The Rose Code

Act I

If there were two things Meg Giry loved, it was dancing and flowers. To be more specific, ballet and roses.

One of them was no secret, and was no surprise either. As the daughter of a former Prima Ballerina and an actor, it was certain that she would flourish on the stage. She'd began taking lessons since she was five, and had been en pointe since she was eleven. Nearly all the girls in the ballet corps were sure it was only a matter of time until she would be promoted to title of Prima Ballerina. She was modest about it, of course, but Meg knew she was the best at her art.

However, only two people knew about her love for roses. Her mother, and the Phantom. Meg Giry had roses of all colours, most dried and hanging in her closet behind her various costumes kept from shows. She kept her roses in a jar of water for a few days, then began her process of drying them. Behind the frills and lace was a collage of reds, pinks, whites, yellow, orange, and more. All of them looked in pristine condition, even though each lifeless rose was so delicate.

Her affinity for the flowers had begun when she began her pointe work. It was her first show on pointe, the first time she'd dance with the big girls. Meg was the youngest member in the cast. She was so nervous, and nearly backed out for fear that being the youngest and least trained, she'd ruin the whole show. But her mother urged and encouraged her, promising that she'd do beautifully, and that she'd believe in her. When Meg twirled on stage with the others, it was one of the most terrifying and freeing experiences she'd ever had. She'd been on stage before, of course, but always with the little dancers, and never in such a large performance. Her heart beat wildly, but she smiled the whole dance through and watched the Prima Ballerina, Miss Dawn, an American with a kind smile, but a nasty habit of making you feel lesser than herself. Meg envied Dawn, but was in awe of the beautiful ballet she preformed as herself and the others danced in the background.

After the show, Meg couldn't wipe the grin off her face. She bit her lip as person upon person congratulated her. Of course, she wasn't being praised like Wilhelm and Augustine, the lead roles, or like Dawn, who's ballet solo had been a hit. However, people smiled down to the small, eleven year old blonde. Her hair had been curled for the occasion, and fell in ringlets around her simply glowing face. Pride gleamed from her, and her smile only widened as she spotted her mother approaching. Antoinette's smile was nearly as large as her daughter's, and Meg gasped when she saw what she carried in her arms.

"Flowers!" Meg squealed as she reached out to snatch the bouquet. Her eyes gleamed at all the flowers arranged so beautifully.

"Not just flowers, Meg. Roses," her mother smiled kindly. "You were simply divine out there. You smiled the whole dance."

"Did I, Mama? Was I really wonderful?" Meg asked eagerly, tearing her gaze from the roses.

"Yes, ma cherie. You were wonderful." Antoinette was careful to spare the flowers as she reached down to embrace her daughter.

"Are all these roses for me?" Meg asked, half in disbelief as she returned her attention to the fragrant roses. "You bought them all?"

"Oui, they're for you. But someone else supplied them," her mother answered. Meg's eyes burned with curiosity.

"Someone else?"

"A... critic, if you will. He approached me before the show and told me to give the roses to you. He knew you would dance divinely, and so you did," her mother replied, giving Meg another hug.

"A critic?" Meg nearly burst, but only squeaked instead. "What kind of critic? A famous one?"

"One that will certainly keep an eye out for you. He'll assure that you keep your place in the ballet corps."

And so he did. It was just a few days later that Meg realized that this critic was none other than the Phantom of the Opera. She assumed he had merely gotten the roses as a gift to both her and her mother, letting them know that he cared for them, and was keeping his end of the partnership that her mother and him shared. Still, those roses had been the best gift Meg had ever received on that night. She'd nearly ran all the way to her room to set them down and more closely inspect them.

The bouquet was a collection of twelve roses, each a different colour, their thorns removed. The roses came in red, dark red, white, dark pink, light pink, yellow, yellow with red tips, orange, peach, coral, lavender, and a single white rosebud. Meg had been delighted at the contrast in colours. However, what intrigued her even more about the flowers was the small card on the inside. She plucked it delicately from the inside of the bouquet, inspecting it carefully, as if it was a butterfly that would fly away at the slightest provocation.

It was an envelope made of sturdy paper, with some dust, perhaps pollen, on it. On the back, it was sealed with red wax, and no emblem. Meg opened the envelope carefully, as though to not rip the wax, and took the note out. On sturdy, white paper, it was written: Congratulations, Meg Giry. That was all. Meg turned it over to see if there was anything else, and was surprised to see many printed words.

She took a seat and began reading the back.

Roses have been treasured for centuries, and are the perfect way to show affection. Find the perfect colour for the right occasion.

Red: Love, beauty, courage, passion.

Dark Red: Unwavering love and passion

White: Purity, innocence, heavenly, youthfulness

Dark Pink: Appreciation, gratitude

Light Pink: Admiration, sympathy, sweetness, joy

Yellow: Friendship, delight, 'Remember me', promise

Yellow with Red Tips: Friendship, falling in love

Orange: Enthusiasm, desire, fascination

Peach: Sincerity, gratitude, modesty

Coral: Desire

Lavender: Enchantment

Single: Utmost devotion

Two Roses Entwined: Marry me

Six: A need to be loved and cherished

Eleven: True and deep love

One Dozen: Always thinking of you, job well done

Thirteen: Secret admirer

Meg Giry was absolutely thrilled at the card, and couldn't help taking each rose out, one by one to place in a vase, and reading what each of the colours meant. It was the beginning of a hobby that she'd always keep close to herself. She thanked the Phantom deeply in her heart for getting her the roses, even if they were only meant as a reminder that he was thankful toward her mother. Meg had never directly seen the Phantom, but from that moment on, felt a certain kinship towards him. She believed they shared a love for roses, and assumed that he memorized what each colour meant like she did. She took utmost care in selecting what colour of rose to give to who for what occasion, and deciphered what each rose she received meant.

Over time, Meg and the Phantom never once met, or spoke together, but became pen pals of a sort. It began when Meg wrote a thoughtful 'thank you' note that her mother would deliver to the Phantom. After a bit of hesitation, Meg decided to include a single, dark pink rose to share her gratitude. To Meg surprise, scarcely a week later, her mother handed her a letter and a white rose back. Soon, it was a tradition between the two. They spoke of common opera gossip, jokes, small secrets, and other such things. But most importantly, they sent roses. The letters themselves might've easily died out, but with the roses, the exchanged words always thrived, and time could always be found to write out a note. Her mother had been wary of letting Meg write notes back and forth to him, but eased over time (due mostly to the fact that Meg never saw the Phantom. It was puzzling to Meg that her mother seemed so careful to not have them meet. Meg knew that he was deformed, and was different than other men, but her mother strictly forbade their meeting.), and was eventually happy to deliver them.

Mostly, yellow roses were exchanged, though orange, pink, and white made appearances from time to time. Even once, Meg received a lavender one. The Phantom (who it turned out had a name, Erik) wrote once telling her that he was having trouble deciding on a specific colour for her. When she asked why he was troubled, he responded by sending a white one. 'I think I've decided on white. I've seen you preform, and you simply shine of youthfulness and have a certain heavenly glow. I was considering pink, to go with your ballet slippers, but I think that white is certainly the better definition.' he had written. Meg wrote back, deciding that her own colour for him was lavender, because of how she was simply enchanted by him. She could picture him laughing as he wrote, 'Enchanted? Enchanted by a man you've never met? Come, now, Miss Giry. Surely your mother would frown upon both of us if she caught word of that.'

Truth be told, the fact that she'd never met him was the reason she was so enchanted. There was so much mystery, so much she didn't know, and by that she was simply mystified. Although Meg Giry didn't consciously know it, she became more and more protective of the curious man. Any time she heard gossip around the theatre about the Phantom, she'd frown and defend him without a second thought. She was almost quite sure that maybe she had fallen in love with the man who hid behind the roses and was why roses were always something very personal.

So when Christine Daae began receiving the single, dark red rose, Meg wasn't quite pleased. Christine was known as the Phantom's Girl or The Rose Girl among the gossiping ballet corps and whispering chorus girls, and Meg couldn't quite share in their giggling. She was almost angry at Christine, for the first time in her life. Meg Giry hadn't been mad at Christine from the first time she walked into her life, back when Meg was twelve and Christine ten. They'd bonded like sisters, and always told each other everything. Well, nearly everything. Meg never shared her affinity for roses, and Christine never shared that she was being coached to improve her voice. That was when everything began to go wrong.

Christine was becoming an obsession of the Phantom's, it was obvious to anyone, but especially to Meg. She read it in the language of the roses. A single, deep red rose with a black ribbon tied around it is what she received whenever he was pleased with her. Meg knew what a red rose meant; Unfaltering passion. Meg had never received even a regular red rose, and she knew the deepest reds were reserved for the deepest desires. It was always a single rose, meaning he had the utmost devotion to her. But... maybe it was through her jealousy, but something disturbed Meg about the roses that any other untrained girl might not have noticed. The thorns hadn't been removed.

Of course, Christine didn't take notice. Why would she when she was so delighted to have an admirer who left her his token of gratitude? No, Meg's worries were kept to herself. There was nothing saying that it was good or bad to keep the thorns, but Meg couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The roses she'd always received were thorn-less, and she always carefully removed the thorns from the roses she sent Erik. Meg thought it was some kind of sign, but she couldn't tell what it was.

The letters and roses from Erik had ceased two months before Christine's roses began to appear. Meg had tried more than given her mother a rose and a letter to pass on to the Opera's ghost, but he never sent anything in return. Meg had begun to worry, and had once even tried to find her way down to the opera's cellars to meet the man face-to-face. However, that had ended somewhat abruptly, what with Antoinette somehow locating her and nearly dragging her back, saying that Erik no longer wish to communicate.

Of course, her little heart that thought she was in love with a man she never met was broken. He was completely infatuated with Christine, and there was nothing she could do to help it.

Christine improved, and soared to new heights, with the help of Erik. Of course, promises were broken, threats were made, and the Phantom's wishes weren't obeyed, resulting in only terror, and even death. After the deaths, she had convinced myself that this must not be the same man who had shared her affinity for roses, and whom she'd been pen pals with for nearly seven years of her life without ever really meeting. Even before the infatuation, he was changing. His plain red wax seal was replaced by a red skull, and when Meg had questioned it, he merely brushed the topic aside, telling how it was in ways charming to him. No, this was some new, mad creature. So Meg vowed that never again would she affiliate with the opera ghost, and for some time, she even gave up roses.

The first time Meg ever truly saw the Phantom of the opera in flesh and bone was at the New Year's Eve Masquerade ball. She was having a grand time, talking with her friends, her mother, and having man upon man ask her for a dance. She wore a burgundy sort of suit, with white ruffles on her sleeves and neck, where an adorable bow tie hung. She wore a small top hat, decorated with more frills and lace, and burgundy ribbon. She'd even considered adding a burgundy rose to match the coat and ribbons, but had eventually declined that idea.

She was having a very merry time when someone dressed as death itself entered in a dramatic puff of smoke. She stopped her spinning with a man dressed as an exotic bird, and turned to see who demanded all the attention. She knew in a heartbeat it was the feared Phantom, and listened to his voice sing out his demands. She'd heard his voice before, but this was the first time she'd seen him. Granted, he was costumed, and was wearing a skull's mask so she couldn't see his face, but it was still the first time.

He'd given them his opera, demanded that they perform it to his liking, and that Christine was to play the lead, of course. Their eyes locked, and something seemed to bond between them, until he ripped something, a necklace, from her neck, and disappeared as dramatically as he had entered. Christine's beloved, Viscount Raoul de Changey tried to follow him, but it was in vain.

The next few days were all talk, mostly yelling. The whole opera was in an uproar, torn between whether they should perform it or not. Eventually, it was decided that another tragedy like that of the hanging of Joseph Buquet would be executed if they didn't obey the Phantom's wishes, and the opera began it's rehearsing.

They hadn't any need for auditions, a full cast list was included with the score. Meg was a bit surprised to see herself cast as the Prima Ballerina, who played a bit of a role. Perhaps her pen-pal, Erik, was still there, somewhere under all this madness. During Act I, she was merely another dancer, with a solo part here and there. Meg was absent during the last half of the first, and the first half of the second, but during the last half of Act II, she played the role of a young pageboy, Marques, who falls hopelessly in love with the lead character's (who was to be played by Christine) cousin. Meg's character's ending wasn't happy, but she found the twist at the end of the script to be rather comical for her. She even got to sing! A small solo in Act III! Meg was actually rather excited to play her role in the three-act masterpiece.

However, she was never to play the role of the lovesick pageboy. During the last half of the first act, the unthinkable happened. The Phantom himself took to the stage, and Christine ripped his precious mask off. That was the first time Meg truly saw the Phantom. She looked at his face, and screamed. It was hardly a face! Furious, the Phantom had cut the cord to the magnificent chandelier and set the whole opera ablaze. It was almost too much for Meg to handle, and she vaguely remembered running around, lost in a sea of panicking aristocrats. No one noticed the girl dressed in a boy's costume, trying to fight the crowds and find her mother.

It was with some panic that she got caught in the angry mob. She hadn't originally intended to go down to the lair with the bloodthirsty men, mad with the thought of revenge. Even those who cared nothing for the crimes committed, and more for the drama and the raiding, roared and pushed forward, creating a blockade that poor Meg couldn't pass. She was swept up in the crowd, and found herself wading through water into the dreaded lair of the Phantom. She could've sworn she saw a curly head that belonged to Christine, or the distinct honey blonde hair of her lover, but a double take made her realize she hadn't found them.

Eventually, they made their way to the cavern, and Meg couldn't help but marvel at the home she'd heard so much about. She recognized things that he'd wrote about, and mentally began sketching a map of the lair. All the treasures, the trinkets that were scattered about all over the place were enough for the more greedy people to be satisfied, and they began grabbing at everything. However, Meg climbed a few steps, more interested in finding the man than finding his possessions.

His mask was what caught her eye, and she paused to gingerly pick it up, thinking about the man who might've been wearing it just minutes before. Something moved in the corner of her eye, and she watched as a curtain fluttered ever so gently. The men weren't up here, and there was no wind, so Meg supposed she had found the wanted criminal, gathering the mask up, she strode over to the slightly waving curtain. She slowly lifted the red velvet, and looked around to make sure the men below were too distracted to pay attention to her. When she was sure, she stepped behind the curtain and began her trek through the secret tunnel. She knew she was mad, but she was burning with curiosity, and had to know the fate of her pen pal.

Minutes later, she stepped on something, and immediately froze up, scared to see what she stepped on. Luckily, in her blindness, she hadn't stepped on anything alive, or dead, for that matter. When she took her foot from the object and reached down to pick it up, she distinctly felt the soft petals of a rose, with the thorns still attached. Meg frowned, although no one could see her. Had Christine gone this way, or had Erik flung the rose away in sorrow for losing her? She didn't know, but she couldn't keep wandering the tunnel aimlessly. So somewhat reluctantly, she let the rose fall back to the ground, and turned around, making her way back into the light of the opera.

Happy May 11th! If you haven't heard, I have hereby dubbed May 11th International Erik/Meg day. We needed a day, and no one had one yet. So I thought, "What the hey?" and decided to make it. I REALLY hope that by next year, we'll be able to actually make it a thing where we all submit one shots, stories, or III Acts like this. :) I just thought it was a neat idea and I hope you'll take part next year! :D

Best Wishes,

Aktress.