Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, etc.

Summary: After the movie, Antoinette muses

Relationship: Possibly Firmin/Giry, slight Erik/Giry

Dedicated to twinlady, as usual, and Lady Miranda, who told me that one of my stories inspired hers! Also dedicated to Kirstie, my dear college friend, who is sitting with me right now!

A Shift in Significance

Antoinette's eyes slowly opened, as the bright sun began to warm her cheek. She woke with a sigh as the heat became unbearable, as it seared through the window onto her skin. She lifted her head from the glass, and pulled herself into a seating position, careful not to wake the two sleeping managers. It was on days such as this that Antoinette regretted forever wearing black. Meg had often told her that she sorely needed to rethink the colour in her wardrobe.

As usual, her daughter was right.

Meg had always worn whites, and pale, feminine pastel colours. With her brilliant blonde curls, and healthy complexion, she had been born to wear those sorts of colours. And a smile. Meg was the happiest human being that Antoinette had ever known, and to be able to claim that she had mothered such a perfect child made her glow with pride. Of course, even Meg had her faults. Her intense curiosity was one of these faults. Mythology told of the Greek hero, Achilles, and his famed 'Achilles heel' that had led to his demise. Meg's curiosity had been her Achilles heel.

And it had been her undoing in the end.

Christine's Achilles heel on the other hand, had always been her sweet nature, especially her willingness to trust almost anyone. She had trusted Erik, just like she herself had done so long ago. Now, Antoinette was older; wiser. She had ceased trusting Erik on the day that her beloved husband had died. Christine had made the same mistake that she had, but had emerged from the incident unhurt, and with her beloved very much intact.

Antoinette knew Erik must have loved Christine a great deal. After all, he had released her, and Raoul. Meg had not been so lucky. She had entered the Phantom of the Opera's domain, and had not returned to her Mother. Antoinette, though detesting the fact, knew that she had been wise to flee Paris. She knew very well that she now meant very little to Erik. He would not hesitate to wrap his lasso tightly around her neck, and slowly squeeze the life out of her for her betrayal, no matter what her reasons had been.

Raoul had accused her of leading him into a trap. And he was probably right. Antoinette had become so accustomed to carrying out Erik's will that she often did it without thinking, or even needing to be told. She had been nothing more than Erik's slave. She snorted lightly to herself. To think they had once been friends, to think he had once adored her.

To think she had once loved him.

She had once loved him. A long time ago, when they were both young, and things were much easier. Erik had not yet dreamed up the idea of becoming 'O.G.' and rather than her being his servant, he worshipped her as a Queen. 'Queen Ann'. His saviour, and rescuer from his captors. Her cane itself served as evidence to his former opinion of her. The engraving on the silver tip said it all. And she had loved him. She had also fallen in love with Pierre Giry, and eventually married him, leaving the Opera Populaire to live with her new husband, and prepare for the birth of their first child. Yet, she still loved Erik, and a small part of her wondered; Could she have married Erik? Could she have had his child?

And then Pierre's corpse was found.

Strangulation, the officer said.

Strangulation.

Erik himself had told her that eventually, she would come to fear him, as everyone else did. She had always fervently denied this. However, the moment the officer told her how her husband had died, her blood had turned to ice. Erik had been right, after all.

Fear can turn to love.

Love can turn to fear.

Love had turned to fear.

Ann had fallen to her knees in front of the officer, and screamed, and wept for the loss of her husband. And the loss of her innocence. Antoinette would never make the mistake to trust someone so implicitly again. She returned to the Opera Populaire soon after Pierre's death, with her fatherless baby daughter, and took on the role of ballet mistress, and minion to the newly established Phantom of the Opera.

Pierre's death had changed her. She had become cold; aloof. She had taken to wearing the black gowns which would become her trademark, and wrapping her hair into a tight braid, which pulled her pale skin tight over her high cheekbones, and made her appear a much older woman. She had also learned to stand up to Erik, despite her fear of him. She suspected that on some level, he still thought of her as 'Queen Ann', and still felt something for her. And then, one day, he had used the Punjab lasso on her.

Keep your hand at the level of your eyes.

Her hand had saved her from the same fate that Pierre met, and that one line became her 'catchphrase' of sorts. It was a shame that no one ever listened to her. Buquet hadn't, and his lifeless, hanging corpse now haunted the minds of most of the aristocrats in Paris. That was Buquet's Achilles heel. Ignorance.

And hers?

Her Achilles heel had been struck. Meg was dead. It seemed her weakness was love; and love seemed to be fond of taunting Antoinette, and death seemed to enjoy toying with her. She had lost Pierre, Meg, her brother, her beloved Mother-in-law, Celestine and Gustave Daae… Countless other tragedies haunted Antoinette. Erik was not dead, but she knew that she had lost him a long time ago.

Maybe she had never really had him.

She glanced over at the window that Monsieur Firmin's head rested on. The epitaph had long since disappeared, but Antoinette imagined she could still see the words.

Her heart broke all over again.

"Oh, Meg. What am I going to do without you?"

Antoinette closed her eyes and imagined her daughter, her arms wrapped around her father, as they both smiled at her, reunited at last. She ached to join them.

She heard Firmin's voice in her head.

"Please, Madame. Let me help you."

She took a deep breath, and shook her head to rid herself of the siren like image.

"Well… He did ask nicely."