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Meg was younger than Christine but only by a couple of years, and so she vaguely remembered when her mother had shown up with Christine Daae on a dark and rainy Parisian night. Meg looked up from her place on the floor where she had been playing: she had begun to worry why her mother was so late. "Mother!" She exclaimed, bouncing up off the floor as soon as she heard the door open. When her mother entered, though, she paused. "..Who is this?" Meg asked, noticing the girl her mother had brought home at her side. Christine, at this point, was nine years of age to Meg's six. She was tall for her age, too; one might have even described the young girl as a bit lanky. She only showed traces of the lithe, graceful ballerina she would become in a matter of years.
"This is Christine Daae," Madame Giry explained. "And Christine, this is my daughter, Meg Giry." The two girls looked at each other, and Meg held in her eyes the curiosity and excitement she would become so known for in the corps de ballet. Madame Giry assessed each girl's expression before continuing, "Christine will be staying with us."
"For how long?"
"For the foreseeable future."
Meg bounced on her toes, excited. "Why?"
Madame Giry gave her daughter a reprimanding look. "Meg! That is no way to greet our new guest, and family member."
"I didn't mean anything by it!" Meg said quickly, looking over to Christine. "Really! I was just wondering, that's all!"
Madame Giry shook her head, trying to hide her amusement towards her daughter's improper attitudes. "There will be time to wonder later. It's late enough as it is, and I have not yet fed you two girls. Come, we must eat."
And that was how Christine was introduced into Meg's life. It would be some months before Christine opened up to Meg, or really before she would speak at all to anyone besides Madame Giry (despite Meg's best efforts). It was only then that she told Meg the circumstances that lead her to be in the care of her mother. She was orphaned not long before arriving at their home by her father, and their family's benefactress was too ill in health and depleted in funds to take care of Christine any longer. And so she had introduced the sickly M. Daae to Madame Giry, and Madame Giry agreed to arrange for Christine's raising alongside Meg's. It was a beneficial arrangement for all involved. M. Daae's daughter would be cared for, Madame Valerius would see to it that her charge was provided for, and Madame Giry had a friend and companion to bring home to her daughter who had never been able to have siblings of her own.
Madame Giry, however, was no vocal teacher. And with Christine's former benefactress no longer able to provide her financial support, the vocal lessons that she had once been given were replaced with Madame Giry's ballet lessons. And it was slowly in the girls' friendship that Christine came out of her shell, much to Meg's delight. Christine began to speak again, and play again, and laugh again, as all girls her age should be able to do, and the young Giry was delighted. A friend, a sister, something she had wanted for so long! This was how things went on for several years, until the two girls were able to join the corps de ballet: Playing together, learning together, attending mass together. The two were inseparable. Christine's brightness, lost a her father's death, had begun to return.
Meg reflected on these years with great fondness. But now the girls were no longer girls but young women, and recently something had began to change.
When the two girls had first joined the ballet, they were frequently together, in the dressing room, in their dormitories, wandering the halls of the Opera. But now Meg frequented these places alone. For the longest time, she could not find Christine anywhere it seemed. And trying to ask Christine always produced the most vague and elusive answers. "I've only been busy Meg, really. You mustn't worry so much..."
And yet Christine seemed to be changing. Her mood seemed to change more frequently, from being entirely jubilant to depressed, with no seeming reason. She became more concerned about the cold weather, and on the rare occasion Meg was able to offer it to her, shied away from drinks like coffee and tea. On somedays Christine seemed happier than Meg had ever seen her, and on some days perhaps even more depressed than she was on that first night they met.
It was only when Meg stumbled upon the unused dressing room, tucked off in a corner of the Opera House, and heard Christine inside with another voice, that she knew something truly must be amiss that Christine was hiding from her.
"You must not bother her, Meg. This news is not hers to share, but his." Madame Giry responded to her daughter's questioning as they walked down the halls of the Opera towards the ballet dressing room.
"His? Who is he?" Meg pressed, moving quickly to keep up with her mother who always walked with a determined, quick pace.
At this question, Madame Giry stopped, and sighed. Perhaps, she realized, Meg was concerned for her childhood friend. Or perhaps she simply knew that Meg had such a curiosity, such a propensity for questions, that if she did not give her daughter answers that Meg would go out and seek them for herself. And certainly, if anyone understood the grave danger that could reap for Meg, it was her mother. "A tutor. He is strict, Meg, and Christine must hold fast to his regimen. I may tell you nothing else." And then she continued on down the hall.
So Meg gazed at that door to the dressing room now with suspicion, and resentment- no, not just resentment. Envy, perhaps. Who was this new tutor, taking up all the time of her friend? Who was responsible for Christine's fragile mood and seeming inability to engage in any earthly pleasures? Who would demand such things from a member of the corps de ballet, a group seen as almost dangerously worldly by the upper class who frequented the Opera. Meg decided that despite her curiosity, whoever he was, she did not care much for him at all.
Yet even still, when Carlotta stormed off the set of Hannibal, Meg knew exactly who to volunteer take her place. "Christine Daae could sing it, sir!" She exclaimed, rushing to her sister's side.
And perhaps, after this, Christine would open up to her enough to tell her who her strange, new tutor was. And perhaps, then, Meg could bring her back.
Perhaps...