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Phoenix	By : LadyMeda Category: M through R > Phantom of the Opera Views: 4486 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any variation thereof. I do not make any money from this fiction. Tags include things that will be in future chapters.

Chapter List
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Madam Giry had arrived earlier in the day, and Meg couldn't help but see her in a different light after what she'd been told; until she demanded that all the girls begin practicing before even getting settled. Then everything seemed just as it had always been. She worked them long and hard, and by the time Meg stole away to the costume room, she was utterly exhausted.
She was amazed at the new costume department. It had been rebuilt in significant excess of what it once was. There was an entire room within the room, devoted to vanities for the cast to change and put on makeup. The costumes were lavish and abundant. She could hardly imagine how such a collection could be acquired in only four years.
The Opera Ghost had given her specific directions to meet him by the mannequins. At the time she'd thought it was a simple enough request. But standing amongst a sea of pretend people that was bigger than many homes... it seemed a startlingly vague instruction. Making her way through the man-made crowd, she awed at the extravagant clothing they were adorned with. There were dresses that would be seen on royalty from all over the world; some topped with real fur trim. These aren't costumes! She realized. These are as real as could be.
In another direction were crystal encrusted harem outfits that would make even a street-walker blush. Taffeta ballgowns, villainous robes of the darkest velvet, skirts with surely a thousand layers passed around her as though they were commonplace. And then out of the corner of her eye, one of them shifted.
“This way.” A voice spoke. She did her best to follow it through the stationary mob. His words beckoned her until the sea parted to reveal a wall lit with two sconces. Between them stood the sinister form of a man, clad head-to-toe in silk robes that shimmered like the night sky.
“Are you ready?” The shadow questioned. With the slightest falter, she stepped forward. “Good,” he said. “Then wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight. I only built this wide enough to accommodate one person.” Meg hesitated, approaching him as one might advance on a sleeping tiger.
“Built what? I don't see--”
“Hurry, before we are discovered!” He urged, black gloves extended from beneath his dark guise. “Quickly now!” With a nod, she took his hands. She had hardly grazed the tips of his fingers before he pulled her tight against him. Every crevice of his body was intimately pressed into hers as he enveloped her in his arms with crushing force. She gasped, partially from the feel of him against her, and partially because the world around them began to spin. By the time she realized they were no longer in the costume room, he was leading her down a dimly lit corridor.
In silence they traveled deeper and deeper into the ruins until they came upon the rock face that had nearly ended her. She froze, her heart fluttering in her chest and panic rising in her throat.
“Its alright.” He insisted, moving to the wall. “Your safe. Watch.” He pressed the toe of his boot into a small crevice just above the floor. She nearly screamed as the sound of grinding gears filled the cavern; but the panic melted away as the stone shifted to reveal a vast, magnificent room filled with candlelight. It looked as though a palace had been carved into the very rock. A large area in the center had been cleared of all rugs and furnishings.
“This is my music room.” He gestured, bringing her inside.
“It's remarkable! How did you ever achieve this right under the owner's nose?”
“I have my ways.” The Phantom deflected, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I'm glad you like it, because until I find you a proper place to practice, it will have to do.”
“It's absolutely wonderful.” She boasted, hoping he could hear the sincerity in her voice. “Thank you for inviting me into your home.” The Phantom faltered.
“I-- yes, well-- we'd best get started.” He bumbled, busying himself by going to retrieve his violin. “What's a dance you remember?”
“Erm-- the second act of Faust?” She blurted out, immediately kicking herself for such a poor suggestion. It was a long, challenging number and she was already very tired.
“A bold choice! Very well, take your position.” He tucked the violin under his chin.
“But Maestro, I have no mirror.”
“You should be dancing with your heart, not your eyes. I alone shall be the mirror through which you will see yourself.”
Without a moment's hesitation he put bow to string. She scrambled to disrobe and get into place, having only a spit second to enjoy the breathtaking music he produced before he shouted “FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT!”
Over and over he lead her through the routine, gradually increasing the tempo until her body could hardly keep up with her feet. When the final note rang out for the fifth time she collapsed, trying to catch her breath.
“Wonderful!” He praised, bringing her a glass of water that she accepted eagerly. “You did beautifully for your first day back.” The cool liquid spilled down her chin, but she didn't care; never had she danced so hard in her life. “And now that you're all warmed up, we will begin in earnest.”
Water spewed from her mouth, landing on his pristine boots. He looked down at them with a curious expression, head cocking to the side. “Well that was unnecessary.”
“Please Maestro, I'm exhausted.”
He took her hand and guided her to her feet. “In the theater, first impressions mean everything. We have less than a month before the first production. When that day comes, I want the audience to riot if you are not given the spotlight. But that takes hard work and perseverance.” With a blush not entirely from exertion, she nodded. “Don't worry” he said, “You will grow stronger with time.” Once again he raised the violin and began to play; but it was not Faust. In fact it was like nothing she'd ever heard before.
The song seemed to follow no rules of composition. Instead it sang out with unbridled, bitter-sweet emotion. There was a sadness in it that stayed just below the surface. The notes fluttered at times like the voice of a singer while they crooned to her about incredible adventures to be had. The tune was mesmerizing, exotic, sultry; urging her to move in ways she didn't understand. It was all she could do to rouse herself from its spell when the Phantom began to speak as he played.
“You are a model ballerina, Meg. You're proper, composed, disciplined. Emotions never are. The things that move us, that speak to us, can never be described with any of those words.”
“I think I understand. This music, it's...” She struggled to think of anything that could explain how it made her feel. “...its... indescribable.”
“Then forgo the inadequacy of words and describe it in movement.”
Timidly she began to move, her mind searching for the right steps. Pirouettes, Ronds de Jambes, Arabesques... it made no difference. Try as she might, the motions were in utter disharmony with his music. Finally out of sheer frustration, she called to him, “I cannot!” The melody halted. He set down the instrument and approached.
“That song originates from the Middle East, a place that often epitomizes raw emotion. And until you've learned to express yourself with your entire body as they do, there will be no more ballet. Understood?”
“Yes Maestro.” She squeaked, at an utter loss for what he was asking of her.
“Good. Now lets play a game. I want you to do precisely as I tell you: no more, no less.” Her stomach flitted as came up behind and lifted her arms straight out to her sides, holding them firmly at the wrists. “Now move your hips in a circle.”
“A circle, Monsieur?”
“Yes.” He commanded.
“May I have my arms back?”
“No.”
She began to protest, but thought better of it. Instead she did her best to swing her hips, one leg flowing around her in a leading hoop; but halfway through her chest followed, nearly pulling her arms from his grasp.
“I said move your hips!” He hissed. “Not your legs! Keep the rest of your body perfectly still.”
“I don't understand!” Meg groaned. With a sigh, he released her wrists. She began to drop her arms, worried that he'd given up, but he pushed them back into place.
Without warning his hands enveloped her ribcage, holding her tighter than any corset. The tiniest whimper escaped her throat as his fingers grazed the underside of her breasts. Her mind screamed to tear away, but her body made no attempt to listen. Instead, a warmth spread through her stomach like a shot of cognac. He seemed completely unaware of the precarious placement of his hands, and she prayed the rapid tempo of her heart would not alert him to it.
“If you cannot keep the rest of your torso immobile,” he chastened, “I've no choice but to do it for you. And if I see your feet move from that spot I will bind them together. Don't think for an instant that I'm joking.”
“Yes Maestro.” The words came out in no more than a breath.
“Now then... push your hip out to the right as if you mean to touch your right hand with it.” It seemed an odd instruction, but she obeyed; and to her surprise, her hips moved farther than she thought possible. She let out a triumphant laugh, already knowing she'd done it correctly. It just felt right.
“That's the spirit.” The Phantom purred. “Now circle.” She did as requested, and the motion couldn't feel more opposite of the rigid structure she was so used to. It felt sensual, provocative.
“Is this right?” She asked. “It feels so... improper.”
“Are your feelings always proper?” He whispered in her ear. She didn't answer, but the blistering heat of her cheeks said that she didn't have to.
For the next hour, he taught her how to isolate different parts of her body. By the time she left, the feel of his hands seemed etched into her skin; leaving her squirming even as she lay down to sleep.
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Phoenix