"Gregory said I might find you here," Christine says, sticking her head inside the door to Meg's dressing room.

"Did he?"

"Here or the hotel. May I come in?"

Meg shrugs, pulling her pale pink dressing gown around her, securing it with the fringed sash in a shade of raspberry."

"I checked with Albert first…"

"I thought it would create less gossip if I simply stayed here," Meg says, lighting up a cigarette, picking a bit of tobacco from her tongue.

"You started smoking?"

"You of all people know I am in need of some sort of substance to cope with life," she says, holding up the pack before tossing them onto the dressing table. "These help with my nerves and allow me to put something in my mouth to keep from speaking my mind."

"That would be an interesting turn," Christine smirks. "Does it not affect your throat? I remember taking a puff once and it burned…not to mention tasting awful."

"I have…had my cough syrup."

"And here we are."

"Louisa?"

"Louisa," Christine agrees. "May I sit?"

"You own the theater; you can do whatever you please."

Christine rolls her eyes. "You are part owner of Phantasma as you well know – my connection is only through Erik – so in a way, you are my employer."

"As if that would ever be accepted in the real world."

"Nevertheless, you are playing the victim again and it is growing quite tiresome. Being an adult is about learning from your hardships, not continually using them as an excuse to behave badly."

"Are you here to lecture me?"

"Hardly that. I am here to inform you Gregory has asked Erik and me to take Louisa for a time into our home until he can find permanent accommodations for the two of them. After which, she would be in our care when he is at work."

"Not to ask me?"

"No, not to ask you."

"How very lovely."

"Gregory told us what happened…and Adele has spoken of her own concerns."

"Ah, a family meeting about terrible Meg abusing her child."

"Actually, conversations about concern for both you and your child."

"Why you? Did Christine Daae somehow get the short end of the stick for once in her charmed life?"

"I volunteered," Christine says. "Gregory is still very angry – understandably so."

"Maman?"

"The same."

"Dare I ask about Erik?"

"You can ask."

Meg raises a tweezed eyebrow.

"Erik feels guilty about you – what you have suffered. He still blames himself for bringing you here from France and all the other ills that have befallen you since that time. This despite the fact that everyone, including your mother assures him he is not at fault for your life choices."

"But I did not want to leave France."

How I wished it was I who left France instead of you. How I wished Erik had taken me with him. I should have been overjoyed for all of us to leave together - my love, my dearest friend and the woman I thought of as a mother. How different things might have been. For all your hatred of me, do you have any idea how I envied you? Those ten years haunted me – not knowing where the three of you had gone. How happy I was to find you again.

"Take that up with your mother, then," Christine says, crossing her legs, leaning back on the chaise and folding her hands on her lap. "As for the rest, I shall not comment other than you were intent on punishing us by killing our son. So please do not look to me for pity. Whatever you assume I did, or Erik did to you had nothing to do with Gustave – an innocent child who trusted you. If you wonder why no one trusts you now – then think back to that night on the pier."

"How can I forget – no one lets me forget."

Christine rises from her seat. "Stop it, you foolish, selfish creature. You have been catered to time and time again – the world stops when Meg is upset. This is the end of the coddling. You were drugging your own daughter."

"I meant no harm. She was cranky. She has trouble sleeping."

"Likely because she is afraid of you."

"Why are you here?"

"This is your last chance at Phantasma. Were it up to me I would put you on the street for daring to hurt another innocent child."

"What does that mean – last chance?"

"You will be given accommodations in the hotel – a suite with a small kitchen – or not – that is up to you. You will continue performing with the theater and be paid a salary – enough to pay for your room and spending money. You are free to draw from your share of the park, but I suggest you leave that for a time when you can no longer work or no longer wish to live here."

"Gregory?"

"That will be up to the two of you."

"My daughter?"

"Again, that will be up to the two of you – but I suggest you not attempt to take her away from him. I will personally fight you on that and all the business on the pier will be brought up again. You will go to jail."

"Is that all?"

"Straighten out your life – Darius can likely refer you to an associate for support. Something you should have agreed to long ago."

"You took my life my life from me when you came here."

"You can start with that issue in your therapy. I never took anything from you. Clinging to a false belief has not served you well – time you realize that." Turning away, she walks to the door.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Christine checks her small pendant watch. "I believe you have a rehearsal in an hour. I suggest you get cleaned up and perhaps have something to eat. This room is a mess. I will suggest Adele hire a maid for you. Let Albert know what type of room you would like."

"That is it?"

"From me? Yes, that it is it."

"I am a prisoner?"

"You can leave anytime, Meg," Christine says opening the door.

"Bitch."

"A mother, yes." Taking one more look around the room, Christine nods at her former friend. ""You know the terms. Make your choice."

The hotel lobby is a hubbub of visitors coming and going – racks of luggage being navigated by uniformed bellboys compete with people already checked in moving from the elevators to the revolving door and back again. Christine smiles at anyone taking special notice of her – their eyes shifting from the life-sized poster of her standing in the central elevator bay, an extra sense of excitement overtaking them.

Looking past a young couple, her body relaxes perceptibly – the tension of the past hour gone. A familiar flutter in her chest as if butterflies have taken wing brightens her face even more when she sees the face of the person she was seeking. Moving through the crowd, she joins him, pressing a kiss on his cheek. "Waiting long?"

"Hmmm, not really," Erik says. "I enjoy sitting here in this little corner from time to time, watching the flow of people – happy to be here."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Seeing your face, however, was the best part."

"My thought exactly. I do not think I should ever grow tired of seeing your face."

"I am certain others would wonder at that statement."

"Nevertheless, it is true. I recalled today how much I missed you during those ten years we were apart."

"You spoke of that with Meg?"

"No – she said she wished she had never left France and I recalled how much I wished I had not been left behind."

"I know," he says, brushing her check with his fingers. "I was such a fool."

"Yes, you were," she laughs lightly, taking his arm. "But we are together now and that is what counts."

"How did the meeting go?"

A fraction of the earlier tension returns, the smile disappears. "We shall see. I told her everyone's feelings."

"Are you alright?" He tilts his head to appraise her more fully, taking in the downturned lips and furrowed brow.

"Yes, surprisingly. I hope she gets help."

"Are you certain you are alright? She is your friend. You were so close once."

Christine shakes her head. "No. Not now. I find I still have not quite forgiven her for Gustave – this business with Louisa only suggests she has learned nothing."

"Maybe in the future."

"Somehow I think not." Sighing deeply, she kisses his cheek again. "She has not forgiven me for you, either, if that makes sense in the scheme of things. We are at what you would call an impasse, I am afraid. God will be the final arbiter, but I somehow believe her sin is greater than mine."

His laugh is dry and humorless. "Who would have thought I would be the bone of contention between two women."

"You underestimate your charms," she says, poking him in the ribs. "Come, I believe you promised me luncheon."

"That I did." Rising from the padded bench, he offers his arm. "Chef told me he would have an extra batch of macarons prepared just for you."

"My hero."

"One does what one can."

"And you do everything so very well."

The brown glass bottle slips from her hand after forcing herself to take another long drink. "Work magic potion - deaden the pain. Tout de suite. Too sweet," Meg giggles as she flops down on the chaise. Digging beneath the cushion she removes another identical bottle and removes the cork. Before she can take another swallow, she doubles over from the churning of her stomach, bile rising in her throat and slips onto the floor.

"Damn," she mutters, feeling around the wooden floor, sadly in need of sweeping, to find the cough medicine. "Christine. Christine. Christine. What went wrong? I cannot even remember now when I began hating you. Blaming you." Taking a drink, she smiles. "Ah, yes, the pier. The pier when you arrived here. The reuniting of old friends. The reuniting of old lovers. What a fool I was."

Struggling to stand, her legs refuse to cooperate – the medication had yet to reach the damaged feet, still sore from attempting to merely walk with her canes, eschewing the chair. Why would not Maman use a chair, so she did not feel so absurdly inadequate…again. Always.

"Would you believe I do not even care about him anymore? Not really. Not for a long time now. No danger there – he has been tamed. Like Raoul – even Squelch has become a good man. All the good men are taken. What is left for me."

Picking up the bottle, she holds it up and laughs. "Ah, yes, Gregory. Good, dear man. Here through thick and thin. When has Gregory not be here? Good husband, good father. Lucky Meg. No longer trash. Too late. Ten years of being a whore too late."

Ah, the feet seem to understand her need to stand. Grasping the side of the chaise, she catches a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. The pink negligee slips from her shoulders revealing a chemise stained with the spillage from the brown glass bottle – the magical brown glass bottle. "Christine said I should eat something. Rehearsal in an hour. Less than that now. Face a mess." Rubbing her hand against her lips, smearing the lip stick onto her cheek. "That will not do. Playing a whore but now pure. No more Ooo La La Girl."

Stumbling to the bench, she sits down and rubs cold cream over her face, using a clean linen cloth to wipe off her make-up. The wide blue eyes in the mirror stare back at her. Dull and glazed – circled with dark smudges no amount of soap will remove. A natural pink blush is now sallow – flesh sags around her nose and mouth. A forced smile does nothing to erase the scowl permanently etched in her once flawless complexion.

The sound of the mirror shattering startles her.

The brown glass bottle sits in the midst of the wreckage. Small pieces of glass lie on her lap and fasten themselves to the skin on her arms and legs glittering like diamonds – creating tiny rubies growing all too rapidly in size. "Oh," she says, touching her face at the stinging sensation enveloping her face like a mask.

"Oh. No."