Hello to new followers BellaMiliienium and Trs157! And welcome back to those who have been around a while. Hope you're all keeping well. I'm sorry this hasn't been updated in a while – had lots going on. I've kind of planned out a bit more where I want this to be going so hopefully it will take a clearer direction. Anyway, on with the story! Reviews appreciated as always.

BACKSTAGE

"So it is all ready then?" Bellinda asked the Italian. Carlotta nodded.

"Yes. Everyting is-a ready. It will look accidental. She may not die but ezer way – her career will be over".

"So long as our opera ghost doesn't interfere" Bellinda mused, thoughtfully pressing a finger into her chin.

"We can distract 'im on ze other side of de opera house easily". The two nodded; an understanding formed between them.

Christine

Christine was putting her hair up, sat in her dressing room, which she had been allowed to keep despite not playing the main role tonight (Carlotta had been given that honour) due to the fact that all her possessions were in there and it would have taken a long time to move them out. Though she suspected the phantom had had something to do with it too. What else did he do for her without her knowledge? The thought made her a little uncomfortable as she realised just how helpless she would have been without him as a child.

In a way, she was glad she would not be singing tonight as so many lead roles had meant her ballet was not as polished as it should have been and the other dancers were probably not pleased she held the top spot in the troop still. When she was not dancing, this was a position given to Bellinda. Raoul's new fiancée. Or wife perhaps; who knew when the wedding would be or if it had already happened. Christine was certain to not be invited and she could not care less.

A female scream from a distant part of the opera house interrupted her thoughts. Most likely it was the stage hands messing around and scaring the dancers as usual.

She missed Eric. Meg had been very busy lately so Christine didn't have anyone to talk to. The other dancers hated her because she was different – her eyes were too big, her hair was always a mess, yet she was given lead roles and had the managers wrapped around her little finger, so they thought.

Did he think about her the same way? Did he wonder what she was doing with her day, and wonder if she was thinking about him?

If this constant wondering was what it felt like to be in love then Christine wished she had never fallen for him. The relentless worrying about whether he cared for her like she did him was not a pleasant feeling, and not one she needed if her career was to get back on track. She needed to show her managers she was reliable and stop running off to see him whenever she was sad or on a whim.

Christine sighed, relaxing her shoulders and rolling her head around, ready for a warm up backstage. She picked up her scarf – a prop all the dancers were to use in today's performance. Hers was red silk, the others' white, marking her out as lead dancer. But the fabric somehow caught on her candelabra and pulled it over onto the floor where it immediately lit and grew to a fire the size of a large dog.

Christine screamed and ran for the door – it wouldn't take long for this small room to be engulfed and her along with it. The door was jammed.

"Help! Somebody help me! Fire!" she shouted at the top of her powerful singer's lungs. She could hear no footsteps outside. Christine took two steps back, then threw her weight at the door. Again and again she flung her body against it, but the wood held. She was in serious danger. Panic started to set in as she realised how hard it was to breathe now. The fire was spreading at an alarming rate, heating up the air and guzzling her possessions and furniture like a beggar wolfing down bread.

The mirror on the opposite side of the room shattered from the heat, along with the one on her dressing table, which was now falling to the floor. Its delicately carved legs could not hold its weight any longer. Christine pressed her lips to the crack of the door desperately to try to draw in clean air, pulling her skirts up so that they did not catch. Closer and closer the fire came to her, or so she thought. Sweating and shaking with fear and the heat, Christine knew she had mere seconds before she passed out and burned to death or suffocated.

Suddenly the door gave way and everything went black.

Raoul.

Bellinda had told him for the thousandth time that she was furious Christine had been allowed back into the dancing troop as lead dancer. Raoul said he would try to do something about it – and had remembered this on his way to the performance. Seeing as he was early, he decided to go see the managers and hope he didn't run into Christine, as her dressing room was nearby. En route, he could smell burning and heard screaming. Raoul ran towards the source, the smell getting stronger and stronger until he saw tendrils of black smoke winding their way out from under Christine's door.

Oh God no.

Was he too late? There was no sound from within, only – there. A small thud of a body hitting the floor.

He had no choice but to knock down the door and hope that she wasn't too near it as the impact would carry him a fair way into the room.

BANG

The door gave way on his first try; not a good sign. Immediately he could see nothing but black black smoke and hear the crackling, roaring flames. Where was she?

Squatting low onto the floor, where things were a little clearer, Raoul patted around to try to feel for her, but all he could feel was incredible heat. Too hot to feel pain, he knew he was burning but he had to get her out, had to save her – There!

He felt her skirts, they were just about to catch, he suffocated the flames with his hands and starting to drag her away to relative safety. Something fell on him from behind and there was a flash of bright light and sudden numbess and – black.

Eric

Eric scowled. The scream he had heard was not Christine – just the dancers fooling around. It was best to check these things, as he would die before he let anything happen to her – but it was vexing and now he might miss the start of the performance. Wondering down a passage to box five, he barely caught the end of the announcement.

"- late due to a small fire. We are still investigating the matter but it is clear that two people have been harmed. On an unrelated note, our lead dancer will now be Bellinda Mayers. Performance will commence in half an hour and once again we apologise for the delay. In the meantime our orchestra will give you a few pieces from last week's opera. Thank you"

Bellinda dancing lead? The girl danced like a sack of rotten potatoes! And a small fire? What on earth was going on in this place! The Vicomte was not in his seat either. There was more to this than the managers were telling the audience – of course.

Something must be wrong with Christine if Bellinda is dancing lead.

Oh god no oh dear lord in heaven please, please let her be alright Eric repeated in his head as he ran to the mirror passageway, a mantra that would do him no good. It was obviously too late to save her. Stepping over the broken glass from the mirror that concealed his private entrance to Christine's dressing room, there was nothing left but ashes and a few barely recognisable bits of furniture. A hat stand near the door, half burned, lay on the floor. There was perhaps two feet near the door that had not been consumed by the fire, which was now out save for a few small smoking bits and bobs.

Jumping through the ashes and exiting into the corridor, Eric strode towards the manager's office to see what he could overhear. If she was dead. He would surely know. Surely, with this burning love he had for her, he would have felt her life being extinguished as she was taken from him…

"Burned horrifically they said. He will live but may never walk again, blind in one eye, deaf in one ear…" Not Christine then. A man. Eric jigged impatiently outside the door. What about Christine? Come on, come on man tell him so I can hear-

"Dae was hurt too I think but unsure how badly – her friend Meg whisked her away to see the opera ghost or some other fallacy. Absolute madness, the girl needs a doctor or she'll not dance again-"

Of course. Christine knew she would be best taken care of by him. She must have been so frightened – and hurt too, she would be in pain – she needed him and he was not there.

Eric had never run faster in his life, not for anything. Almost slipping in some parts of the eternally damp passageway back to the caves, he prayed to whatever deity may exist that Christine would be alright, that she could walk and talk and dance and sing and be his forever- yes his! If she lived through this there would be no more waiting, no more dallying around and letting her find her feet, he had to keep her safe and make sure nothing happened to her again

"Phantom?" Meg Giry's voice trembled in the darkness. Her eyes were unadjusted to the gloom down here but Eric could see she was supporting the form of a near unconscious Christine.

"It is me, do not worry. Give her to me". Meg hesitated.

"What? What is it?"

"She said it hurts too much to be carried, too much touching her skin. She's burned in many places-"

"-We will use my cloak as a stretcher then". Eric had no time to listen to Meg's lengthy explanations. Blocking out the fact that Christine was so burned she could not bear to be touched, Eric whipped off his cloak and set it on the ground, and the unlikely duo lifted Christine on by her wrists and ankles. She was barely conscious and violent coughs wracked her body.

"And lift. Here we go. It's not far now." The phantom took the end with Christine's head, Meg her feet. Now and then he warned her of a particularly slippery bit but other than that they did not speak. All they could do was pray silently and wonder if Christine would ever be the same again.