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The castle is burning. Her home is burning.
Meg sprints up the steps to the West Wing fleeing the carnage in search of aid. She held-off the mob as long as she could, helping the other servants haul furniture and build a blockade in front of the door. It gained them a few precious minutes before the mob broke through and she pelted them with everything she could get her hands on: pots, pans, bric-a-brac, cutlery. She smashed several priceless vases over villagers' heads and fought-off one sword wielding lunatic with an iron poker. It doesn't cease their rampage; although some do turn and flee, screaming "GHOSTS!"
To them she is invisible, nothing but a chill in the air. Sure, they notice the fine china as it hurtles towards them but they can't spot their attackers. Just another spectre in this cursed place, another demon to be purged.
They are right when they call the castle cursed but its occupants are very much alive, merely invisible to the naked eye. When the master was cursed his servants shared in it as well (an injustice Meg is still fuming over) though theirs took a different form to his. In that, it took no form at all. They are shells of what they once were, a consciousness without a body… not a tangible one anyway.
Light passes through them, they go on unseen, yet remain bound by the laws of gravity. They cannot float nor walk through walls (a painful lesson on Meg's part). With some effort they can pick up and carry objects - very considerate of the curse to allow them to continue their duties while robbing them of all else (but what else is there to do but fold sheets, dust the shelves, and serve a bratty master whose mistakes cursed his entire staff). They cannot eat but they do not hunger. They cannot sleep but they never tire. They seem to have a sixth sense to prevent walking into one another but touch is an odd sensation, like plunging your hand into lukewarm water.
Meg knows she has a body (a body that, from the feel of things, has not changed since the curse set in); she has even invented a song for doing inventory of each feature and limb (head, shoulders, knees, and toes…). However, she has not felt her mother's embrace in a very long time, she has not felt anyone. The restrictions of this body-less body are a mystery even after so many years. She doesn't feel changes in the temperature, doesn't feel the cold (except she's always cold), doesn't sweat but sometimes sneezes from the dust. She can feel pain but not in the same way stubbing your toe on a chest-of-drawers (because you can't see your own feet) should hurt.
One mercy is she can still feel her feet, still dance, perhaps with more grace than before. If the curse had stolen that joy from her, magic or not, she would have found a way to end this existence, even if she merely faded from her own grief. As it is she often loses herself to dance, it's her escape from this nightmare. Sometimes she will lose herself so thoroughly she will have danced the night away and most of the day before her mother discovers her and sends her to do the laundry (what a shame it is when the master's shirts get mixed in with his red cravats).
Mostly she dances to the music in her heart. The castle is too quiet, the master shuns music more often than he seeks refuge in it. The castle used to be full of song then came the curse and years of grating silence. Even Carlotta gave up on tormenting the master with her singing. (At first they blamed the master for bringing the curse upon them, but with time their anger faded, they saw how he suffered with them in this Hell. Meg still makes a point of knocking books from their shelves whenever he's near).
These last months the castle has been full of music again and hope burst in Meg's chest even as her feet turned to lead. Now there is only the cacophony of violence and destruction.
Meg screams like a banshee as her home, her prison, is ripped apart around her, fire spreading across the floors. Meg won't burn (though it will sting) but the smoke chokes her non-existent lungs. She barrels into the master's chambers, a cry dying in her throat as she takes in the scene before her. It is not the mess that makes her balk - shattered glass and shredded tapestries are the usual fallout of the master's tantrums - but it is the sight of two people crouched on the far side of the room, the woman familiar, the man a stranger, and before them Erik is slumped across the floor.
No. No. NO!
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"
Meg charges across the room. At her disembodied voice the stranger leaps to his feet, wielding his sword (no blood on the blade, but…).
"Meg?" Christine looks up, searching the room for her phantom friend though she knows she won't see anyone. She grabs the man's hand and he stills at her touch.
"Christine!" Meg gasps, not caring how she startles the pair with her sudden proximity. "What happened?"
She kneels beside Erik, checking him over. He's not wearing his mask, the full damage of the curse on display (Now the ugliness of your soul is reflected outside for all to see.) There are no wounds she can see but there must be something causing him to wither like this.
"It's the curse," Christine explains. "It's… it's killing him."
She cuts-off with a sob. Meg glances behind her and sees the glass case which holds the enchanted rose. Only one wilted petal remains, looking as if it might drop any moment.
Meg glares at it. Don't you dare.
She curses and the man, whose name she does not know, flinches. Obvious aristocrat, she trained Erik out of that years ago.
"I'm sorry," Christine blubbers, tears streaming down her face and yet she is still so beautiful. "It's my fault, I can't- can't love him… not how he needs me to… I can't break the curse, I'm sorry, I can't sa-save him… I'm so sorry, Meg. I've failed him, I've failed you all."
A small part of Meg - the part that hoped to know the warmth of the sun again, the caress of a touch - wants to be angry, wants to demand Christine love Erik (it's not difficult!). But a bigger part of Meg knows it's not Christine's fault, of course it isn't, she can't blame her friend for her heart. Love cannot be forced and Meg knew very early on, after meeting Christine and giggling together in her bedroom (prison), that the singer's heart already belonged to her childhood sweetheart, Raoul de Chagny. Whom Meg assumes is the fine gentleman next to them. He enfolds Christine into his arms and allows her to weep on his shoulder, fancy shirt be damned. (And Christine actually feared her love unrequited when she first arrived).
"It's alright, Christine." Meg tries to make her voice sound extra reassuring as she can't rely on facial expressions. "The only one at fault is the originator of the curse."
Bloody sorceress. Meg doesn't approve of witch-burnings but she will make an exception this once.
"But I… it's my fau-fault the mob is-is here." Christine seems adamant she has some blame. "If I hadn't... if I hadn't gone back to visit my-my father none of this would have happened."
"The fault is mine, mademoiselle," Raoul speaks up. "I tried so long to rescue Christine, we scoured the forest but couldn't find the castle. Phillipe, my brother, insisted we give-up. When Christine returned I was ecstatic, I proposed on the spot and we were to marry but then she heard the Beast - ahem - Erik had fallen ill and insisted she return to check on him, her kidnapper. Naturally, I was concerned and insisted she stay. My protests spurred Christine to reveal the truth of the Bea- Erik using the enchanted mirror he gifted her. His image disgusted my brother who incited the mob. I didn't mean for any of this. I understand things better now and I'm sorry for the harm I have caused."
He looks genuinely remorseful and Meg has to restrain herself from snapping that she doesn't care, for either of their guilt. Erik is dying.
As if hearing her thoughts, Erik stirs, groaning.
"Christine…" He reaches out a hand.
Her friend goes to take it, to provide some comfort to a dying man and then weep over his corpse like a maid in a painting. Meg swats her away before their fingers brush, wrapping her own hands around Erik's. His hands are cold, he's always had poor blood circulation but this is… deathly.
"Erik," she grits out.
Erik attempts to lift his head. "Meg, is that you?"
"Erik, you melodramatic oaf, your castle is being invaded and you're just lying here!"
Christine and Raoul gape as she lectures her ailing master but dammit who will she yell at if Erik dies?
"I'm sorry, Meg." No. "I failed you."
No, no, no.
He's giving up.
If Meg were feeling reasonable she might concede heartbreak when already cursed is enough to crush anyone's spirits but Meg's home is burning and the people she cares for most are in danger. She's not in the mood to be reasonable.
"You will have only failed us if you give up. Now, on your feet, we can still fix this, we will fix this."
She tries to drag him up like she did when he spent too long wallowing in bed but it's a struggle without his help.
"Come on, up, up!"
"It's my fault," Erik moans. "I brought this curse upon us. It is just as I deserve but the rest of you are innocent. I am sorry, Meg. I failed to protect you."
He is crying and, unlike Christine, it makes him uglier. Meg presses her hands to his face and he shivers under her touch.
"Protect us now, defend us now, or Erik, I shall never speak to you again."
His eyes shutter and he exhales. "A cruel fate indeed."
With that he begins to push himself from the floor and Meg's heart volts into her throat.
She tries to steady him as he rises but he's so frail. Christine and Raoul grab hold of him, helping him to find his feet. Meg is not sure what transgressed between the three of them before her arrival but she is relieved Erik and Raoul have put their differences aside and are not fighting over Christine as she pleads on the sidelines.
Erik swooshes his black cape around him and staggers towards the door, the others scurrying behind him. He slams open the chamber doors and marches down the stairs to the first floor. One rioter comes charging towards them with a flaming torch and Erik glares. At the sight of the monstrous face the rioter shrieks and runs back the way he came.
Erik storms to the banister, looking out at the mob tearing up his hallway.
"YOU DARE DESECRATE MY SANCTUARY, MY HOME! BEGONE, YOU VERMIN! LEAVE THIS PLACE BEFORE I SMITE YOU WHERE YOU STAND!"
To add to the effect Meg grabs a vintage bottle of red wine from a smashed cabinet and pours it down over the mob.
"Blood!" Someone screeches. "It's raining blood."
All around them invisible servants follow their lead, raining missiles upon the villagers. Carlotta sings and Christine joins in, their pitch a banshee's wail that has Meg covering her non-existent ears. Someone - who Meg suspects is André - charges at the crowd from inside a suit of armour; Firmin does the same but with the bear rug. This is what happens when you build your staff from out-of-work theatre performers.
The flames crackle, growing larger and fiercer, spurring the remaining villagers to turn tail and flee. Cheers echo through the chamber and Raoul looks around, bemused.
Meg throws her arms around Erik and he stumbles, collapsing to his knees.
"Erik? Erik!" Christine cries in alarm and drops beside him. She reaches out for him but hesitates, her hand hovers between them.
"Go!" Erik barks, gritting his teeth like he is in immense pain. "While you still can. Go!"
There's a creaking and bits of rubble fall from the ceiling, causing a few ghostly screams. The castle is breaking apart, either from the mob's damage or the failing magic.
"Christine…" Raoul says, nervously, watching as the flames lick closer, and marking the path to the door.
Christine's focus stays on Erik. "I'm sorry I wasn't the One, I couldn't break your curse."
Erik bridges the distance, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "No, you were perfect… I never should have taken you from your father and imprisoned you here."
Meg snorts. Isn't that what she told him from the start?
"Please know I am sorry for all the harm I did you. I was wrong, Christine… be happy and free."
Christine shakes her head and oh, they are both crying now.
"Erik… I do forgive you. I will never forget what you mean to me. I hope you will think fondly on our time together, as I will remember you."
She kisses his forehead and rises, allowing Raoul to lead them away. Erik's head bows to the floor.
Raoul looks awkward but offers them what little he can. "Goodbye and… good luck."
They run, escaping the burning building and certain death, on to their new happy lives. Meg envy's them.
There are whispers as the other servants shuffle closer. She thinks she hears Fermin say to André, "Wasn't that the girl?"
Meg ignores them and drapes herself over Erik as if to shield him from the world.
"Thank you," she mumbles into his back, "...for protecting us."
Erik scoffs. "It is I who brought their wrath upon us in the first place. I who got us all cursed."
"She overreacted, the punishment did not fit the crime. And I mean what sort of solution is that… you will remain cursed until someone sees past your hideous form and loves you for the good heart within, unless this magic rose runs out of petals first." Meg is ranting, she's had a lot of time to brood on this. "Ten years! Ten sodding years trapped in an enchanted castle hidden from the outside world. It's not exactly conducive to finding true love. We're lucky Christine even came along and even then you had to kidnap her father first to get her here. Not the best grounds for a relationship, plus she was already in love. I'm beginning to think the sorceress just wanted to give us false hope, sadist that she is, the witch."
Erik's shoulders are shaking. Meg assumes he's crying some more but when she moves around to press her hand to his cheek, she doesn't feel damp. Instead Erik lifts his head just enough so she can see those dark eyes twinkling, hear the breathy sounds he's making. Laughter, she realises. Erik is laughing.
Now she wants to cry.
It has been ten years - ten years - and she's never heard Erik laugh before. Not like this. She wants to hear more, wants to see him smile, a real smile, one that blossoms across his whole face, not just the small twitch of the lip he does when he's amused. She wants to see Erik happy.
She's spent ten years playing tricks on him, moving his quill an inch whenever he reaches for it, yanking off the covers just as he's falling asleep, stealing his cloak and letting him chase her around the castle, and on one memorable occasion pelting him with flour from the magically replenishing cupboards.
Ten years shouting at him to eat, to rest, to bathe (because even without a nose she can smell him). Ten years of him shouting back and her shouting louder. Erik can sulk but Meg always, always wins.
Ten years of her dragging him outside whenever he's been wallowing too long in depression. Ten years walking through the gardens together, greeting the woodland creatures unafraid of his monstrous appearance, his cloak draped around her to shield her from the eternal winter although she can't feel the frost. Ten years of her pelting him with snowballs and him griping about how unfair it is when she's invisible.
Ten years listening to him read aloud, pretending she's not there when they both know she is, curled beside the fire. Ten years of saving his music from the flames when the black moods hit him, of snatching the papers off the coals, wishing he would play again.
Ten years of dancing in the sunbeams that stream through the fogged windowpanes, in an empty ballroom, dust floating like stardust around her, as she moves to a song unheard (she catches him watching and forgets to breathe - he can't see her, he can't - sometimes she feels he is the only one who sees her). Ten years of living in a dream (a nightmare) and only Erik reminds her that she's real, that she's human.
Ten years of Erik slowly dying and now his time has come. Meg wants those years again.
"Meg Giry," he wheezes and Meg's heart goes thud, thud, thud against her ribs. "No sorceress is a match for your fury… your fire has kept me going all these years… never let it die."
Panic seizes her, squeezing tight, too tight. "Erik… Erik… do not die, Erik. I forbid it."
Erik chuckles weakly. "This one time I shall have to deny you."
He pushes himself from the floor, sitting back on his heels, lifting his head to the ceiling, arms spread, and begins to beg. Not for himself, but for them.
"Hear me! Hear me, witch! I know you are there."
As if in answer the castle shakes, more debris plummets around them. Shouts and screams from the others.
"You have had your vengeance! Judge my soul if you will but spare my staff… my companions. They are innocent of my crimes and deserve a chance to live," he looks at Meg, "a chance to be happy."
Meg trembles under his gaze. The whole castle seems to be shaking. Wind howls through the smashed windows, whipping around Erik, his cloak billowing.
It is unclear how Erik's death will affect the other staff, if they will fade out alongside their master or remain trapped in this limbo. It is too much to hope they will become human again and yet Erik, their master who got them cursed is begging for their salvation.
Meg stares at him, unable to tear her eyes away. He looks up, directing his focus to where the wind and shadows take a shape. The light of the fire has him silhouetted in red and his eyes glitter with the reflected inferno.
"HEAR ME! HAVE MERCY ON THEM! TAKE ME, TAKE ME NOW, BUT SPARE THEM, PLEASE!"
But even if they are spared, if the curse is lifted and they get their lives back it would be life without Erik and life without Erik would be… empty.
Oh.
Erik crumples like a marionette whose strings have snapped.
Someone starts to scream.
It's her.
"Erik! Erik!" Meg shakes his prone form. No response. "No, NO! Erik! ERIK!"
She turns him on his back. His eyes are closed. His face is white (but he's always been pasty even before the curse made him look like a corpse). She tries to feel for a pulse but fumbles with unseen hands. She can't feel anything.
Meg swears in frustration and slumps on top of Erik, cradling his face.
"Please," she whispers. "Please don't go… Erik… I love you…"
She starts sobbing, vision blurring. Behind her she senses the others shuffling closer but she doesn't pay them any notice. She doesn't know if she's survived or if she might fade away any second but she does know Eric is gone and she is going to hold him for as long as she can.
She stares down at him, eyes roving over the hideous, disfigured face she has come to love and notices a tear trickling down his cheek. She squints, tracing the tear's path, another droplet falls. Not Erik's tears but her own.
She blinks and feels the salty liquid rim her eyes, spilling over her cheeks in warm gushes. She's crying.
It's not that Meg has never cried before but ever since the curse it's been different… the tears well-up but never fall. It's infuriating, exhausting, but now… now the tears streak her face hot and wet, clinging to her skin.
She lifts her hand to wipe away the tears instinctively and there is a hand. Her hand. Peachy freckled skin, five fingers, chewed nails, with calluses from all the scrubbing. She follows her hand up her arm and the pale hairs that decorate, to the sleeve of her blouse, bunched around her elbows, and then she notices the strands of blonde falling before her. She clutches them, feeling the telltale tug atop her head, and runs her hands through her hair and down her dress (head, shoulders, knees, and toes…). She sees it all. Her body is back!
Around her she hears gasps and shouts of delight. The castle has stopped shaking, the fires have all flickered out.
"Meg!"
She turns and sees her mother - her mother - hurry towards her, as fast as her limp will allow. She hasn't seen her mother's face in ten years. She's beautiful.
At the sight of her mother present and whole, Meg forgets everything, regressing twenty years, and flings herself into her mother's arms.
"Maman!"
"Oh Meg, my child." Her mother holds her close, weeping tears of joy.
"The curse! It's broken!" A voice that sounds like Piangi exclaims.
"How is my hair?" She easily recognises Carlotta's shrill pitch.
Remembering the curse Meg breaks from her mother's arms and looks back at Erik still laid out on the floor. She crouches down beside him.
"Oh Erik…"
Her mother places a hand on her shoulder, head bowed. "The poor master."
The others halt their celebrations, remembering their master.
Meg picks up Erik's limp hand, placing a kiss to his knuckles and resting his hand over her heart. She's not sure if it was his last plea that spared them but she is grateful nonetheless.
"Thank you, Erik. Thank you…" She closes her eyes against another flood of tears, a treacherous pathetic sound gurgles in her throat.
"This must be a dream," an impossible voice murmurs, "Meg Giry thanking me, surely I am asleep or if not then I have died… yes I suppose the latter would make sense."
Meg hears the gasps. The hand on her shoulder begins to shake. Slowly, carefully, as if to go too fast would scare him away, Meg opens her eyes.
Erik is still lying there, looking very much like death warmed over, but those dark eyes are open, squinting at her.
"Ah, an angel, I must be dead. But then that doesn't make sense, though I suppose all demons were angels once. Have you come to drag me below?"
"Erik?" Meg hardly dares to breathe afraid the illusion might break, but she has to know.
His lip curls ever so slightly upwards. "Ah Meg Giry's voice, she always was a demon. Is this to be my eternal torment? You do a poor impression, she would never sound so feeble."
"Erik!" Meg cries, a charge building inside her.
"Better."
She slaps his chest. "Erik, you melodramatic oaf!"
"Oh, spot on."
"You're alive!" She tugs on his shoulders, hauling him into a sitting position.
Erik flops forward, brow furrowing. "I don't think- "
She places her hand to his cheek, letting her warmth flow into him. And she is warm; hot blood pumps through her veins.
Erik blinks and tentatively rests his own hand over Meg's.
"Meg?"
She nods.
"We're alive?"
She nods again.
"How?"
At that she falters.
Before she can scramble together some shoddy explanation there is a thunderous clap and white light erupts in front of them. Meg shields her eyes against the blinding glow, stars burst across her vision. The light transforms into an ethereal figure.
Erik. The voice seems to speak directly into their minds and Meg cringes.
Erik straightens up, jutting out his chin defiantly. "Sorceress."
My spell is broken.
"I was wondering why I was still here and not sweltering in the pits of Hell."
It's an awfully big risk to mouth-off at the witch who cursed him but there are a few things Meg would like to say herself, none nearly as polite.
I have judged your soul and found it much improved from when I first cast my enchantment. My methods have been effective however harsh you may consider them. Know I will not be far should you return to your wicked ways.
Erik shrinks, visibly cowed by her warning. Meg's rising to her feet before she knows what she's doing, stepping between him and the sorceress. She glares at the witch, a feat easily achieved when she's already squinting from the bright light.
"Meg!" Her mother gasps with evident terror but Meg's resolve does not waver.
The sorceress merely looks intrigued by her approach. Erik jumps to his feet, seizing Meg's elbow and pulling her into his chest. His other arm wraps around her, holding her back and shielding her from the witch.
"Gracious lady, thank you for your magnanimity. I vow to stay virtuous and pure-of-heart forevermore, as long as I do live."
It is to this woman you owe your thanks. It was her love that healed your soul and freed you from the enchantment.
Meg flinches and stares down at her feet, avoiding Erik's questioning gaze.
I shall leave you to your human affairs but remember, I shall be watching.
"Goodbye," Erik grits out, "Mother."
Instead of fading the light expands, filling the chamber, so bright Meg clenches her eyes shut. When she finally deems it safe to reopen them the castle is transformed, restored to its former splendour. The peeling wallpaper is without stain or tear, the woodwork and marble floors gleam with fresh polish, the broken furniture replaced and mended, the cobwebs chased away, not a trace of dust, and the colours resplendent in the natural light shining through clear windows.
Further gasps and exclamations sound as the staff marvel at the magic.
"Meg," Erik's voice cuts through her own awe. Reluctantly she faces him. "What did she mean: it was your love that broke the curse?"
Meg's instincts are to play dumb but knows it will do her little good.
"I… um…"
"YOU!" Meg's saviour comes in the unlikely form of Carlotta shoving her finger in Erik's face. "You vile wretched villain. Do not think because we are finally free all is forgiven. It was you who got us cursed!" Murmurs of agreement in the background. "For too long I have been forced to put up with your constant criticisms, your boorish behaviour, your… your… insolent ingratitude. Well no more! I QUIT!"
"Here, here," someone - most likely Piangi - says.
Erik is unfazed. "Of course, Mme. Giudicelli. After what you have endured I would expect no less. Thank you for your valued service, cursed and otherwise."
Carlotta is thrown by this gracious response and huffs unable to think of anything else.
Erik turns to the rest of them. "This goes for all of you. The strength and resolve you have shown through these trying times has been extraordinary. I owe you all a great debt, one I doubt I can ever repay. But I will try, with a portion of my treasury divided between you all."
Surprise and delight passes through the gathered onlookers. Meg and her mother exchange stunned glances. Erik's gaze flickers to them before returning to the rest.
"I imagine you are all eager to leave this place and pursue new lives, therefore, let us deal with the matter now. Does this arrangement suit Mme. Giudicelli?"
Carlotta schools her face into something neutral, indifferent, but her eyes flash greedily. "It will suffice."
With Erik's blessing the staff begin ransacking the castle of all its treasures, packing their belongings and snatching up whatever they can carry. Meg rolls her eyes at the shameless display, a sentiment her mother seems to share. The two of them huddle on the sidelines, apart from the rest, and debate what to do now the future is theirs once more.
After taking turns raising and hastily lowering their voices they realise their minds are aligned and formulate a plan. Their discussion is interrupted as someone knocks a music box on the floor, the gears releasing a jarring screech. Meg shoos away the offender, taking care as she picks the familiar music box off the floor, checking over the monkey figurine perched on-top.
"I shall speak to the master. Let him know our plans," Madame Giry declares.
"I can go," Meg says, hurriedly. "I can speak to Erik."
Her mother gives her an appraising look which has Meg shifting uncomfortably. After spending ten years invisible she's not used to being scrutinised.
"The two of you have grown close over the years."
Meg shuffles her feet. "We're friends."
"You love him."
It's not a question.
Meg gapes at her mother who stares back dispassionately. She tries to speak but words won't come. Her mother reads something in her expression and thaws, resting her hand on Meg's cheek. Meg leans into the touch, relishing the warmth she hasn't known in so long.
"My dear child, I feared this curse had robbed you of all life's blessings, but now the world is open to us again. I pray you get the happiness you deserve."
Meg's lower lip wobbles, eyes prickling as they go watery again and she throws her arms around her mother.
"Oh maman, whatever happens we will have each other."
Her mother strokes her hair, a smile pressed to Meg's cheek. "That we will, my darling."
Meg leaves her mother to pack their things and heads to the West Wing. It appears the magic has worked itself here as well, no signs of the earlier destruction.
Erik is standing in front of the grand mirror (he shattered the glass years ago but the magic has fixed this too). Meg creeps in and the music box springs to life in her hands despite not touching the lever. Meg is momentarily entranced by the familiar tune and she notices Erik's shoulders stiffen then relax. She places the music box upon a chest-of-drawers as it quietens and then silence stretches between them.
Erik doesn't turn but he must see her reflected in the mirror. "Mme. Giry."
Meg wrinkles her nose. He hasn't addressed her formally in years and she certainly isn't going to use his official title.
"It's Meg. I am still Meg and you are still Erik."
"Still Erik…" he mumbles and she notices his hand hovering at the side of his face. "It seems I am still a lot of things… I am still cursed."
Meg's stomach lurches and she stumbles several steps forward. "What? But she said it was broken! I mean, you survived. We all did and everything else is mended. What's wrong?"
"If I am no longer cursed then why do I still look like this." He turns, revealing his disfigurement.
Meg breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, is that all?"
Erik scoffs. "Is that all? It is the face of a monster."
Meg considers him, taking a step forward, then another. Erik watches her approach, warily.
"You're not a monster, Erik."
"That's not what the townsfolk thought."
"Pfft, as if they can talk, storming into other people's homes, brandishing pitchforks and setting the place aflame. That's just rude. They don't even know you." She edges closer. "I, on the other hand, have seen all your sides - the good, the bad, and the ugly - and despite a foul temper you are no monster."
"I'm still hideous," he grumbles.
Meg rolls her eyes. "Maybe, but after ten years you become accustomed."
He wore a mask most of that time, ashamed of his appearance, but it's not as if he slept in it. Meg has spent more nights than she cares to admit watching over him as he slumbers. He looks so much more peaceful asleep than he ever does awake.
Erik scowls. It twists his features, making them uglier. "Don't pretend you don't think me hideous."
She stops in front of him and laughs not unkindly. "Of course I think you're hideous but if it soothes your wounded ego then know that I like it very much."
In fact, she loves his face as she loves all parts of him but she's not going to say that.
Erik looks at her as if she admitted to enjoying Carlotta's singing. "How can you say that? You should be terrified. I'm repulsive."
"It's your face, Erik! You are you. There's nothing repulsive about you and I'm certainly not afraid."
He searches her expression, scouring it for a hint of falsehood but he won't find one.
"The man you once were is a stranger to me but this… you…" She reaches out a hand to his cheek and watches as he fights to draw back before giving in to her touch. "It's not the face of a monster, it's the face of my friend. My best friend."
Erik huffs. "The world will shun me."
"We have been in exile for ten years, what does the world's opinion matter to us," she declares passionately. "Your face might heal with time but even if it doesn't you will always have a place with us… my mother and I… we are leaving…" he flinches and moves to turn away but she forces his focus to remain on her. "Come with us, please."
Erik goes still. He clasps her hand, removing it from his cheek as his eyes bore into hers.
"Y-you would want that?"
"Yes."
Erik surges forward so it is now his hands cupping her face. "Tell me, is it true, do you love me, Meg?"
At first Meg is stunned, then she is fuming. "You pig!"
Erik's grip tightens on her chin, not painful but preventing her escape. His eyes gleam as they bore into her own.
"Tell me, Meg."
"Don't mock me, Erik. It's cruel."
"Oh but I am cruel, and wicked, and selfish."
"Shallow, irritable, and as stubborn as a mule. Yes, I am familiar with your faults, would you like the whole list because we will be here for a while."
The light dims in his eyes and he lowers his hands. "She was wrong then."
Meg doesn't need to ask who he's talking about. She grinds her teeth and pokes him in the chest.
"You bastard. You really are the worst. Your selfishness got us all cursed, you've spent ten years sulking and sniping and now that's all over you're still acting like a brat. How dare you interrogate me about my feelings." She throws her hands up. "Damn you, Erik, you donkey's rear-end. I can't believe I fell in love with you, you over-dramatic moron. I swear a baby is less temperamental. Damn you for making me love you! Damn you!"
Erik gawps at her and she sighs, looking to the ceiling. She desperately wants to avoid this conversation but he deserves the truth - although it might be lost among some of her other colourful phrasing.
With a steadying breath, she meets his gaze, and says softly, "I love you, Erik."
He staggers back, looking dazed. "You love me? But then- then the curse… I owe you everything."
He drops to his knees and Meg immediately tries to haul him back up.
"W-wha-what are you doing?"
"Meg, you magnificent woman, don't you see, it was you, it was always you! Your courage, your compassion, I am unworthy- "
"Stop!" Meg sinks to the floor so they are level. "Don't spout nonsense."
He blinks, as if she's the one acting like a lunatic. "It's not nonsense, I mean every word. Meg you are divine."
"No, no, no you don't. You're only saying this because of the curse, you feel indebted," Meg spits and is mortified to realise she's close to tears. Ten years without crying and now she can't turn off the waterworks. "Well, I don't want your pity and I certainly don't need your misguided gratitude. Only an hour ago you thought yourself in love with Christine. I won't be a consolation prize and I won't stand for this… this… buffoonery."
"Meg…" Erik's eyes go wide and then soft. He reaches out a hand, slowly, giving her the opportunity to pull away. She lets it settle on her hair, combing through the strands of blonde. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, you are my friend, and I… I'm not speaking out of gratitude, I've always known you are special, I'm sorry I haven't said so before."
"...your fire has kept me going all these years…"
Maybe it is true.
His hand runs down her cheek over her collarbone and down her arm, fingers entwining. He does the same with her other hand and brings them both to his blotted lips, kissing them reverently.
Meg sucks in a breath. "Erik…"
He bows, pressing her hands to his forehead. "You are a goddess and I, a devoted supplicant worshipping at your altar. Use me, command me, and I shall follow as you wish."
Meg sighs. So dramatic.
She extracts her hands from his grip and runs them over his deformed features. "Or… we could be equals."
Erik stares at her with shining eyes and she tries not to duck under the intensity of his gaze.
"Come with us. Leave this place far behind, there is nothing for you here. Come see the world with us."
"The world will not welcome me."
"Too bad for the world, I want you there, I want you by my side." She bites her lip, squaring her shoulders, as she asks, daringly, "Who matters more to you, Erik, the world or me?"
Silence, then a slow smile slides across his lips.
"Meg… where would I be without you."
"Dead, probably."
He gives a low chuckle, the sound deep and rumbling. It affects Meg in ways she's not ready to acknowledge.
"You are right. Of course, you are. You're always right."
"Please remember that next time we argue."
Erik huffs but he looks amused. "Yes, I will come with you."
Meg can't help it, she claps her hands excitedly. "Great! Lets pack."
She springs to her feet, the new objective in mind, but a hand snakes out and grabs her before she can disappear.
"Meg, wait, please…"
He stands but doesn't release her hand, stepping into her space, so she has to tilt her head to meet his gaze.
"I need you to understand, regardless of the curse and what broke it, I admire you, I care for you. Without your determination, your ferocity, I surely would have wasted away long ago. You are strong with a sharp-wit and a sharp-tongue, and though you yell and berate me, you have a kind-heart. Though my own is shrivelled and wounded from Christine, please know if you could accept such a mangled blackened thing I would be the luckiest wretch alive to be loved by you."
It's so stupidly poetic. Meg tries not to melt. Damn him and his eloquence.
"You are… ridiculous."
"You fell in love with me."
"I can't be blamed for my poor taste… you were the only man I saw for ten years!"
Erik stiffens. "Is that why-?"
"No." Meg cuts him off. They are not going down that path. "Do you think I would love Piangi or André if the curse were theirs instead? If you had been invisible I still would have fallen in love with your voice… probably done so a lot faster."
Erik looks sullen. "Because you wouldn't have to look upon my face?"
She flicks his nose. "Because I wouldn't have been mad at you for getting us cursed."
"Ah."
Comprehension dawns across his face and the tension evaporates. Meg rolls her eyes again (she's missed doing that).
"You. Are. Infuriating."
"You are infuriating."
They glare at each other. Erik's eyes blaze, Meg's twitch.
"Can I kiss you?"
Meg turns her nose-up, squealing on the inside. "I'll allow it."
Erik wraps an arm around her waist, drawing her in slowly, and cups her face.
"You are impossible," he murmurs and kisses her.
Meg's toes curls. She bounces onto her tiptoes, grasping his shoulders for support. The kiss is soft and fleeting. She feels as if she is floating.
Erik pulls back, searching her face. Meg feels strangely shy as she meets his gaze, refusing to cower even when she is sure every one of her secrets is written across her face.
"Meg…" he trails off, seeming lost for words. For once.
The music box begins to play without anyone touching it. The pair should be startled but they have spent the last ten years in an enchanted castle and are too entranced with one another to give it thought.
"Kiss me again," Meg whispers.
Erik smiles and enfolds her in his arms. "As you wish."
Outside in the garden the frost melts away, the clouds clear, animals start to chitter, and beneath warm sunshine the first of the roses bloom.
-oOo-
"Welcome one and all to Phantasma, our travelling circus, where we bring the marvellous and mystifying to you!"
The crowd cheers, the lighting shifts, and the music starts.
Meg dances. Erik sings.
Tomorrow they will be moving on but tonight they shine.
-oOo-
Meg perches on one of the trunks, watching Erik compose. He seems to be concentrating very hard. Naturally, now is the best time to disturb him.
"You still haven't told me why you chose Mr Y as your pseudonym?"
Erik sighs and stops scribbling. "It's just a name, Meg, what does it matter?"
"If it's just a name why won't you tell me?"
"Maybe I don't have a reason."
"You never do things without reason."
"Leave it alone, Meg."
He pretends to be absorbed in the music but Meg can tell he's distracted.
"I have this theory…" he stiffens, quill hovering mid-air, and she leans forward, "...could it be because when written out Mister Y looks a bit like mystery?"
He doesn't respond which is confirmation enough.
Meg grins and claps her hands. "It is!"
Erik glares death at her but she's undaunted.
"If that's the effect you wanted why not go with Mr E. When you say it out loud it actually sounds like mystery and it also makes sense because your name's Erik."
"I don't expect you to understand my genius," he mutters. Meg narrows her eyes and he backtracks hastily. "I mean… my reasoning is complex… not that I uh think… the context… it's personal… um…"
"You didn't think of it, did you?"
"Godsake Meg, stop ruining my aesthetic."
"Your aesthetic is dumb, Erik."
Erik throws his hands in the air with a growl, some of his papers scattering.
"Ooh, the Beast has been unleashed," Meg proclaims, raising her hand to her forehead in a fake-swoon, and then laughs.
Erik snarls and pounces upon her. Meg giggles as they topple into the trunks and props stacked behind.
"Cunning pest, bewitching demon, sweet blight upon me! I love you terribly."
Meg smiles coquettishly, fingers lacing around his neck. "Show me."
Erik bares his teeth, hands wandering under the ruffled skirt of her ringmaster costume, they lean towards each other.
"I AM RIGHT OUTSIDE AND CAN HEAR EVERYTHING!" Madame Giry reminds them, banging on the side of the caravan with her cane.
Erik scowls. "Can a man not have one moment alone with his wife?"
"That reminds me." Meg trails a finger down his cheek then flicks him affectionately. "I'm not going by Madame Y, it sounds like a charlatan fortune-teller. Why couldn't you have taken Giry?"
Erik groans. "If I kiss you will you cease your incessant questioning? "
Meg smirks. "Depends on how good a kiss."
Erik huffs and tosses her onto the plush cushion couch. He lowers himself upon her and Meg welcomes him with greedy touches, their mouths merging together.
They both ignore the hammering on the wall, losing themselves to the pleasure and finding something more, more, more in one another.
The sun will set, the sun will rise, roses bloom and lose their petals, but Erik will love Meg and she love him for all the nights and days to come... happily ever after.