I apologize for the long hiatus. I was in graduate school and working full-time. Aka- no life, no writing, no free time for MONTHS. But hey I got my Masters degree! WHOO! I'm more excited that I get to write again. YAAAYYYY! -Megan


It was a sleepless night. She gave up at some point before dawn. When her head was a little more clear, she went to the bath to rub her skin raw in cold water. She also tended to her feet, pulling out the glass shards and cleaning them again and again until they began to bleed once more. When someone entered, she didn't even have to guess. The only person who was ever silent and knew when Raoul had a "bad night" was her.

As their ritual, there was only silence when Giry surveyed the wounds and bandaged them. Christine didn't care about her nudity, Giry had seen her body grow its collection of scars. The tears on Christine's face were too much for her to ignore.

"What was this time?"

"He lost the house." She said trying to gather herself before the sobs threatened to rack her body. Through the tears, she tried to laugh as her voice cracked, "I should have expected it. Raoul would bet his own limbs if it meant he could play one more time."

"This theater is your home," Giry gently reminded, bandaging her feet, "And my door is always open."

Giry told Christine to rest as usual, but she refused. It was the first day of practice for the new play, she wouldn't miss it. When she left, Christine dressed to find Martha to make her bruises disappear.

Later than morning, she met with Anna waiting with the others for the meeting on the new performance. She tried to pay attention without letting last night distract her. But her mind drifted to dwell on Erik. She wanted to see him, to show him that she was fine. But he wasn't there, if anything the meeting was brief. The director said some things were still being decided as he passed out the scripts.

Everyone spent the say pouring over the script. Christine already noticed the differences in the first act, it's one of Erik's works. So it would be different from conventional plays, it was daring and risque. It made many disgruntled since roles were switched and even the prop masters complained.

"Shut up all of you!" The Director yelled numerous times, arguing and snapping at everyone who approached him. Christine listened as Anna got into a heated argument with him, wondering what Erik was up to…

"I can't sing this!" Anna shouted, "This is outside my range! Does Monsieur Souverain even know our talents?!"

Christine jolted up, rereading the script. No he couldn't mean to…

She started memorizing the songs, waiting to test her suspicions.

Giry and Meg left when she told them she would be in the dorms that night. Everyone else quickly left after the frustratingly exhausting day. She had a spring in the step, despite less than twenty four hours prior, she was bloody, bruised and brandishing a weapon on the stage. She forgot any wounds she had, stepping onto the stage now. Her body thrummed in excitement at the possibility…

She began to sing the lead's first solo. Anna was right, the song was much too high for her and switched pace much too quickly for her. She let her voice soar to the song's haunting levels, as she felt the vibrations cascade through her being. If she had any power in the world, it was to be heard. To push her voice to fill the theater to the ceiling and beyond forcing its way backstage and into the hall of the box seats.

When it ended, she smiled brilliantly, splitting her lip when Raoul struck her.

She was unaware of the person watching from the back.

"You naturally embody his songs..." she called.

Christine gasped, standing straight up, listening carefully for the ruffling of a dress. "Madame Souverain…"

"Just Morine, Christine," she said, coming down the walkway, studying her. "No need for false pleasantries." Christine remained silent, feeling her gaze. Morine only smiled at her frown, "While we have no reason to lie each other, I do admit, your singing sent shivers down my spine. I remember Erik spending hours to get the song just right, just you perfected it on the first try."

"He was my teacher..."

"Yes he was your teacher. Who you left in exchange for, well," she paused, "just look at you. Oh, you can't." She laughed at Christine glowered in her direction. "Remember child, I met what was left of your teacher," She hissed, coming up the stage stairs. Christine flinched in guilt as her hands balled up in fists.

"He was so lost in despair he wasn't even aware of the reality around him..."

"What do you want Morine?" Christine snapped.

"Just to remind you, that this work represents a lost soul searching for heaven or hell, since even a fiery wrath is better than the isolated darkness."

Christine didn't miss the jab of irony, her lips were tight as she smiled, "It will no doubt be stunning."

"Good, then I hope our lead will not disappoint us." Morine said, followed by fading footsteps.

"Morine!" Christine called, receiving no response. The sounds grew distant, followed by a shut door. Only her heart hammered in the silence.

She sank onto her knees in disbelief. Morine said she was the lead...

Less than twenty four hours ago, she was on the stage, bloodied, wounded, with a weapon, just lost her home, and a feeling like failure…

She hands touched something place on the stage. It was smooth, felt like a marker, but it was raised, something that would be noticeable barefoot. She felt another one a short distance away with her hand.

Tears came into her eyes.

Now she knelt on stage, realizing she was going to soar.