To Dance in Her Eyes (Castagne)

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

The emotions that moved Meg's dancing today were not of the normal, cheery kind.

No, today, her passion fueled her. Meg danced ballet today, her pointe shoes finally found buried beneath a bunch of purses in her closet. She flitted across the stage even more gracefully than she'd done years ago at the Populaire. There, she'd been a clunky, inexperienced young woman who's only reason for being a dancer was because her mother was the mistress of the ballet. Over time, however, she had grown to love it, and depended on it when others failed her.

Today, Meg danced for herself. She'd been dancing for others so long that she'd lost sight of why she enjoyed it in the first place, and this was why. The stereo she brought with her played Swan Lake, a favorite of hers ever since she heard it for the first time. She fluttered her arms as the Swan Queen Odette, though her attire was a simple rehearsal tutu. She felt regal though, most of the time closing her eyes and only feeling the music.

Quite often, however, her eyes opened for just a moment, only to glance at Box Five. She knew he probably wasn't watching, but all the same, it was his box, and her dancing for the past ten years had always been for him. Would he like her better if she danced for herself?

She wouldn't know. Her arms stretched toward the box, as if beckoning, pulling a prince down from the heavens to save her Swan-self. At the crescendos, her presence cracked and nearly weeped in remorse, and at the quieter, more contemplative moments, a sad smile graced her face. Now, if only people appreciated it when she danced like this. If only they didn't just see her as the "Oh! La La" girl... Then maybe she would surpass Christine...

[Erik Castagne]

Erik had been pondering something he overheard Lenoir say. The talkative Phantom had been boasting about the Opera House here at the mansion, which he said he had already partially restored. Erik began to wonder...was it like his own opera house? And he was overjoyed when Lenoir mentioned they would be producing operas there. It had been so long since he had heard an opera performed. The last one had been after he had kidnapped Christine and just before he had come to this mansion. Since his arrival at the mansion, he had only met a very few people. He had kept to himself most of the time. Erik had stayed in his lair, composing and playing his own music. And yet, he longed to see the stage filled with dancers, singers, and if he could wish it, his Christine. But now that she had disappeared, he didn't expect to see her again.

Erik had spent a lot of time at the mansion discovering all sorts of secret passageways that led everywhere. He had found one that he knew led to the opera house, if Lenoir's directions as to where it lay were correct. After crossing the lake, Erik took the steps which, in his reality had led to Christine's dressing room, here led to a wooden door which was the entrance to the mansion. For the short time that Christine had been at the mansion, Erik had discovered another set of stairs near that wooden door, that led off in another direction and led to Christine's suite here at the mansion. Oddly the entrance to it was by a mirror, a replica of the one he had designed in his own opera house.

Strangely enough, when Christine disappeared, the secret passageway to her suite had vanished also. But he put that out of his mind. She wasn't here and she wouldn't be coming back. He must forget her. In spite of himself, he had to brush away a tear that actually found its way to the outside of his mask.

After leaving the lift, Erik followed the directions carefully... the directions he had surmised from what Lenoir had said. Along the way, he picked up an oil lamp, for he knew the passageways would be dark. There was a panel in the wall that opened easily, once Erik found the hidden mechanism. He walked though and ascended several flights of stairs in a dark dusty passageway. He came to the end of it, which seemed to be a rounded area, with another secret door. He listened first. He could hear music. This must be the opera house. He opened the panel and lo and behold, he was in one of the boxes in the opera house. The stage was far below him. When he closed the door it looked as if it were just another pillar. There were red velvet curtains with gold fringe in the box which looked as if they had been hung recently.

Erik stayed in the shadows but looked out upon the stage to see a blonde woman dancing ballet, Swan Lake to be precise. She was very good. But where was the music coming from? A Victrola? It couldn't be. The music sounded so much better than a Victrola, but there was no sign of what made the music, except perhaps a small box on the stage.

He watched the woman closely. She was graceful and executing her moves with precision, yet not only precision, but art. She fairly floated across the stage, entrancing Erik. He stepped out into the light to see better for a moment, but then pulled back, lest she see him.

Because he had taken a different route to the opera house he hadn't noticed that this box was marked on the outside...Number Five.