Disclaimer: I own nothing.  I think Andrew Lloyd Webber owns most of these people, or at least the particular incarnations of them I'm abusing at the moment.  Sigh.

The Other Story – Meg's Diary

Act 1

6:30 AM – I feel so tired I could practically faint.  Stupid Christine's been keeping me up all night again singing at three in the morning.  Three in the bleeping morning!  Christine may be sad and alone and my best friend, but the walls in this place are practically paper and sleep comes first.  Note to self – switch dressing rooms with Jammes as soon as conceivably possible. 

8:30 AM – Mother thinks we're horrible.  Tell me something I don't know.  She also thinks that there's a Phantom who lurks in the secret passageways of the Opera House, and insists on telling all the corps de ballet about it.  Very embarrassing.  Perhaps Mother schizophrenic?

2:00 PM – Carlotta bursting my eardrums.  Christine stepping on my feet.   This is not exactly the best rehearsal of my life.  I will get my revenge!  They all think I'm so little and harmless, but they'll see . . .

3:00 PM – Perfect opportunity.  If I tell Jammes that that rustling noise back there is the Phantom of the Opera . . .

Okay, I didn't mean for her to take it that seriously.

What the heck?  Why not take it and run with it?

Yes!  Carlotta's gone!  Singing and dancing in the streets!  And the new managers are annoyed . . . hehe.  They're so cute when they're mad.  I'd fall madly in love with one of them if it weren't so obvious that they were already madly in love with each other.

Another stroke of genius!   I'll tell the managers Christine can sing the part.  That should teach her to randomly vocalize at three in the morning.

She can sing the part.  That kind of backfired, didn't it . . .

9:00 PM – Well, Christine was an amazing success.  I suppose I won't kill her tonight.

As long as she doesn't start singing in three in the morning again, anyway.  Then I'll have to.  Just as a matter of principle.

11:00 PM – Went to congratulate Christine.  After all, she is my best friend.  But she started babbling about an angel of music.  Told her she was dreaming, stories like this couldn't be true, and that she was talking in riddles, which isn't like her at all – Christine usually doesn't have the imagination, poor girl.  She's the kind of person who doesn't understand a metaphorical story if it hits her in the face.

Actually, that probably explains why she thinks there's an angel of music coming to give her singing lessons.

In any case, I told her that she was looking pale.  Which was a hint that she ought to get more sleep.  Which was a hint that I wasn't enjoying her little exercises.  But I don't think she got it. 

Then, of course, Mother came to tell me to go practice with the other girls.  I told her I would, then went and hid in my dressing room.  I need sleep!

11:30 PM – Just fallen asleep on the couch when I heard someone knocking at my door.  Grumbled, moped, got up to answer it; turned out to be foppish Viscomte, who shouted "Christine, can it be you!" and tried to give me a hug.  I told him he needed glasses and that I was blatantly not Christine; am not nearly so blonde as she is, for a start.  He looked sheepish, agreed I wasn't Christine, said he must have gotten the wrong room and asked me for directions.  Pointed him down the hallway and slammed the door.

Note to self: Tell Mother to tell the managers to find some more intelligent patrons.

Back to sleep!

12:00 PM – Was wakened yet again by mysterious voice singing from my mirror, asking me to sing for him, the Angel of Music.  Too tired to get up; told him he wanted Christine Daaé, next room over, and would he please get his directions right before singing in strange people's rooms?  Christine is more than enough.  Mysterious voice sounded rather embarrassed, said this had never happened before, really, he thought the mirror seemed rather small, and promised to check his map more carefully next time. 

Just remembered Christine's Angel of Music story.  This explains a lot.  Probably means Mother isn't schizophrenic, either, which is nice to know.

Have just realized that this probably means Christine will be singing to mysterious voice in the middle of the night.  Stupid, stupid Meg!  Will try stuffing pillows in my ears.  Maybe it'll work this time.

12:30 AM – Foppish Viscomte is back.  Didn't even knock, just sauntered into my rooms like he owned them.  Actually, he probably does own them.  Stupid rich patrons.  Anyways, he asked me whether it was usual for singers to have strange men in their rooms in the middle of the night.  Pointed out that he was a strange man who was in my room in the middle of the night and I rather wished he would leave, upon which he blushed and left. 

What does one have to do to get some sleep around here?

1:30 AM – Thought I heard shaking in the middle of the night.  Ignored it.  Probably foppish Viscomte again wanting to borrow a comb, or something ridiculous like that.

2:30 AM – In come the managers, looking for Christine.  Told them this was clearly not Christine's room, and they should get out before I threw the Viscomte at them (who had snuck back into my room and was, as I thought, brushing his hair).  Have really, really got to remember to switch dressing rooms.

 3:30 AM – In comes Jammes, looking for a confidante.  Apparently she is madly in love with Joseph Buquet.  Grotesque.  Shooed her out with a broom, as is customary with ballet rats.

Have just remembered that I am a ballet rat.

Oh, well.  I'm a special ballet rat.  Who needs her sleep.

5:30 AM – Someone knocking at my mirror again.  Did not get up; instead, informed mysterious voice that this was not Christine's room, and if anyone else mistook it for Christine's room, I was going to throw a temper tantrum.  And my temper tantrums are more impressive than Carlotta's.  Any day.

Turns out mysterious voice was not looking for Christine.  Was, in fact, looking for me, in order that I could deliver some notes to the managers, since Mother is asleep and apparently harder to wake than a doped opossum.  Feel rather stupid.

6:00 AM – Have delivered put notes on desks of frantic managers, who are looking all over for Christine.  Decided to skip practice today.  Have not had more than two hours uninterrupted sleep in a lifetime, and will probably fall over onto Piangi if attempt to practice today.  Actually, will probably fall asleep on Piangi; his stomach is already beginning to look like a nice big pillow.  Ah, bed . . .

7:00 AM – Foppish Viscomte has appeared in my room again.  Looking for managers this time, apparently.  Upset about his note.  Directed him to managers and fell down again.

7:10 AM – Found Carlotta in my closet, rather randomly.  Only noticed because closet was strained practically to the breaking point.  When asked why she was in there, she looked shifty and said something about spying on that little brat Christine. 

Why does everyone think Christine lives in my room?!?!

At this point, another note popped through my mirror, with 'Carlotta' on it.  Handed it to Carlotta, who decided it was from foppish Viscomte and set off at a run – as much of a run as an elephant can reach – in order to attack him.  Feel sorry for Viscomte.  Rather doubt he sent the note; do not think he can spell 'Carlotta'. 

7:15 AM – Christine has just popped through my mirror.  Sent her home, in case she started randomly vocalizing again, then went off to tell the managers and Mother.  Told them she needed rest.  Would have mentioned the fact that I, too, need rest, but was kicked in the ankle by Mother, who didn't want her dire warnings interrupted.  Instead, was sent off to practice. Am going to fall over and die from sleep loss.

8:00 AM – Christine is playing the pageboy and has to pretend to be Carlotta's lover.  Would feel sorry for her, if I didn't feel so sorry for myself.

8:00 PM – Mysterious voices coming out of the ceiling, Christine looking terrified, Carlotta looking annoyed.  Carlotta croaking.  Wait - did I fall asleep in the middle of practice?

Sent us out to dance.  Stepped on Jammes' toes by accident.  They think it's because I'm afraid of the Phantom, apparently.  Need coffee!

Chandelier has fallen.  Opera is blatantly over. 

Wait a second – Christine and foppish Viscomte on the roof.  Mysterious voice playing around with the chandelier.  CAN FINALLY SLEEP!