𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | ✓

of mirrors and their reflections

01

in which a story is twisted and retold, enter the littlest ballerina.

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"Oh, Maman, where is she?" The petite blonde worried, pacing back and forth in the dressing room. "You promised he'd bring her back . . . where is she?"

"He swore to bring her back by morning," Madame Giry stated, though her face wrinkled with concern.

"Let me go down there, Maman!" She begged, going to her mother. "I'll find Raoul - he'll accompany me down there! We'll bring her back . . . "

"No," her mother says, snapping her cane on the ground. "You will not bring the Vicomte into this. Am I clear, Meg?"

"Oh, Maman, please tell me what's going on!" Meg begs, and in the next second, they both turn to see the mirror open, and a tall man dressed in black comes through. Christine was behind him, tired and frightened, and Meg immediately rushes forward, her arms coming around her dear friend.

"Good morning, Madame Giry," he says stiffly, his voice narrow and low. Meg pulls away from Christine to glance at him once more, her eyes taking in the large image of him. Christine's hand tightened around hers and Meg's eyes widened, both in fear and curiosity. His hair was slicked back, shiny and off-setting, almost as if it were fake. He was clothed in shadows, a harsh contrast to the paleness of his skin. Her eyes find his, one a pale blue, the other darker than night.

"What is she doing here?" He grits out, turning back to Madame Giry. "We agreed she would play no part in this."

Before her mother could respond, Meg jumps in, "If my role was to play no part, then that was before you kidnapped my friend, Monsieur. And I am sure my mother has a perfectly good explanation as to why Christine's teacher is a strange man living in the wall of the opera house, and why she allowed this to go on for so long."

He takes a step forward toward her, anger written across his expression, but the firm hand of Madame Giry stops him, and she pins him with a harsh look. "You will not touch my daughter, Erik."

His lips turn up into a sneer, and he steps back toward the mirror. Without looking back at her, he addresses Meg. "Such blatant disrespect, and so little thanks? Your role as lead ballerina was secured by me, Mademoiselle Giry. Much more from you, and I may remove that title."

"Get out," Meg hisses through clenched teeth, taking a step towards him. Christine's fingers wrap around her wrist, holding her back, and Meg watches with narrowed eyes as he climbs back through the mirror, the tall mechanism closing swiftly shut behind him.

"Are you alright, dear?" Madame Giry asks, and they both stare at Christine, worry etched on their faces.

"Yes," she replies, though in a matter of moments, tears stream down her cheeks.

"Oh, Christine," Meg says, and wraps her arms around her friend. Her mother comes behind Christine and offers a hand to her shoulder, and Christine immediately removes herself from Meg's grasp and buries herself in her mother's arms.

Ugly emotions reared themselves in Meg's mind, and guilt spiraled within her as she tried to keep them at bay. Her friend was exhausted, frightened, and probably feeling betrayed and heartbroken. She tried not to think about her finding comfort in the ballet mistress, and not her. Madame Giry was like a mother to all the ballet girls, and was certainly a mother to Christine.

"Let's get you to bed, dear," she murmurs to the brunette, and she nods, curls bobbing against her shoulders and back. "Meg, can you alert the new managers that she had returned? Do you not answer any questions - simply say she is exhausted and will remain in solitude for the remainder of the day."