Disclaimer: I own nothing *weeps* the fans own nothing! We OWN NOTHING!! WHY!! WHY!!! Ok, enough of my sillyness, here's where it ends it self. As I have said this is Meg's story, I hope you like it.

I think it is safe to say that the next few events are well recorded. I tried my best to speak with Christine, but she was so scared and did not talk with me very much. The pranks that the Opera Ghost pulled on me stopped completely. I can only guess it was because I never spoke of that night to anyone. Well, except for now, but I doubt a soul will read this. And surely, Erik would not mind now.

Again, the part I played in this is tiny-I was Christine Daae's friend. She had to flee with Raoul, and Nadir took care of Erik, until …well until he could no longer live. He requested my mother at his bedside, and consequently, asked for me as well. At the time I could not understand why-after all, I had a small part to play, as I've always said. It felt as if my friendship with Christine was gone, and I mourned it. As I no longer was connected with Christine, I didn't think it would matter.

Everyone took their turn listening to what he had to say, and as he didn't have much strength to say it. I could see that the end was near, and it scared me. My father had died before I could remember him, and the few people I had seen that were sickly, I tried my best to escape the situation. That's not to say I am a uncaring person…it's just that I have a hard time handling reality. I think I have a better grasp on it now.

His house was in utter shambles, the pipe organ ripped apart. I dare say I do not want to know what kind of physical strength it would take to do such a thing. The only thing saved from his wrath was the room he had made for Christine. There he lay in the bed, the velvet curtains drawn to where I could not see but could hear him. The room was lit with the comforting yellow light of a lamp. I did not like the idea of being in here alone, but my curiosity overwhelmed me. There was a plate of broth on the night stand that had gone cool and skin was forming on the top of it. I whimpered and sat near the bed, waiting for,...well I wasn't sure exactly what I was waiting for.

He had requested my presence alone, and I was the last to be in the room. In a strange sense it made me feel important-that I was important enough to be recognized by someone, anyone. My mother had come out of the room patting me on the shoulder distractedly. I was grateful that my mother gave me that comfort, for I saw she was desperately sad and holding back her own tears.

How could whom the world called a psychopath and a monster bring such emotion and compassion from us? I sighed and waited, listening to the raspy breathing. Maybe he had fallen asleep, I mused, I wished that he was dead, for his own sake, even though I wouldn't want to make that discovery myself.

"Megan Giry, hand me my water." The once beautiful voice was now raspy, and cracked easily. I whimpered and handed him his water through the curtain. He held on to my wrist shakily until he could grasp the glass, and I was astonished at how weak his grip had become.

I cried silently watching such a dignified and graceful man suffer so. Then heard the glass slip from his hand and I deftly caught it before it spilled to the floor. In a minute of understanding, I opened the curtain and tried my best to smile.

I did not look upon his face, but on the other side of the wall. I owed him the respect and dignity-in fact, my mother would have demanded it of me had it not come naturally. I tried my best to look comforting. "I caught it just in time." I said softly.

I realized he was too proud to ask for the glass of water again, for he could not face the humiliation of dropping it on himself or having it break on the floor.

"Thank you. I don't want a glassy mess upon my floor you know. I've been saving bits of glass for a while now, it used to fascinate me as a child, stained glass did. When you leave, there should a envelope for you, Nadir will have it. ."

I looked down at him and did not flinch. His face had sunken in, I admit I was not prepared for what met my eyes, but to see him shrunken from the man of power he once was, it dulled the shock of his face. It was altogether sad, and shocking. "I like Church windows, in fact, that was probably the only thing I liked about it, except the music. Maman used to take me, a long time ago. My father bought this piece of stained looking glass, but I broke it one night, and I've never been able to forgive myself. "

I held the glass in my hand for some time and noticed that he looked at it wearily. "Here," I whispered, and I brought my arm around his head and brought it up so that he could drink. I do not know what prompted the gesture only that it was built upon something between pity and the need to do better than people had ever before. No one need ever die alone, and I couldn't see him dying this way. He drank roughly, and then began to cough. I took the glass away, and didn't let go of my arm around his head. He didn't seem to be offended by it so as for myself I didn't stop it. It was just that I couldn't see the way others did. I had become like my mother, wanting to see something different. And I did.

"I want you to have Christine's things. They belong to Christine, but as you know her-"

I nodded. I know it was probably wrong, but humoring him wouldn't have harmed anything.

"Take what you want of hers, for I'm sure she wouldn't mind. She has her own life. ..When the time comes, Megan Giry-"

I began to cry. He seemed so pitiful, and I sat on the bed and sighed, and held his head for him so that he could speak. "I accept your gift. It was a lovely of you to think of me. Don't speak about-"

"No, I implicity must!" He began to cough harder, and blood issued forth from the cover of his mouth. I took a handkerchief from my dress pocket and dabbled it for him, and nothing could stop myself from sobbing. I think he thought I was crying out of fear, but it couldn't be farther from the facts.

"Don't tire yourself."

"Oh I'm sure I will have plenty of time enough for rest. You must get Christine to come back to me, to bury me, she promised! I trust you to seek this out, for she trusted you. She loved you, in her own way. I heard a lot of stories about Mlle. Megan Giry, when she thought I was the angel of music."

"Oh! I will do my best to try. She has not corresponded with me for a while, but I will try, I promise."

His eyes watered over and tears fell down his face. "I must frighten you. You don't know what your touch and compassion, your mother's compassion, has meant to me. I couldn't express enough what that means, for perhaps later in your life you might understand. "

"I understand enough now."

His face lit up with amazement. "You're are a phenomenal woman, Megan Giry. I am sorry that I could not make you an Empress as I promised your mother. Christine is lucky to call you her friend."

No one had ever called me a woman before, and I gasped at that. "It is alright, I will be happy whatever path I chose."

He nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes, I suppose you will. "

I was so frightened that by him closing his eyes that he was ready to die. I calmed myself, made my arms not shake. In retrospect I can see that he was kind enough to recognize this.

"Megan Giry, I do believe that the Opera is starting above us. Do you know the aria from Hannibal?"

I smiled. "Of course I do, I will never forget the night of the Gala."

"Yes, it was my triumph."

I smiled, thinking of the magical night when Christine firs t told me the story of the Angel of music and how he had returned to give her his blessing. "What is it that you ask of me?"

" Will you sing it for me? I'm sure you know it well."

I was stunned, and my voice was so weak, but I sung it feebly. I, Megan, had hardly found the desire to sing, but now I felt as if I was flying when I sung. Was this how Christine felt? She had described it as such. It was overtaking me, consuming me, and had it not been requested of me I would have stopped immediately, except that I didn't know how to stop.

I saw him sigh contentedly and felt something change, though at the time, I really could not guess what it was. I only thought he was pleased with my voice and had fallen into sleep. I got up after laying his head back on the pillows and sat down in the chair near his bed, putting my hand upon his in a comforting gesture. I did not take notice of the coldness in his hands because his hands were always cold, and so I drifted off to sleep in exhaustion

My next memory is that I woke to quiet sobbing, and Nadir had taken my hand away from his. I could not bear the sight of Erik's body covered from head to toe in a sheet and so I fled from my mother and everything until I finally made to the entrance of his home and covered my eyes. Why did he trust me enough to let himself go in front of me? Why did such a magnificent man have to die at all, the cause of death being love?

All this fancy towards stories of tragedy made me sick, and very ill in respect to this situation. There was nothing glamorous about death , and broken hearts. Nothing. I prayed that Christine would come, that Nadir would not let me alone do it . I couldn't, even I was not strong enough to lift a coffin and put it in the ground. I knew that Nadir would help us, of course, but the very idea, oh, I shuddered!

It was if the light had gone out from this place entirely.

After some time my mother came out and held me. She said nothing-in fact, I don't know if saying anything about the situation would have helped. No one ever heard my singing that night, it was a secret between just Erik and I. Wherever Erik's soul rests I know he does not mind me imparting this secret.

I would like to think that I made a difference in his life, that I gave him a drop of comfort in his final hour, though if this is true only Erik can really say. I do wish he will be one of the souls I find when I join the here after.

I hardly knew him, and yet grief overwhelmed me in the days following. Whatever was left of the little girl that Megan was, is regretfully no longer, and I stand in this space between the two phases of my life, little girl and woman. I am grateful that he is laid to rest. I am grateful that Raoul allowed Christine to return to help me.

She did so without complaint, and for a while when she visited my home we were friends again. It was nice to feel needed once more, even though she informed me that more than likely we would never see each other again. Raoul and Christine had to flee the Country because no one here in their home of Paris would let them go without persecution and mindless gossip. I did not blame her for this and wish her the best in life.

I was surprised at her calmness when she saw my necklace, for it no doubt alarmed me when I received it , as well. For you see, I too keep one of Erik's secrets, in a form of a Persian fairy tale. I do not know truly why he made it for me, but it is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship nonetheless and I will treasure it always.

It was a ceremony without much to be said. Nadir said one of his Persian prayers, Christine put a rose on the top of his coffin, a red rose, and I added a yellow one as Christine sung him to his rest, a piece from Faust, I believe. I know that I did not join her-for my voice was silent, and I sat near the grave and released my regret and anguish. It was unlike anything I had felt before to be so calm near death, and a grave.

But Erik was here no longer, and it was as Christine said, the angel has been lain to rest. Then Nadir took to the task of filling in the grave, again, it isn't important to commit where to memory as some might disrespect the dead if I give the location. Christine could not watch, and neither could I, so we wandered back to Erik's home and sat, both of us with envelopes in our hands that we could only open after Erik had been buried.

I opened mine first and was startled to find such a intricate necklace on a golden chain. It was stained glass work, a picture of a dove, blood dripping from it onto a beautiful white rose. I couldn't even guess what work it took to make such a beautiful thing. I broke down as Christine silently put it on me and I then I opened the letter inside. I will commit this to memory as it is a wonderful letter, the best I've received in my life, except from Christine, of course. The writing was crude, truly like children's handwriting and lacking in penmanship, but the sentiment was there.

Mademoiselle Megan Giry,

I give you this as a token of your mother's and yours friendship. Christine had always a cheerful word for you, and had told me the little story of the necklace, a friend's gift from her father destroyed, leaving her homesick. I do not know what it is like to have a father, and I shan't now, surely. The dove and the rose is a wonderful story, and I do believe, better than any fairy tale as it is true to life, at least to mine anyway. I wanted to give someone a moment of happiness as I hoped I had once given Christine, instead of horror. Hopefully I have achieved that, somehow.

Take care of your mother, take care of Christine, for me.


I sat in shock, and Christine swore she could not open hers in front of me. I did not mind and she did not ask any questions about my gift, though I'm sure it bothered her to no end. She wished to leave this part of her life behind, and I would always remind her of that. But at length, I think there is a chance for our friend ship in the future.

Well my friend, the hour grows late. Not only late, but I have been sitting here so long that if I do not sleep now, I will miss practice in the morning entirely! I must stop here, and no fitter stopping place for one of my stories is there, truly. I believe that Erik has found peace. I believe that I am a better person for this, this moment of compassion.

I can apply this to my life, and love with a deeper understanding of what it takes to love. The dove and the rose were doomed never to mate on earth, but maybe some day, he will find his rose in heaven.

May God bless you and keep you,

Megan Giry.

Will someone please inform me why short stories are easier to write ? Sheesh..this only took a day and I hardly find strength to do write on anything else. Man I'm tired. *yawns* ok, you guys give pretty reviews while I am trying to catch up on my sleep, okie dokie?