(BEING REWRITTEN) An Opera Ghost- A Phantom of the Opera Fan Fiction

Chapter Eighteen

"Meg?" Madame Giry called from outside the door. Meg looked away from where she sat at her vanity, brushing her blonde hair. She wore a nightgown now, her wet clothes tossed in a small hamper to be taken and washed later.

"Yes, Madame," Meg called back, "The door is open. Come in, come in!" It was a moment, and then the door opened to show Madame Giry, scowling.

"There is no reason to be so formal, Meg," the Madame muttered, shaking her head.

"We have not spoken in years, Madame," Meg responded coldly, looking back to her mirror and resuming the maintenance to her long locks, "Now, what is it you wanted to see me about?" Madame Giry pursed her lips, but said nothing about her daughter's rude attitude towards the one who had raised her.

"Florence. I wanted to know-"

"She will be fine," Meg interrupted, glaring at her mother through the mirror's reflection, "Do you truly believe Erik could kill the child? No. She is fine, just contained due to misbehavior- she has been sneaking out through the tunnels." Madame Giry sighed with relief. She had indeed been afraid for Florence's safety due to Erik's past tendencies of violence... Ones he had shown earlier that day...

"I do not see why you care, Madame," Meg continued on, turning her body to face her mother, "You have not cared for twelve years."

Madame Giry opened her mouth, as if to say something. But she didn't. She floundered for a moment, her mouth opening the closing until it came closed and remained so. Then she turned on her heel, and walked out before her daughter could see the tears coming into her old eyes....

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Dear Diary,

                Meg told me I should begin keeping a diary as a way to let my feelings circulate and not act rashly to my father as he is not to be tested. So here is my honest attempt..

                This is my third day of being confined. I have mostly slept, and yet I become more and more tired every time I awake. I have absolutely no desire to do anything and I believe my father is worried for me. I feel like a caged bird, concealed in the corner with a blanket so no one will bother with me...

                Diary, I miss Olivier. I am not to speak of him, I know, but that does not stop my thoughts from flowing on. I wonder what he is doing, if he is seeing anyone... If he has forgotten about me or if there is some way he will hold on to the sweet and few memories we have made. I wish so badly to return to the barn, or somehow enter his dreams through mine.. But that is impossible.. I know.

This is all I can bear to write..

~Florence

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Dear Diary,

                I am sorry for not writing for.. I do not know how long now. The days down here are no different than nights. I believe it has been two weeks, though I could be wrong. I have finally risen from bed, the drowsiness having left a few days ago. Papa says he thinks I was sick...

                I have been writing, Diary, about love and music.. That is why I have not spoken to you in so long. My mind has been preoccupied with other things. Papa read over my writings and told me that they are alright, but due to the subject matter I do not think he likes them that much. He can tell that when I write of romance between young friends, I am thinking of Olivier. And no matter how foolish it is, I do believe there is something besides just acquaintanceship between us.. Or there was. He probably thinks me dead as my father certainly would never speak to those living above..