Hey guys and girls this is going to be my last phic for a while, and this is only a one-shot (though it my become a short-ish story if people like it). It basically completes Madame Giry's role from my story In Shadows He Hides. I didn't want to include her in the epilogue of the story as she played such a minor role I didn't want her ending to deter from the others. It would help to read the Epilogue of my last story, but is not necessary.

So here it is, enjoy :) Also check out my other one-shot 'Fate' :) (Shameless self advertising there :P)

Italics Thoughts if a small sentence, flashback if a paragraph.

OVERSHADOWED

Her pen was poised over the paper, prepared to write the next inspired sentence of the letter, that is if the writer was not distracted. Antoinette Giry gazed over at her daughter and her fiancé from over the room. Her blue eyes meticulously noticed the friendly body language and romantic gestures emanating from the two.

If there was any doubt in her mind concerning the compatibility of Raoul de Chagny and her own Meg it was blown away the instant the young man kissed her daughter sweetly, expressing his love in a way words could not.

She smiled wistfully at the scene, remembering her own first love. Jacques Giry had been a childhood crush, the two meeting when they worked at the opera house, herself as a member of the chorus and him a stage hand. At the tender age of twelve, it had been love at first sight for her, even though he was five years her senior. He barely noticed her shy attempts at talking to him, leaving her crushed on more than one occasion.

Things changed when she had attended his coming of age party at the age of sixteen. She had worn a shimmering white gown and allowed her long, dark hair to cascade down her back, highlighting her flawless pale skin. Many men had offered to test her dancing skills, but there was only one for her. After three hours sitting with the other chorus girls in the back of the room, sipping watered down wine, Jacques had finally approached her. His black hair was slicked back, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight, she remembered how she could scarcely breathe when he asked her to dance. Nervously she accepted and set in motion events that would change her life. They were married a year later and she gave birth to Meg at the age of eighteen.

She was the happiest she had ever been, laughing freely and showcasing her love to the world. Jacques had left his job as a stage hand and had acquired a position as an apprentice to a dear, elderly carpenter who needed someone to be his successor. For three blissful years they had shared a small house with their daughter, experiencing a happiness few could.

Unfortunately, things did not last forever, and one day she had caught her beloved husband in bed with another woman. She could still feel her heart shattering at the image, the unidentified woman looking exceedingly wanton with her husband on top of her. He had packed up his things and left with his lover twenty minutes later. He and the woman were killed en route to their new lives by a freak train crash.

With little other choice, she returned to the opera house and perfected her craft as a ballet dancer, channelling all her grief into her art, becoming the star dancer of the show for many years. She looked after Meg in her spare time, with the other ballet girls ensuring her daughter was safe when she was busy.

For the first few years she had cursed every man that dare enter her presence. Eventually, she found friendship and condolence in a little boy she had rescued many years earlier, on a trip to the circus with the ballet girls. Erik had teased the torment and anguish out of her with song, allowing her to give her love fully to her daughter and be the mother she always intended to be.

Let us hope she had a better experience than me, she thought with a sigh whilst looking at her young daughter.

At thirty-six, she knew she was not particularly old, and knew herself to be attractive enough to secure a new husband, but with being alone for so many years, she had grown accustomed to her independence, something she knew any man would not allow her to keep.

Sighing again, she dropped the pen that was still in her hand, and smoothed out the crinkles in her sheer skirt. Raoul had insisted on buying her a new wardrobe for the 'second most beautiful woman in the world'. She smiled at the thought of it, but had forbidden him from spending too much on her. However, he had managed to sneak her ten new dresses: five day gowns, three evening dresses and two practice skirts. She mainly kept to the practice skirts, finding comfort in the free movement they allowed, but since coming to Erik's house she had began to wear the other eight, and found herself borrowing from her daughter when she felt overwhelmed by the grandeur of the place.

She was wearing one of her daughter's pieces now, a deep green dress, with a tight bodice, with a swirling pattern sewn in with small pearls attached. The bodice then descended into a full skirt, with many layers of silks and laces, all in the same deep green, covering her feet. Her still dark hair was braided into a single plait that fell straight down her back. The sumptuousness of the clothes was still overwhelming to the modest woman, but she knew she would have to grow accustomed to them, considering the company she would be expected to keep after the wedding.

She had found a friend in Raoul's mother, Evangeline. The petite blonde woman was fascinated by dancing and had spent most of her youth aspiring to become one of the great ballet dancers at the Opera Populaire. She had recognised Antoinette as soon as she was introduced to her at a formal ball, and had accompanied her all evening. That had greatly helped her and Meg's introduction to the family, and she had grown to become acquaintances with most of them.

One man had particularly intrigued her, the man to whom she was writing to at the moment. Baron de Renoir was an extremely wealthy widower whose son was a close friend of Raoul's. His wife had died during childbirth, leaving the young Baron accountable for his son. This had resulted in a strong relationship between father and son, familiar to that of hers and Meg's.

He had striking looks, with platinum blonde hair falling curls to his shoulders, kissing the lapels of an expensively tailored outfit. The man was just shy of forty, similar to her. His startling grey eyes had sought her as soon as she entered the room, and she had pretended for the most of the evening not to notice.

Antoinette sighed as she took another sip from her wine glass, watching her daughter and her future son-in-law dancing. They were the main attention of the event, with many intrigued as to why Raoul had chosen a girl so low down the class ladder. She had overheard many an insult concerning Meg, and had done everything within her power not to confront those who uttered them.

"Your daughter is very graceful, a talent one assumes stemmed from her mother."

She had turned immediately at hearing the low, silky voice, coming face to face with Baron de Renoir. She hastily gave him a curtsey in respect, to the laughter of the man.

"You need not concern yourself with formalities, my dear. I was simply complimenting, parent to a parent."

She smiled slightly at his charm, and they had spent the rest of the evening together, talking and dancing, much to the disapproval of the social elite present.

He had kept a correspondence with ever since, insisting she address him as 'Philippe' in their letters. He had entertained her with his adventures and travels with the army, and in return she had told him all of her life at the Opera House. She was careful to label the exploits of the Opera Ghost as fictitious, but he had enjoyed them nonetheless.

In his last letter, he had insisted on meeting her again, saying how he had missed her smile and presence. She was extremely flattered by his attentions but after so many years was unsure how to react. Her heart was insisting on her replying in the affirmative, knowing happiness could be found again, but her brain was debating the sincerity of the man, even though she had heard nothing but good accounts of him.

She was brought back into the present with a jolt, watching as Erik stormed out of the room, a copy of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure in hand.

Christine glanced over at her, smiling widely.

"Mama Giry, take your own advice and take the plunge, it will be worth it."

Shocked, Antoinette watched as Christine left the room. She had not been called 'Mama' in about ten years, and the term of endearment threw her. What surprised her the most was how easilyy Christine has interpreted her expressions and disposition.

With a smile, she shrugged away her concerns, and resolved all of her courage whilst picking up the pen. The Baron de Renoir would indeed get his visit; it was about time for her to be brave.

………………….

Aww, I love Madame Giry, she is so criminally under-used in the community. I'm thinking about turning this into a sort of story of short vignettes, all about Mme. Giry's past. What do you guys think? Yay or Nay?

Anyways, any comments/reviews/emails are always welcome :)

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Sorry if it got a bit melancholy, I had a case of the Valentine blues :P

M.P.