Seal My Fate•Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Chapter 15: Curiosity Killed the Cat

Ah, welcome back!

YOUR PRECIOUS PATRON WHERE IS HE???

Still don't own PoTO.

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Raoul

"Madame Giry, wait!"

The party had come to an end, and after hours of searching, I'd found the woman I was looking for.

"Please, monsieur," she stopped me, "I know no more than anyone else."

"That's not true!" I nearly shouted. From what I'd seen in the past few months, she and Christine both knew something. I wasn't going to question Christine when she was clearly in enough danger already—not to mention she'd sworn he was an angel just a few months ago—but I needed information from someone. "My mother knows more than she tells," Meg had said. At the time, it had been a simple reassurance; an attempt to calm me down in a moment of panic. Now, it was the only thread of hope I had left.

"Monsieur, don't ask," she sighed, "there have been too many accidents."

"Accidents? You call these accidents?" She stared blankly at me. "I would have thought you would be the most concerned, considering the fact that you practically raised Christine."

"He would never hurt her," she replied without making eye contact, pushing open a door.

Of course! The man had her fooled, too—if he was even a man. I was not so sure, given the sheer power he seemed to have over not only people's minds but reality itself. Most "hauntings" were demonic, non? Was it even reasonable to believe that this thing might be a man—that he could be stopped?

"Do you love her?" I asked.

"Of course I do."

"Then tell me what is happening," I demanded, slightly harsher this time.

"I told you that he would never hurt her, that is already too much information."

I sighed. It didn't seem wise to argue with her when she was—and I knew she was—the wisest woman of the century. She knew more than I did, that was for certain. Perhaps, for whatever reason, what she said was true and Christine was safe. Then again, Christine may have seemed like the target, but she wasn't the only one who was in danger.

"What about Meg? Your daughter?" She broke eye contact and looked at the wall behind me. Good. She was considering it. "What about the managers? What about Carlotta? Piangi? What about the innocent spectators who come to watch a show? Is not everyone in danger?"

She sighed and looked at the ground, quickly returning her gaze to my eyes.

"Please, Mme Giry," I begged, "for all our sakes." She nodded in response, though still hesitantly.

"Very well."

She glanced down the halls on either side of us—though we both knew that this wouldn't do any real good, it helped us feel safer—and gestured for me to follow her into the room. After lighting a lamp and placing her handheld one on a desk, she sighed and sat down.

"It was years ago," she began, "there was a traveling fair in the city—gypsies."

I focused solely on her words, trying to imagine the story from her point of view.

"I was very young," she sighed, "studying to be a ballerina—one of many—living in the dormitories of the opera house."

Mme Giry told brief tales about each of the attractions. She seemed to be stalling, but I let her. Though I pretended not to notice, her eyebrows were gathered together as though she were in pain, and I didn't want to upset the poor woman any more than necessary. At last, she reached the point of the story.