Madame, To Be a Mother
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters there within.
I'd also like to dedicate this to the wonderfully talented and diverse actress Miranda Richardson, whose performance as Madame Giry in the 2004 rendition of Phantom of the Opera spurred me to write this piece—though she'll probably never know about it, muahahaha!...waahahahaa. (Still, thought I'd just throw that out there; though I think it's kind of scary she's beginning to parallel all my theatrical interests…Weird. 0.o) Anyway, based on her character, here we go!
Madame Giry, respected (and feared) ballet choreographer of the Opera Populaire, stood with her hands lying across each other over her cane and stared down at a little brown haired, blue-eyed girl who stared back up at the woman in abject terror. The girl looked familiar, though the woman could not remember who she was reminded of.
Monsieur Lefevre, manager of the Opera House, was speaking in low calming tones towards the girl. She must be something very special to have the manager's escort. M. Lefevre mopped at his forehead with a kerchief; either finding the dance director had been exceptionally taxing, or making light conversation with a little girl was too much for the man. He smiled when the pair of them had reached the woman, ushering the shy child forward from hiding behind him. No longer peeking at the ballet mistress from the safety behind the manager, she stood trembling before the woman.
"Madame Giry, this is Christine Daaé."
Madame Giry blinked. The whereabouts of the girl's familiarity had just struck home—this was the child that had been touring with Gustav Daaé at a fair some years ago; a girl who would sing to the magnificent musician's music. A child with the voice of an angel. The woman studied the cringing girl in doubt and locked eyes with M. Lefevre.
"Daaé?" she repeated. "Any relation to the violinist?"
"Yes," the manager nodded, "she is his only child." He paused and the woman raised her eyebrows lightly, waiting for him to continue. The man cleared his throat and threw a shifty glance at the girl before glancing back to Mme. Giry. Unwilling to broach the subject so recently or openly, he lowered his voice. "Her father has passed on and she has no place to stay." Little Christine fidgeted unhappily and the response lined the manager's features. That was precisely the reaction he had been dreading. He motioned imploringly towards the ballet mistress. "Perhaps she could find residence in the dormitories?"
Again Mme. Giry studied the little girl, though this time a little more closely. She could hardly have been over ten-years-old, a terrible age to lose a father, but a suitable age to begin training as a ballerina, if not a little late. Skinny, but she would grow to be tall, a trait many fine dancers shared. Shocking blue eyes and curly brunette hair, wild and frizzy—laid bare to the wind. Apparently the girl had not had the grooming of a mother for many years. Mme. Giry had a sudden premonition why the manager had sought her out and she was not sure she enjoyed the idea. Still, so shy. The girl seemed to shrink under the woman's gaze; all too ready to take refuge behind the manager once more.
The woman tried to put the girl at ease.
"Do you enjoy dancing, Christine?"
The brown-haired girl's blue eyes shot up into the woman's before glancing back to the floor. She nodded. Less enthusiastic then she had hoped, Mme. Giry thought a moment, and then turned to look out over the mass of dancers stretching before rehearsal. She picked out a blonde head amidst the throng.
"Meg!"
Out of the corner of her eye, the woman saw Christine hesitantly look out over the crowd as well, straining to see who would answer. The chosen girl perked up at the call of her name, apologizing to her friends in advance and bounding up to the small gathering in one corner of the stage.
"Yes, mother?" the girl said when she had reached them. She was a pretty little girl, just around Christine's age, with straight blonde hair, hazel eyes, and an easy smile. She looked at the brunette girl in curiosity.
"Meg, this is Christine. She will be joining the dance company. Would you please be kind enough to show her around and find her an outfit for today's practice?" Meg nodded at her mother and turned to Christine and Mme. Giry saw an instant change in the new girl. Christine was still timorous, but a relieved smile had broken across her face at finally having made acquaintance with someone her age—unsure of what to do with a friend, but reassured all the same. Mme. Giry even saw M. Lefevre's shoulders relax at the union; perhaps she had misjudged her unspoken arrangement of the situation.
Meg and Christine spoke excitedly for a few moments before Meg grabbed the new girl by the arm and began to lead her to the dressing rooms, but even over the bustle, Mme. Giry heard her daughter:
"Have you ever heard of the Opera Ghost?"
The woman started after her daughter to scold her for speaking so baldly about the sacred legend of the Populaire, but Meg had already disappeared in the crowd. Meg would have long been punished for her loose tongue had she been any other than Madame Giry's daughter. The ghost did not take kindly to being spoken of so brazenly. The woman shook her head lightly when a sharp movement caught her eye above her in the rafters. A splash of black had moved in and out of sight in the dim light over the catwalk. Only one being could move with the same breathless agility as what she had seen. Though try as hard as she might, Mme. Giry could not find the silhouette again and she thought it in the best interest of everyone that she had seen nothing at all.
She had just begun to move towards her students when M. Lefevre stopped her.
"Madame Giry, I was a friend of M. Daaé and he was a good man." He struggled for his next words. "I worry for his daughter."
"Then perhaps, Monsieur, you should take Miss Daaé under your care rather than leaving her in the Opera House?" The woman moved past him, not wishing to let him continue along the vein he seemed to be pursuing and prove that her first instinct had been right all along. She lightly slapped the pink, leotard-wrapped leg of one student. "Keep that leg straight." She said and the student obeyed immediately, her leg shaking as she did as she was told. Mme. Giry continued walking, M. Lefevre hovering close behind, trying in vain to capture the woman's attention once more.
"Madame Giry, please, this is not easy for me."
Unfortunately, this was not what she wanted to hear.
"Stand up straight, Catherine, and Rochelle," she banged her cane in frustration, "turn those knees out! How many times must I tell you?" Both girls flushed in shame and strived to appease their teacher, but the woman had already turned away from them, coming face to face with M. Lefevre. His face was pleading.
"Madame, I am much too busy running an Opera House to have time to look after a child." He said and almost immediately regretted doing so as Madame Giry spun to face him, her eyes wide as she waved her free arm to encompass the dancers on the stage.
"I am not busy either, Monsieur," she said with a note of incredulity. The man placed his hands together in a mock prayer, making amends to the sole person that might help him in his plight.
"I beg you consider looking after Miss Daaé, Madame. You are already the mother of a lovely girl and I know I can trust leaving Christine in your hands."
The woman sighed, closing her eyes. It was not that she did not wish to care for the orphaned girl, but she worried having another dependant on her. She had spent many nights awake with tremulous feelings that she was somehow failing her own daughter as a mother by not giving her the attention she deserved. It was so difficult sharing triumphs and failures among forty young women who all looked to her for counsel and guidance. Many times she had the distinct impression Meg felt rejection for her mother's negligence; the girl's choice to live in the dormitories punctuated this fact. She did not want to fail another young girl where she had failed her own daughter. Madame Giry shook her head.
"That does not change how busy I am. It is hard enough to look after my own child as it is, and I have my own dance company to consider."
"I'll raise your salary—give you a bigger room here at the Populaire for you and your daughter. She could share with Christine. Time off?" he offered, desperate to win the woman over to the cause. Naturally, having another child in her care would call for a larger salary, but the other offers were tempting as well. Goodness knows she could use a holiday for the hours she put in. The material wealth was still not quite what she was looking for; the cold transaction needed something else. Madame Giry studied him carefully, still undecided. The man spoke again, and in his voice was a plea of reverence. "Please Madame, she needs a mother."
There it was. The woman locked gazes with the manager. He was no longer stammering a means of payment in exchange to load the girl under the woman's wing, he was resolved at last as he stared back intensely into her eyes. He truly cared for the welfare of Daaé's child. Madame Giry exhaled silently out her nose.
"Very well, but remember what raising another child costs when figuring the new salary." A new tenacity had entered her voice, laced with a mild fatigue for the battle that had been fought within her. The manager smiled broadly and stepped up to the choreographer and, taking her hand, kissed the back of it in earnest. Many of the girls who had secretly been listening to the entire conversation giggled at the display and the Madame threw them a warning glance that silenced them instantly. They pretended to go back to their stretching, though she knew they were still an intent audience for how pointedly they kept their ears towards their teacher.
"You are an absolute angel, Madame. You have my deepest thanks."
"And his wallet." One of the girls mumbled which set another fit of giggles around the group. Mme. Giry struck the girl who spoke firmly on the shin with her cane. The ballerina jumped with a yelp, slumping over her bruised leg and nursing it in both her arms.
"Don't slouch, Anna."
Luckily, the manager had been oblivious to all of this in his pleasure for having finally struck an accord with the dance director.
"Excellent, we'll make room arrangements and discuss the finances later. Thank you again, Madame." M. Lefevre bowed and walked off the stage. Madame Giry watched him go, wondering if she had decided too quickly and if she had made the right choice, before turning back to her students. All of them were watching her. There was no such thing as a private conversation in the Opera House. Whoever hadn't heard the exchange would soon know of it (before nightfall, no doubt). Ballerinas were as nimble with their waggling tongues as they were light on their feet.
"Well?" She shouted shrilly into the silence and banged her cane. "Why do you stand there idle with open mouths? Are we to make new careers as toads instead of dancers? Get to your places!"
There was a mad flurry of pink and white movement as the dancers hurried to obey their director; and by the way the woman was barking orders left and right, they knew they were all to be punished for having listened to something they should not have.
Six months later, Madame Giry had made a comfortable domicile in a larger apartment within the levels of the Opera Populaire. Meg, too, was given a larger room which she shared with Christine, who had grown accustomed to the Giry's, and both girls regularly visited the ballet mistress. Little Meg and Christine's friendship had blossomed over the months and Mme. Giry was quietly pleased to see the girls getting along so well. They often spent meals together as a small family in Mme. Giry's new complex before the girls retired to the dormitories.
Christine was still shy around certain topics, but had grown to trust her surrogate mother with more personal details over time. They spoke quietly over tea and Madame Giry learned more about the orphaned girl; of her travels with her father and how much she enjoyed the ballet lessons. She still missed her father dearly and Madame Giry would often see tears shimmer in the girls eyes when she spoke of him. A simple gesture to embrace usually calmed the girl as she clung to her surrogate mother for minutes at a time. The Madame often found her own mind wandering to her late husband during these episodes and she worried for Meg, who did not show as much emotion towards her lost father as Christine did hers. He was a good and kind man, and Mme. Giry had been madly in love with him, but influenza had claimed Jules Giry before Meg turned four. There was little to recall and less to be sorry for. In a way, the Madame was happy Meg did not have as much to mourn, she was too young to shoulder adult woes. Yet while Meg was sheltered from that particular storm, Christine had been cast out into the rain.
Still, Meg handled Christine's regrets with a warm and comforting approach, a skill Mme. Giry did not even know her daughter was capable of. It made the woman so proud to have such a brilliant daughter despite everything. And poor Christine, she was a sweet and trusting girl who had laid her heart bare to the Giry family. For the confidence, she grew very close to both mother and daughter, and seemed very much revived for it.
Madame Giry came to care for little Christine Daaé as a second daughter; and she had two beautiful, gifted children to complete her small family.
But raising both girls had not always been easy.
Madame Giry strived very hard to not be partial towards her daughters for practices and recitals—going so far as to scold them and retain them an extra hour for arriving late to class, but then inviting them, in whispered tones, to tea once their punishments were through. They had always exchanged silly smiles with each other whenever the strict ballet instructor would melt into Mother Giry. But the mistress did well at hiding this dual personality. If anything, the other young women of the company would say their teacher was hardest on her daughters of them all. They all loved their stern ballet mistress dearly, but it was the murmured undercurrent to have a sense of release to not be one of Madame's daughters.
There were many fine days in the sun and picnics in the park, but Meg and Christine's always found ways of getting into trouble, despite what the Madame taught them.
It was a chillier autumn evening when Meg came bursting through the apartment door with tears in her eyes. Her mother was instantly alert as she stood from the writing desk she had been scrawling a note at the moment before. The girl ran up to her mother, sobbing and clutching at the woman's dark skirts.
"Meg, what happened?" Mme. Giry said, scandalized her daughter was so upset.
"I-I was outside playing with Christine," she sniffled, "w-when these boys came and pushed us into these bushes—a-and I think I got—"
"Where's Christine?" the woman demanded, fear in her voice as she held her daughter firmly about the shoulders.
"I-I don't know!" she wailed. No sooner had Meg uttered these words was Madame Giry out the door her daughter had burst in through a moment ago. Her harried steps echoed down the empty corridor with wild fervor and she lifted her skirts to mount the steps to the main floor; twisting the cloth in her hands as though she were wringing them dry. She had reached the main foyer and ascended just beside the yawning staircase, her heart thundering in her chest, when she looked up to see a crowd of girls from the dance company and the manager all huddled in a tight circle. She hurried towards them.
Pushing her way firmly through the girls, Madame Giry found Christine at the circle's center and looked her over quickly. There seemed to be no physical injury towards the girl as she stopped, kneeling before Christine.
"Are you all right? What happened?"
But everyone burst out talking at once now that the dance director had arrived, all trying to answer her questions at once.
-"I'm fine, really, I'm fine. It's Meg who—"
-"Madame Giry, you should have seen those boys."
-"They were so awful to Meg and Christine!"
-"Everything seems to be fine despite a couple of bruises."
-"I saw them! They pushed them into the spider bush—"
"Silence!" Madame Giry shouted over the noise, unable to make any sense of the garbled explanations and the foyer fell quiet. She cupped Christine's flushed cheek with her hand, being the center of attention had put a shy rosy color in them, and the girl smiled faintly down at the woman.
I'm fine, I really am.
Mme. Giry nodded, satisfied and stood, turning to the manager who was about to console her for the whole affair.
"I demand those boys are found and punished." She said and the group of girls behind her nodded their agreements solemnly. M. Lefevre looked about the foyer of fifteen Madame Giry's hesitantly, and was about to speak when one of the girls shrieked. Everyone turned to see a shadow rushing across the upper staircase of the foyer and suddenly drop to the ground floor and disappear through the entrance Mme. Giry had just come up from.
-"It's the Opera Ghost!"
-"The Ghost!"
-"It's him!"
"Silence!" Madame Giry snapped again over the outcry as several of the girls took shelter behind the director, but the nervous chatter did not cease and old stories about the Phantom rose to fill the foyer. Anxiety mixed with the woman's agitation for the needless banter; she could not deny she had seen him this time—and so many had seen. He was beginning to grow careless and this made it very hard for her to protect him from discovery. How many children must she look after? Hands were falling on her, clasping at her arms and skirts for comfort as she stood watching the space the figure had disappeared with sharp eyes. All of the girls were wailing for her soothing words now and she mastered herself.
"A trick of the light," she said calmly and many rose to meet her explanation in challenge, but she was gently shrugging out of their grasps. "Please girls, I must attend to my daughter."
"But Madame!" They all cried, her reasoning was not good enough, and she suddenly rounded on them, the fierce ballet mistress once more.
"Is it not past curfew? Should you girls not be in your dormitories?"
Many of the girls groaned and rolled eyes, but Madame was already striding back to her apartment below. She had descended the first three steps when she stopped short; Meg was standing fearfully in the lower doorway to the stairs.
"Meg?"
The girl did not answer as she stared vacantly beyond her mother; terror emblazoned across her features; her body stiff and frozen.
"I s-saw him." She murmured faintly, her eyes wide and unseeing as she relived the moment the Phantom had brushed past her. "H-He looked at me."
Madame Giry swept before her daughter, grasping the rigid forearm in reassurance and raising one hand up to the girl's face as she had done with Christine.
"Oh my darling, you've been bitten by something." The woman lightly touched the angrily swelling dual punctures on her daughter's cheek. The girl looked at her mother with glassy eyes and the blank stare spurred the woman forward. She grasped her daughter's hand and hurried back down the stairs, rattling her mind to think if she had any salves to disinfect and treat the wound in her cupboards. Meg followed silently after. The girl had already made up in her mind that the Opera Ghost was as real as the hand that held hers—a person as real as her mother or herself.
Madame Giry towed her daughter into the apartment and shut the door behind her, sitting her daughter in the chair by her writing desk. To her utter astonishment, she found a little bottle colored a translucent orange filled with a white cream sitting beside her unfinished note. She stared at it a moment as the ends met in her mind.
He looked at me.
Snatching up the bottle, she saw a scrap of paper had been sitting beneath it; and written in untidy, red scrawl was:
For Meg.
Madame Giry did not question the origin for the strange bottle or its purpose on her desk as she deftly uncorked it and dabbed the cream lightly on Meg's infected cheek. Meg's face twisted to hold back a cry of pain as the sticky, custard-like cream smeared over the pulsing wound. The cream made it sting something fierce, but her mother's ministrations were gentle and every caress tender, and Meg felt reassured. An apology hovered on the woman's lips, but shame withheld the words; as though to speak them would only intensify what she had done. How could she have been so thoughtless?
"It's all right, mother."
Madame Giry's motions stilled as she looked up into her daughter's eyes.
"I was worried about Christine too. That's why I followed you—you ran so fast!" she giggled.
The woman smiled warmly up at her child and brushed the unmarred cheek with her knuckles.
"I am sorry, sweetheart." She said softly and Meg nodded, understanding of the condition that afflicted her mother so. Her daughter ever continued to surprise her and before a fit could seize the usually dour woman, she opened her arms. Meg leaned forward in her chair, melting into her mother's embrace.
A few moments of this passed in silence when the door to the apartment opened once more and Christine entered, stopping dead half-way through the door. She stared at Meg and her mother in their tender moment. Both people already in the room parted slightly and stared back at the girl. Christine's eyes were glazing over, apologetic she had interrupted them so rudely and yet so desolate she was on the outside of all the quiet affection. The scene at the foyer came back to Madame Giry in a rush—she had left Christine behind.
A wreath of thorns was settling around the woman's heart. She could not hope of attending to one daughter without abandoning the other. Where she had failed Meg, she was failing Christine now as well. She was hopeless.
No, no. Be strong this moment.
"Come in, Christine."
The girl hesitated only an instant, then silently did as she was told, shutting the door as she went. Mme. Giry motioned for her to sit on the sofa as she smoothed her daughter's hair and kissed her forehead. Meg smiled up at her mother in thanks and glanced warmly over to Christine. Madame picked up a brush from the writing desk and came to sit behind the brunette and began to brush out her hair. The girl's hair was surprisingly soft and untangled for how curly it was. Whatever gnarls that snagged the brush were carefully dealt with by the Madame's practiced hand. Christine stared trancelike ahead as the woman continued with the repetitive motions. Meg, meanwhile, had climbed onto the sofa next to her mother and laid her head on her mother's lap, curling up on her side as content as a cat; it was a wonder the woman did not hear purring. Surprised by the action, since Meg had not done such a thing in years, the woman stopped brushing Christine's hair long enough for the other girl to take up a similar post on the woman's lap.
The brush still hovering midair, Mme. Giry studied the two girls in a pleasant stupor; perhaps she was not doing everything wrong as a mother. The thought echoed in her mind as she reclined slowly against the backrest, caressing each girls' forehead and drawing her fingers gently through their hair.
It was not long before the two girls fell asleep and Madame Giry heard a faint tapping at her door. Not wishing to announce permission to enter lest she woke the two girls, she risked slipping out from beneath them and managed it. Meg and Christine then lay side by side, facing one another and lost to their dreams. Madame Giry looked fondly down at them both, delaying answering the door another moment as she threw a blanket over them both and drawing a shawl over her own two shoulders, answered the door.
No one stood outside her door to be answered. The woman peered each way down the dark corridor. Not a soul hovered at her door. But she could have sworn she had heard a tapping. Turning back into her apartment, Mme. Giry started faintly and rolled her eyes in impatience as a stark white mask hovered before her face.
"Good evening, Antoinette." His deeply musical voice almost immediately put her at ease.
"Erik, you startled me." She murmured, catching the faint crinkle around his eyes. It never seemed to fail to amuse him that he could scare her even after all these years he had dropped in unannounced. She glanced quickly over his shoulders to see Meg stirring faintly beneath the blanket. The man followed her gaze to silently study the two sleeping children and a new, fierce anxiety leapt into Antoinette's chest. He was too intent, she knew this stare; his immobility and rapt fixation was something akin to a cat toying with an injured mouse. It was dangerous when something so captured Erik's attention. A short moment passed in silence when the Madame acted on her instinct.
"Come." She said.
The woman hastily but quietly shut the door and strode forward, motioning to Erik to follow her with equal reverence. She did not dare turn to see that he followed and insult him. The only reason she knew he complied was for the shadow he cast on the wall, and even then she could not truly be sure for he tread so lightly across her floor. He was a magician with all his tricks.
She deftly opened another door and stepped inside a small, modestly furnished den, allowing space for the man to enter before closing the door softly behind them. Madame picked her way across the room and switched on a light which Erik turned away from instinctively. Antoinette could not begin to describe how the uncertain jerk stung her. He had lately taken to flinching from her as he used to when they were children; before they became better acquainted.
The woman glanced down, quietly honoring his wishes, folding her hands before her and did not speak. The silence stretched and Erik seemed to be aware that he had inadvertently caused the stillness between them. He gestured vaguely with one hand, drawing the woman's attention even with this most half-hearted of movements.
"I wasn't entirely sure the species of spider to procure a definite antidote, but the cream should counteract the toxins."
"Thank you, Erik. Meg and I are very grateful for it."
"Apply the cream twice daily and keep an eye on it. I'll procure another one if the first isn't strong enough."
Antoinette looked up at him nervously.
"Is it that serious?"
"It's too early to say, but should the need arise, give me notice." Madame nodded her understanding and a simmering apprehension for Meg rose in her chest. What had so possessed those children to harm her girls? Her shuddering silence seemed to spur Erik into his next words. "I found the boys that pushed your girls." Her blue-gray eyes flickered up into Erik's, who watched her intently; watched her for signs of pleasure, for approval. She was frozen—she had wondered to what extent he had punished the rowdy children. "Let's just say they took a little swim. I don't think they'll be bothering any around the Populaire for many years to come." She could only hope he meant exactly what he said and did not allude to something much darker, for pity's sake they were still children. Why would Erik have gone to such trouble—because she had demanded justice before the manager? It had been chilly that evening too, no doubt the water had been absolutely frigid.
"Oh Erik," she began, but her breath caught in her throat. She could not continue as he slowly advanced on her, and something about the stride seemed predatory. He appeared almost disappointed in her indecisive delineation of justice; he had only done as she had so solemnly asked. Could she not see that?
Madame Giry held her ground, but one hand had unconsciously risen to rest below her throat, a shy breath from meeting the level of her eyes. The man stopped an arms length away, close enough for her to see the corner of his lip twitch.
"That's a terrible nervous habit you've developed." He said softly, his voice as beautifully suggestive as it was dangerous. She did not dare to look away from his penetrating gaze; his eyes were yellow—like cat's eyes. She was sure if the pupils could narrow to slits, they would have. This was the closest they had stood together for months; ever since her marriage to Jules, Erik had been decidedly quiet. She feared her affection for her husband had adversely corresponded to Erik's jealousy—as though her falling in love was a worse betrayal than if she had stabbed him with a knife.
Erik had busied himself with his many talents, shutting out all the world, even her when she returned to the Populaire widowed with her little Meg in tow. The terrible event had embittered her, and Erik's deaf ear did not bolster the hardship she had to endure. They both suffered. She still respected the man, if not made a little frightened by the sinister demeanor that had consumed him, but their friendship had to be painfully reconstructed from the shattered remains. He was usually so absorbed with his work below the Opera House these days, which struck another chord in Giry as she wondered why he would have taken her girls being harmed so personally. Again he seemed to read her mind and spoke. "I didn't really hurt those boys. They were awfully clumsy; a little trip into the fountain hardly took effort."
He paused to study the woman once more, but she had not moved or removed her hand from her throat. Damn it all. Do a good deed and expect to be shunned for it. Did one have to be hit over the head to communicate an apology? What did she want from him?
"You didn't have to."
She had finally looked away and Erik bristled at the quiet rejection for his actions. The heat seemed to increase double fold in the small den as he turned angrily away from her.
"Then I shall take care not to interfere in your private affairs any longer, Madame." He said coldly, flinging the title at her as though it would physically pierce her heart. "I shan't bother you again." He turned smartly on his heel and made for her door, leaving the other entrance he had discovered in the apartment hidden from knowledge. His gloved hand had closed on the brass handle when something firm gripped his other arm. He looked sharply back to see Antoinette clinging to him, holding him back from leaving in such a temper. Her auburn braid was still swinging with the sharp movement she had made to catch him and her blue gray eyes were shimmering with unspent tears for the void that had developed so suddenly between them; where had their friendship gone? They stared at one another for a long moment, one coldly distant and the other tearfully broken, when he finally, callously, shrugged off her hold and exited the den, the living room, the front door, without so much as a backward glance.
Madame Giry watched him go; still feeling the fabric of his shirt tearing from her fingers—the boy she had raised as a mother, had loved as a brother, watched him walk away from her like a reproached child running away from home and her tender embrace.
In agony, she raised a hand to mask half of her face as the tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
In Erik she had been widowed a lover, disowned a son, and lost a friend.
So this was what it was to be a mother.
Author's Note: "Magnificent musician's music", bet you can't say that 5 times fast! Haha, I've actually taken ballet for a few years and many of the things I got in trouble for are in here--especially the knees. I got busted for that all the time. Once again, I just must gush over Miranda Richardson! She's a superb actress and people who haven't heard of her are starved of acting talent. I absolutely adored her as the Queen of Hearts in the Hallmark Alice in Wonderland (I'll get a bunch of blank stares for that one), but one of her lines in that role made it (subconsciously) into this piece: "Get to your places!" The croquet scene always got me laughing. Then her role as Queen Mab in Merlin...(more blank stares!) how fun was that! Deliciously deviant. (You should see this woman's resumé--I mean--when does she sleep?!)
Sorry, off topic I know, I couldn't help myself! Anyway, this piece actually turned out a lot darker than what I orginally intended, but then the ending really wrote itself. I had a snippet with Madame Giry and Erik alone together worked out in my mind then the rest was really stream of conscious material. Scarily enough, it came out pretty good. I really wanted to touch on her relationship with all three of them: Meg, Christine, and Erik; which was a massive task and I can only pray I did a semi-decent job of it. I can only imagine what it must have been like for our poor dear Madame, and I had specific scenes in mind from the movie when I dove into this story. One that kept replaying in my head was the bit where Christine was singing "Think of Me" onstage, and Madame touches Meg's hair. That just screamed at me and this whole story began formulating in my mind. God I love MJR.
Phew! Well, there you have it! I deeply encourage and appreciate reviews, so please don't hesitate to push that pretty little purple button in the corner...nudge nudge
Blackfire 18