The Phantom's Melody (The Phantom of the Opera)

25. Madame Giry's Tale

"Where are we going?" I asked, looking up at Madame Giry as she dragged me through the halls of the opera house and then out the back to the dormitories. Once we were inside and alone, she turned to look at me. I nearly jumped a little when I saw the fire in her eyes.

"I think I've been silent long enough." She said cooly. "What do you think you're doing? Do you have any idea how dangerous he is?" She snapped.

I tensed up, swallowing a little before I pulled my arm away from her. "How did you know?" I asked quietly.

She glared at me. "Did you really think you could sneak around for this long without anyone noticing?" She narrowed her eyes. "You stupid, insolent girl. What were you thinking?"

I bit my lip and looked down for a moment, but I forced myself to muster up courage and face her anger head on. "I was thinking that I needed to protect Christine." I said, looking up to meet her gaze. "Obviously the rest of you weren't doing too good a job at it." My voice was clipped and more than a little annoyed. Normally I would never talk to Madame Giry like that, but I was confused and upset.

Madame Giry pressed her lips together as she assessed me. "And you decided that the best way to do that is by keeping company with an opera ghost?" She shot back.

I refused to back down. "He's not a ghost, or a phantom. He's just a man." I told her. "I'm aware of the things he's done, but he's still just a man. Fearing him like he's some otherworldly being is ridiculous." I pursed my lips. "You know more about him than you're letting on, Madame." I met her gaze again, my eyes softer this time. "Please, tell me what you know."

Something akin to fear flashed in her eyes. "I know no more than you do, Lucille." She said dismissively.

I shook my head. "That's not true. You know something about him, about the Phantom. Please," I took a step towards her and gave her a pleading look. "Just tell me what you know."

Madame Giry regarded me for just a moment before sighing as she sat down at her vanity. "Very well." She hesitated a little before speaking again. "It was years ago. There was a traveling fair in the city—gypsies. I was very young, studying to be a ballerina. One of many, living in the dormitories of the opera house." She explained. "There were many wonders and oddities, but among them was a very peculiar attraction." She seemed to shiver a little. "The Devil's Child." She whispered, her voice so quiet that I had to strain to hear her.

I swallowed, already feeling a little uneasy.

"The gypsy led us to a cage that people had gathered around," she continued. "They were laughing and yelling and throwing curses at whatever was inside. It was only when I approached the bars that I saw what it was," she paused, "who it was." She corrected herself. "Inside the cage was a young child, perhaps a few years younger than I. His head was covered with a knapsack and he was scarred all over his body." I tensed up, my heart sinking in my chest. "The gypsy entered the cage and began beating him with a whip, cursing the boy. Then he removed the sack from his head and..." She trailed off. "Everyone laughed and mocked him for his deformity. Their behaviour was...horrific."

"We were dismissed once the pathetic gypsy had collected his money, but I had stayed long enough to see his cruel fate." She wrapped her fingers around the fabric of her dress. "The boy wrapped a noose around his neck and strangled him right in front of my eyes." She shook her head. "He was so young...a boy now a murderer. But I took pity on him and I helped him escape to the catacombs of the Opera Populaire." She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I hid him from the world and its cruelties. He has known nothing else of life since then, except this opera house. It was his playground and, now, his artistic domain. He's a genius. He's an architect and designer. He's a composer and a magician. A genius," She whispered.