I wrote this one-shot in a delayed response to the Valentine's Day Challenge on the Meg/Erik community on Livejournal. It was due on March 1st, and I didn't write it until last night, as the mod said we could still write the fics. Instead of giving a line, we had to choose a prompt word, and I chose the word "stars." It is set during the movie the night of the Il Muto performance, but after everything has happened. I had no beta, so please excuse grammar/spelling mistakes. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, for I am a college and cannot afford to.

Meg wrestled with her bed covers for what seemed to be an endless amount of time. She could not sleep, though she desperately wanted to. Today had been an especially tiring day, both physically and emotionally. They performed Il Muto only a few hours ago, and the sight of Joseph Buquet's body refused to leave her mind. She never liked him, though she felt sorry for him. She could see he drank to keep from going insane in a job he was good at, though hated doing. He spied on the dancer girls to remind him what it was like to be in love, to know how it felt to feel excited about a woman. That's what she imagined, though many told her to stop making excuses for him. She couldn't help it. She felt for any person in a miserable situation.

Speaking of….

Meg turned her head to see her best friend still asleep. She had begged to return to her old bed with the ballet dancers and refused to gather her things from Carlotta's dressing room. Once Meg returned from doing the task as a favor to her friend (keeping her eyes away from the mirror and her mind from the passage behind it), Christine had her breathlessly of her encounter with the Opera's phantom who turned out to be a man of flesh and bone! Meg still remembered the fear that crept into the girl's eyes when she spoke of the corrupted face beneath the mask. Meg's curious mind, however, did not turn to fear or even to a deeper desire to see his face, but rather to know how he became the man he was. She had tried to ask her mother, for she knew Mme. Giry knew the most about the phantom, but she simply scolded Meg for being too curious and sent her to practice.

With a frustrated sigh Meg threw her covers on the floor. It seemed sleep was determined to avoid her. Her gaze turned to the window where she could see millions of stars blinking in the cold sky. She could climb to the roof, and perhaps if it were not too slippery, she could dance. It was not uncommon for the stricter of ballet mistresses to make her ballet corps practice in the cold, and though her mother was not that demanding of her girls, Meg thought it was an interesting practice. This would not be the first night she had snuck to the roof to dance away her insomnia.

With a single candle to light the way she knew by heart and her heavy cloak around her shoulders, Meg climbed the stairs and walked through the labyrinth of the upper levels of the Opera House, and finally pushed the heavy door to reveal a cold night with little wind and a dusting of snow on the statues. Setting the candle on the base of the statue of an angel, Meg removed her cloak and used it to brush away the snow, though she noted the footsteps that were nearly erased by the snow that had fallen after the people responsible left. Once she was satisfied with clearing the surrounding area, she placed the cloak next to the candle, and sat on it to stretch.

Her mind wandered once more as her body performed the usual movements, this time to the man that had taken Christine from her dressing room. Ever since she was a child, which admittedly was not so long ago, Meg had been entranced with the story of the Phantom of the Opera. She knew the truth, or so she thought, of a man who the Devil had cursed with a mangled face, but did nothing to stop the rumours of a ghost haunting the building. Perhaps she thought he would be better protected if no one suspected an actual man was wreaking havoc for three years. Though, she thought that it was probably the fact that she liked knowing a secret, something even Christine didn't know.

With her muscles sufficiently warmed, Meg wrapped her hair into a bun with the ribbon she had grabbed, and cleared her mind of thoughts. Soon the sound of violins filled her mind and she began to dance to their tune. It was not a choreographed dance, she simply let her body react to the music and the emotions that welled within her. She fell into a dream, she saw herself dancing in the darkened opera house, only one occupant sat among the sea of seats, partly in shadows, his body still as his eyes followed Meg's movements. It was the ghost, she dance for him. She was infatuated by him, infatuated by the romance that underlined the dark stories. She wanted to be his, wanted to capture his attention, something only Christine had managed thus far. Meg feared, though she did not know, what would happen to Christine if Raoul grew too close. The ghost had a horrible temper; her mother had scared her away from discovering more about him with that warning several times. He would use the lasso on anyone foolish enough to cross him. She did not wish that on Christine, but if that meant this feeling of acceptance, of being wanted would fall on her in reality, then Meg did want Christine to go to the viscount. The dream still played in her mind, the man in the audience had not moved, the violins still played and Meg danced the hardest she ever had. She was content with his attention in her fantasies for now, but she vowed that before this year was over she would have the opera's phantom noticing her.

Meg was so deep in her dream that she did not sense the presence of another person on the roof, did not feel a pair of calculating eyes watching her every step. She did not hear the swirl of cloak on the snow as the man inched closer. He stared, fascinated by her movements, and reached out an arm as though to grab her, then let it fall sharply and crept back into the shadows. He saw now that she was not to be brushed aside, the passion in her dance foretold of the possibility of greatness, and if his world crumbled at Christine's feet, a possibility that seemed all too likely after tonight's spectacle with that boy, perhaps little Meg Giry could pick it up again.

Like it? Hate it? Think it's eh, okay? Please review and let me know!