‹3 And sorry for the relatively sparse updates.
3) I prefer to send private messages, but FFN provides no way to respond to guests. I don't want to disturb the flow of my story by responding in the author's notes (they are already lengthy XD), so I created a forum to post my replies. :) Here's the link: wwwDOTfanfictionDOTnet/forum/Mint-s-Forum/239340/ (you just have to replace the word "DOT" with real dots :P)
Registered users are also welcome to drop by, ask me some questions, or leave extra comments! :)