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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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The Phantom approached Meg as she set her cloak on one of his chairs. “Do you trust me?” He asked. She was silent a moment, as if choosing her words carefully.
“In many ways.”
“Enough for this?” He asked, holding aloft a small strip of black satin. She looked at the piece of cloth with a timid curiosity. “Turn around.” He commanded gently, enjoying the graceful way she moved to obey. With tender fingers he laid the material over her eyes and tied it behind her head. He smoothed her silken locks beneath the knot. The ringlets glistened like spun gold in the candlelight as they fell through his fingers; even softer than the satin he'd adorned them with.
He stepped back to admire the sight of her: vulnerable, nervous, and yet entirely trusting. “You lied for me today.” He said as he began to circle around her. She turned her head, trying to pinpoint his location in the echoing room. She looked so innocent standing blind before him. He couldn't help wanting to toy with her a bit.
“What do you mean, Monsieur?” She asked, but he did not answer. Instead, he left her in utter silence. The moments ticked by and she began to squirm anxiously, shifting from foot to foot. “Maestro? Are you still there?” Soundlessly he glided up behind her until he was close enough to feel her warmth, and for her to feel his. A dainty gasp escaped her throat as she felt his presence and spun around to face him.
“There was only one body I saw down there.” He recited back to her as she took a stumbling step back. “It wore a half-charred white mask.” The black ribbon over her face did nothing to hide the crimson that bloomed across her cheeks.
“And I wept when I discovered it.” She said in a tone of startling sincerity.
“Hah!” He snorted, making her jump. She may not have meant for her words to be cruel, but they were. The idea of someone weeping for the death of the devil below the opera was ludicrous. To mention it was nothing short of patronizing. “My dear, you are in the wrong business. You should have been an actress!” Her hands clasped together to renew their fidgeting as she looked down at the shoes she couldn't see. “Stop that!” He chastened, batting her hands back down. “You must always stand tall and proud; even when you feel quite the opposite.”
“Yes Maestro. Sorry Maestro.” She stammered, straightening up and lifting her head high.
“Much better.” The Phantom crooned. “Now then. I have something to show you.” He said, doing his best to bury the twinge of pain her words had caused as he grasped her hands. Carefully the Phantom guided her through the main room, through the hallway, and into a place she had never seen. He placed her in the center of the space where she would have the best view of her new dance studio. Breathing in her soft, feminine scent, he reached around to untie the satin band. As it fell away, her eyes flitted open; squinting in an effort to focus through the newly afforded light. He watched them widen as she made a slow scan of the room, taking in everything from the expansive mirrors to the expertly polished oak floors. When she finally turned to him, her lids were brimmed with tears.
“I just... How did you...” She started before falling back to silence.
“Well I never really used my reading room. It was always a bit too big for my taste. This suites the space much better, I think. Its a shame for it go unused, so now I give it to you.”
Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. And when words failed her, she did something utterly foreign to him. She dove forward to wrap her graceful arms around his waist and bury her head in his chest. She is... hugging me. He thought, but despite that realization, he hadn't the slightest idea how to react. This... was his first hug. It felt inviting in a way he was at a loss to explain. With a great amount of hesitation, he did the only thing that seemed right. He wrapped his arms timidly around her, running an unsure hand over her soft hair. To his surprise, she did not recoil or protest. Instead, she held him tighter still. And in that moment with her in his arms, a thousand hurts melted away. For that fleeting instant, he was no longer a monster or a murderer. He was just a man, like any other.
“This is wonderful.” Meg murmured against his chest. “Thank you, Maestro.”
“Erik.” He replied. “You may call me Erik... if you wish.” She turned her sparkling eyes up to meet his gaze, the warmth of her breath dancing across his lips.
“Thank you, Erik.” She said. “But how could I ever repay you?”
“You already have.” Erik whispered, brushing away a stray tendril from her cheek. He studied the soft features of her face, her rosy cheeks and those delicate pink lips he wanted so badly to touch. He was not left wanting for long. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tenderly pressed her lips to his.
Shock froze him in place for a moment, but desire quickly won out. Her lips felt more luxurious than any velvet, and he wanted more. His fingers found the back of her neck and pulled her closer, replacing her soft kiss with a more urgent one. She submitted to his demands, opening her mouth for him to explore. He claimed it hungrily, deepening their embrace. For that wonderful moment, nothing existed outside of them. He was hers, and she was his.
It was tragically short-lived. He felt the nearly-forgotten mask brush against Meg's cheek, and it yanked him viciously back to reality. The memory of Christine's horrified face played through his mind. Poor Meg would be sick if she ever knew what a grotesque freak she had allowed to kiss her perfect lips. The image of it was almost too much for him to bear. He realized all too clearly that she must be discouraged from any romantic interest in him. If not, she would one day insist that he remove his mask. And once that point was reached, he would lose her whether he removed it or not.
“No!” Erik barked, tearing away from her before he lost his resolve. “This is NOT a gratitude I appreciate. You have made a grievous mistake in your affections. I am your teacher and nothing more.”
“I'm s-sorry.” She stammered. “I thought--”
“You thought wrong!” He spat, though it nearly broke what little heart he could afford. “Come. I should return you to the surface. Opening night nears and you need your rest.” He made a gruff grab for her wrists to lead the way, but she snatched them back.
“No.” Her voice came out in a wavering squeak. “I can find my own way. I've troubled you enough.”
As she turned and ran out of the room, it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to let her go.

* * * * *
Meg hurried back to the dressing room. The very first performance at the new opera had just ended, and she was eager to see if there was any word from Erik. It had been nearly a week since that horrible day where she'd managed to muck up two relationships in only a few hours. Madam Giry still hadn't entirely forgiven her despite numerous apologies, and she'd heard not a single word from her Maestro. She could only hope that he still cared enough to attend. Meg could feel her cheeks start to burn white-hot again as if the whole ordeal had just happened.
After the fight with her mother, she had been desperate for an escape from her guilt; but she knew that was no excuse for being so impetuous. Of course he doesn't want me! She thought. He still loves Christine. He was simply being kind, and I saw what I wanted to see. She wanted desperately to seek him out and beg him to continue teaching her; to swear to him that she would never again be so bold. But she knew that it would be unwise to invade his home without invitation.
“Meg! There you are!” Annette shouted as she walked into the costume room. “You won't believe it!” She said, bouncing excitedly on her heels.
“Believe what?” Meg asked as they walked back to the makeup counters.
“Look! You got flowers! Loads of them! Madam Giry said almost as many as Leanna!” Sure enough, Meg turned her attention to her assigned counter-space and found it covered with flowers. There were small bouquets of lilacs, of tulips, of lilies, of white roses, and even a bundle of hand-picked wildflowers adorned with a child's drawing of a ballerina. Amongst the bouquets there was also a liberal scattering of the overpriced carnations they sold in the lobby. She hardly knew what to say.
The room went quiet as she approached. Many of the new girls gathered around, waiting for her to say something; as if she might bestow on them some mystical flower-getting wisdom. It was all quite overwhelming.
“There has obviously been a mistake.” She lied. “These are surely the flowers that ALL of us were given. They've simply piled them all in one spot.” A murmur whisked through the crowd, until Annette chimed in.
“No. They all came addressed to you. I heard it.” Meg could have kicked her.
“But we all earned these.” She defended. “A troupe is nothing without each other.” She reached down and picked up the bundle of wildflowers. “I want these ones. All of you earned the rest. Now come everyone! Choose yours!” For second after agonizing second, no one moved. Finally, one girl ran forward and snatched up a bouquet of tulips as though it might escape. From there it was all over. The room transformed into a flurry of hair and tutus. Meg had to fight to keep her balance as she was shoved to and fro in the battle to claim the prettiest arrangements. In the blink of an eye most of them were gone, leaving some girls pulling single carnations back and forth in a tug-of-war.
The last of the bickering girls froze as Leanna walked in carrying a huge bouquet of sumptuous red roses.
“Wow.” Meg breathed as she approached. “Those are beautiful!”
“Yes” She huffed. “Well... they're for you. They got sent to my dressing room by mistake.” Leanna dumped them in Meg's arms and strode back out the door only seconds after she'd come in. Meg set the roses down on the counter to admire. Much to her surprise, no one tried to seize them in lieu of a half-pulverized carnation. She couldn't help but wonder who would send her such an extravagant gift.
“Look, there's a card.” Said the ever diligent Annette, still glued to Meg's side. Meg's heart pattered in her throat as she reached for it. It was written on a fine, soft paper.

'You gave a wonderful performance tonight,
and deserve nothing less than to take center stage.
I look forward to seeing you again. I only hope
that you will agree to meet with me tomorrow evening.
Until then, I will remain in the shadows
of your grace.
M.'
“M? What a curious way to end a letter.” Annette commented, reading over Meg's shoulder. “It seems you have a rather mysterious secret admirer.” Meg stole a glance over the sea of mannequins, looking for any sign of her Maestro, but found nothing. She could only hope he was around to hear her.
“I wish I could tell him that I will gladly meet with him tomorrow night.” Meg uttered a bit louder than necessary. Annette let out an excited chitter, and for once Meg shared in her enthusiasm.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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