Dancing in the Dark--A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction Made for A Fanfiction Contest

It is three years since the fire of the Opera Populaire on the famous night of Don Juan. Meg Giry returns to the Opera. Book verse, only a little movie-ish, made posted for a Fanfiction Contest.

Dancing in the Dark

Disclaimer: I wrote this for fun and I own NOTHING. All rights of The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay, and of course, Gaston Leroux.

         It was almost midnight, and all was silent except the echos of the past. The night wind swept across the streets icily, sending leaves of red yellow, and orange swirling across the sky.  The streets were lonesome, abandoned by all except one.

         Marguerite Giry stood, alone, in front of the ashen remains of the Paris Opera House, her long, silky hair, that breath-taking mass of curls as black as ink, danced with the mid-autumn wind, and a fierce determination entered her mind. She walked forward, stumbling several times, apparently blown off course by the wind, for she was incredibly thin and petite for a woman of eighteen years.

He watched her from the shadows as she entered the Opera Populaire. He wondered what this girl, this silly, easily-frightened ballet rat they all called 'Little Meg' was doing here in the dark of the night. His yellow eyes, so much like that of a cat's, followed her as she walked towards the singed piece of wood that was once the stage. He dropped from the catwalk, landing stealthily on the balls of his feet, his black cloak billowing around him.

         Swish! She turned, thinking she heard something. Her black eyes darted across the ashen audience seats which were almost all destroyed. A chill went down her spine. Could it possibly be...? She knew he was still here. The Opera Ghost would never leave his opera house, not even if it was burnt down. Sure enough, it can't be the phantom, her logical brain argued with her. But who else could it be?

“Who's there?” he heard her voice, strong and unwavering, echoing across the room. He smiled to himself, something he rarely did. He had forgotten just how bold little Giry was, and just how amusing her blind bravery could be. He slipped silently into the orchestra pit, wanting to observe her intentions.
         She shook her head. She knew she is too superstitious for her own good. Besides, hadn't she seen, with her very own eyes, that the Opera Ghost was but a man? She sighed, shaking her head frustratedly for getting off task. She was here to dance! Her small hands coiled her black hair into a bun, and she kicked her street shoes off, strapping her satin pointes on.



         He observed her from behind the piano as she started, to an unheard melody, to kick her feet and wave her arms. It resembled something in-between ballet and a waltz, or so he thought. She spun, her black skirts swirling about her with an ethereal quality. He noted how she seemed to float as she jumped, noted how she seemed weightless as she twirled.

          Her grace amazed him. He had never seen her dance like this before an audience. Such a beautiful dance, he decided, cannot go unaccompanied. He slid, from his hiding place, onto the bench and placed his fingers over the keys of the piano.

           She gasped as music pierced the silence, tender, sweet notes emerging from the orchestra pit. Meg glanced that way. Sure enough, there he was, the phantom himself, the tall gentleman wearing evening clothes and a white half mask with dazzling topaz eyes and long, captivating fingers, bending over the smooth surface of the only instrument not destroyed by the fire, the piano.  However off key and dusty the instrument was, the emotion the pianist inserted into his song was enough to make the whole world weep.

           She stared at him for a moment, then shrugged, and returned to her dance.

            He watched Meg as she threw herself across the stage, thrusting her arms into the air, standing en pointe upon her toes, his eyes never left her as she performed leap after leap, spin after spin, and the  song went on, his fingers gliding over the keys, and the sweetest notes he'd ever played emerged from his fingertips. He'd never see her so beautiful before, but now, with the silver moonlight highlighting her every feature, from her long ebony hair to her exquisite, sharp chin, she was like a goddess of dance as she spun and swirled and leaped.

            No one could compare to this captivating, dark beauty he now see in Meg Giry"not even Christine. Not even Christine, with her golden hair and sapphire eyes.



         

            Come to think of it, he scarcely remembered what his past pupil looked like. After all, the last time he saw the Swedish soprano was three years ago, on the night she betrayed him. He had learned to not dwell past sorrows, for it is his memories that pain him the most and drives him to despair.

            But somehow these sorrows died. He no longer felt like a corpse, dead, without heart or soul. Indeed, he felt a strange kind of new purpose,  a meaning for his life as he watched the ballet girl dance. It was a strange feeling, almost as if he was being reborn.

         Tonight was the first night in three years he had played, revisiting his music. He had thought his love from music died when she betrayed him, ripping his heart to pieces. He thought that his broken hear would never mend. But now, it seemed so unimportant. Now Christine's decision seemed so petty. 

          The night she left, he promised himself that he would never forget her, thinking he would forever be pining after her from afar. But now, watching Meg from the orchestra pit, watching her dance, so triumphant and magnificent a dance, somehow, the heavy burden of remembrance and grief was lifted from his shoulders.

 Her eyes were closed. She wasn't dancing a particular routine but rather moving to the music. Meg was well aware of his amazement at how well she was dancing. After all, she herself was amazed. She'd never felt so alive. It was like a flame deep with in her, rising from the embers just when everyone thought the fired had died. She felt warm, brave, and hopeful. She never knew she could perform like this, throwing her heart and soul into her dance. Maybe it was because she had an audience.

         A real audience who would look with open eyes, would look with understand, would look with his heart.

She didn't stop when the song stopped. She didn't stop when he stepped onto stage. She didn't stop when he advanced towards her. She didn't stop when she felt his breath stir the loose strands of her hair. Instead, she twirled around to face him, taking one of his boney hands in hers, placing her other hand on his shoulder. 

         A certain understanding passed between these two and he placed his other hand on her waist. It was then that they began a slow waltz, to music seemingly only they could hear. The sounds of the night joined together into one triumphant song, echoing through the opera house, through the streets of Paris, through the who world, singing its beautiful wishful melody.

          The night went on as they danced waltz after waltz, tango after tango, and the trust between them grew. She trusted that he won't kill her, and he trusted that she won't turn him in to the authorities.

         And so they danced, both trusting the other completely, she, guiding him gently through dance after dance, he, patiently following her and trying his best to learn. She led and he followed, and like this, they danced till dawn, ending their show with both of them on center stage, facing the other.



         Neither of them moved.

         

         Neither of them said a word to the other.


        Then, slowly, very, very slowly, the phantom took Meg's hand so very gently in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

          “Thank you,” he whispered. She merely smiled. The sun was rising steadily through her sky as well as his. They were no longer dancing in the dark. Their souls were flying, soaring through the sky like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Author's Note

Ignore the grammer, how was my third person as a whole?

Reviews

[aShadowsKiss]

Too many raoulxChristine fics out there... I'm glad Erik gets love too... And I'm an awkward reviewer so *groans and sidles away* I'm done here...

[Rose of Gondor]

So sorry I didn't find this earlier! I haven't been on as much as I would like to (too much stuff to do XD) but I agree, too many RaoulxChristine fics!!! Although I suppose that's all for the best considering I like Erik with Meg!

[aShadowsKiss]

That was amazing! *sigh*

[Rose of Gondor]

Thank you for the kind review!

[_]

oh my god! oh my god! oh my god! that was soooooooo GORGEOUS!!!! i was squealing my booty off when they waltzed *sighs* -.- only in stories something that romantic would happen.....maaaaaaaaan!

[TheConjuringCat]

Awwwww!