A/N: I present to you another chapter, with pride! I have tried VERY hard on this chapter, to make it descriptive and interesting and as bloody exciting as I could!

I dearly hope you all enjoy reading it, because I have done all that I can this weekend to make it brilliant! I would not settle for 'good.' I wanted it to pwn! (As my friends would say, PWN!)

For many, many weeks, I have neglected to thank all of my wonderful and caring regular readers and reviewers in my author's notes. Though I have made it a mission to always reply to reviews accordingly, it is time that I let everyone else know that YOU ARE ALL AWESOME! And I hope you all consider this chapter pleasant to read. Enjoy yourselves!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

She Who Hides Behind No Mask

I will never forget the way Charles' eyes shot out and twitched. Though I was sure he was acting and putting on a show, his voice did sound somewhat sincere.

"Dana! You look gorgeous. I'm sure you and you mother worked hard."

I smoothed out the petals of the green skirt absently. "Mum sewed, I designed. A bit."

I did love that costume, though. Of course, I had the green slippers on. The body of a butterfly was on the front of the bodice; its curly antennae were the straps of the dress (my own stroke of ingenuity, at long last). Mum had tie-dyed some gauzy material, and I had her to thank for a pair of delicate butterfly wings. The only thing I had to complain about was having my hair in an ostentatious bun, which Mum had insisted upon. And as if my costume wasn't colourful enough, she had sprayed my hair green with coloured hairspray.

I'll get back at her for that after the New Year.

But for the moment I ignored the weight at the back of my head. Charles winked at me, and led me out the door.

"Close your eyes, Dana." he whispered.

"This had better not involved a whipped cream pie to the face." I warned.

Charles chuckled softly. "It's got nothing of the sort. You can open them now."

The light of a summer sunset leaked under my eyelids, and I opened them in an instant. In front of the garden path, an open carriage was tethered to -of all things- Charles' bicycle.

I clapped a hand to my mouth to plug in the delighted, shrieking laughter. This is going to be a good night, I thought. And with that, I ran down the path and almost flew into the carriage seat. It was soft and velvety; I could barely control the contented giggles that bubbled up my throat. I wonder where Charles got this from, I mused. Maybe he nicked from the theatre stage props... I smiled knowingly. That sounded exactly like something Charles would do. Of course, he'd do it with every intention of returning it as soon as possible.

"Will you be joining us, madam?"

Mum, who had been standing at the doorjamb watching us, backed away. "With you driving? I'll stay home tonight. Someone's got to get dinner sorted."

"Suit yourself." Charles hopped onto the bicycle and blew her a kiss. "I'll have this girl there and back in one piece." As we gained some speed, his black opera cloak began to billow in the breeze...operatically.

"I'll hold you to that, you know." I commented from the carriage seat, turning my head to look at the passing houses. The air flowed past, attempted to make my hair ripple, and failed.

There are times when you thank Almighty Leroux for hairpins and hairspray.

Charles' answer was faint. "I know that. It was a promise."

A smile spread across my face. "Good." I leaned back into the seat, and resolved to enjoy the ride.

When you're standing in front of the hall doors, all your excitement vanishes and is replaced by a strange numbness brought on by the looming double doors. One just feels overpowered. The handles were polished to diamond perfection, the hinges had been oiled earlier in the day, and the wooden doors hid dark secrets behind the varnish...

And they were already open.

Yellow light threw itself out of the opening, declaring war upon the night. I could hear screams, chatter, and loudest of all, laughter. Everyone inside seemed to be having a wonderful time.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped gingerly inside was the sound. Music, voices, movement. Students were-

What were they doing?

There is a phenomenon that occurs every Bal Masque, as the largest of all social occasions. Things stop making sense, people act stupid, they get drunk on lights and sound, go mad with exhaustion, and…no one would have it any other way.

I shrank back, letting a crowd of gossiping girls run and dance past me. I took a few moments to admire their costumes. They had obviously organized their clothes carefully; each girl had a skirt of red and black strings of fabric and a bodice of gold and gem colours. Tiaras of gold sat delicately atop their heads and tangled up their hair.

A chandelier rose above everything. Something snapped inside my mind as I craned my neck to look at it. Wow. And with that, all thoughts of hiding against the walls for the rest of the night disappeared.

Drinks, I thought. Get a drink. Then go party.

I made my way to the drinks table at the back of the school hall, passing a soldier in Roman armour, several monkeys, a lion, and bumping quite violently into a tall girl with a skirt of glittery silver spiderwebs. She lowered her black mask and glared at me before I rushed away, my face reddening.

Rows of bottled water sat on top of a white tablecloth. I swiped one and stood back to observe my fellow students chase each other around the hall. Some were attempting to imitate the act of 'dancing' -all different styles, both appropriate for the music and not- in small gatherings of friends. A large band was playing a boisterous and lively tune at the base of the stage, but one could hardly hear it above the noise.

An Egyptian queen danced past; her boyfriend dressed as a Pharaoh and gripping a crook and flail matched her step for step. Someone lumbered past in a complete bear costume, lacking in the ability to avoid crashing into everyone else. A toy soldier did a cartwheel. Her somersaulted and landed in front of my feet, straightening and offering me his hand.

I capped the bottle and left it on the table.

My left foot took a step forward.

I lifted my right arm and lightly grasped his hand.

With some satisfaction, I noted that this movement showed off the hard work Mum had gone through to create my butterfly wings.

This boy was a Bal Masque guerilla. My first experience with one was back when I was six years old. I had been terrified when a boy three years above me had appeared in front of me and grabbed my wrists to dance. They usually travelled in groups of friends, making sure their faces were covered with masks, and went around dancing with every shy girl that looked like she wasn't enjoying the night as was proper. And once she at last cracked a smile of let loose a laugh, they bowed farewell and left to seek others.

I suppose both parties have fun.

The toy soldier dragged me deeper into the crowd and spun me around. It was an old trick, perfectly suitable for forcing a girl to dance. After a few moments, I gathered the courage to do a showy pirouette.

Thank you, Madame Giry! the voice in my head screamed as I felt the wings stretch between my wrists and the back of my dress.

I stopped spinning and stumbled a few steps to the left. Coloured spots flashed in front of my eyes. I tried to regain my balance, but too late, I fell backwards into a partygoer.

"Hey, you look great, Dana!"

I straightened and turned around. "Edwin! Thanks for catching me." I said bashfully. "Didn't break your ribs, did I?" I took a step back. "WHOA. That's cool!" Tapping a finger to my chin, I examined his chosen costume intently. "Nice. Different. Unusual. But, why?"

Edwin flicked his black tail absently. "Friday, twelve days before Christmas. It's Friday the thirteenth today. Thought it'd fit the occasion."

I stared at his eyeholes. A black panther's face stared back. "Lovely fabric texture." I commented with a smile. "Save me the design, will you? I'm in Textiles next year."

"You want a drink? You look hot."

I remembered the bottle I had left on the table. "Sure thing. You probably need one, too. Isn't it sweaty in that costume?"

Edwin shrugged, elbowing past a huddle of red and white mushrooms and sidestepping a rather bold tropical fish. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long." I said, picking up my bottle. The water sloshed against the plastic, cooling my palm. "I danced with a toy soldier, which was nice."

"One of those Masquerade guerillas?"

"You're not planning to ditch me and go take up a guerilla dance-and-run mission, are you?"

Edwin shook his head. "Never! Why would I ditch you? Where's Estelle?"

"I haven't seen her yet. Do you realise the nature of your question? For all we know, she could be in the next galaxy right now, battling cheese-men with nothing but a fork and a jar of mild salsa..."

"At last my philosophical approach to life has rubbed off on her!"

With a surprised splutter, I twisted around to greet her. "Estelle! My, don't you look nice. I like the way the dress colour pales in gradients. And I adore that mask! You have to tell me where you got that fabric. It's so shiny!" I saw stars. Literally, as Estelle's evening dress had silver stars scattered all across the violet purple background. I guessed she had chosen to dress up as the night sky, or something similar.

Estelle rolled her eyes behind the purple domino mask. "Born to be a designer, I swear."

"Just one thing. Please don't sneak up like that while we're drinking water. You'll have to explain to my mum how I came to my unfortunate death on the night of a Bal Masque."

"Friday the thirteenth!" Edwin sang.

"I don't believe in jinxes." Estelle said, taking a bottle of water from the table. "I haven't missed too much, have I?"

A pack of dance-and-run guerillas were advancing up behind her. I spotted the toy soldier among them, and tried to hide behind my bottle. The drinks table seemed to be thronged with shy people avoiding the festivities, and so was a popular ground for guerilla boys to attack.

Estelle sipped her water, unaware that she was the next target.

The band switched regularly between classical Bal Masque music to more modern songs, and at that moment a particularly energetic one began. A masked jester within the group smiled through his mask, and walked up to tap Estelle on the shoulder.

I could see her face contort in self-conscious fear. Her hands shook violently until the jester took the bottle out of her hands and led her into the dancing crowd, where a dismayed expression of embarrassment overtook her face. Estelle looked to me for help -she had obviously never met a guerilla dancer before- but the toy soldier had already thrown me into the dance a second time. Edwin stood by the table, gazing in shock.

They really intend to keep us on our toes, don't they? I thought, trying to remember some dance moves that didn't look too silly. The music floated around the entire hall, eventually drowning under the voices of masqueraders. I tried a small half-turn, something Madame Giry had called a demi detourne, got dizzy –again- and fell onto one of the boys. Again.

This one didn't seem to mind me colliding into him at all. His face was obscured by an eagle beak, but the rest of his costume didn't resemble a bird at all. It was all gold, striking me as something more like a lion... I looked up at his face at the dark eyes.

Before I could speak, the melody of the traditional Masquerade Dance wafted over our heads. Like all the other boys this one remained silent throughout everything, grasping my wrist and encouraging me to dance.

Flaming violins, I'm dancing, I'm dancing! I hummed along to the strings in the band. "Drink it in; drink it up, till you've drowned, in the light in the sound-"

He leaned down to my ear. "Perhaps later in the night, you'll come up on stage and show everyone what you've been learning from my singing lessons."

I stopped dancing. "Monsieur Gerik!"

The Phantom laughed quietly, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Monsieur Khan or Madame Giry will gladly direct you to the stage, if you've lost your way."

An Asian merchant grinned at me, and I recognized Madame Giry's perfect teeth with a jolt. A young woman in white stood next to her, conversing to a boy dressed as a skeleton. The merchant noticed his and slapped her hand.

"Meg! I know some of the students have a crush on you, but don't encourage them!"

"Sorry, Mother."

Mr Gerik smirked at the sight. "You and your friends spend far too much time around the drinks table! I'll not have you all wasting the night. Enjoy yourselves, understand?"

My mind in a whirl, I gave a hasty curtsy. "Yes, sir!" Mr Gerik turned and began to stride away.

"Sir!"

He swiveled back.

"You make a very impressive griffin, sir."

"And you a very charming butterfly." he replied smoothly.

I looked down at my shoes and blushed. His red and gold cape trailed behind him.

I hope no one is stupid enough to trod on that, I thought, watching him walk away. Edwin came up behind me and put a hand on my arm.

"Who was that weird guy?" he asked quietly.

I snorted at Edwin's description. "Mr Gerik!" But for the panther mask that covered the top half of his face, I would have seen Edwin turn deathly pale.

"Bloody senior boys!" Estelle muttered as they left. "Where did I put my water bottle?"

"Never mind, Estelle. Let's just get into our own dancing, before any other Masquerade guerillas come for us."

At that moment, the band stopped playing and a voice boomed from the intercom speakers within the hall. I recognized it as Mr Gerik's. "As year twelve's final Bal Masque, let's celebrate tonight and have them all up onstage!"

Estelle sucked in a breath. "Ahh! Mr Gerik asked me to do a speech for this! Oh, where did I put the palm cards...?"

"Relax, Estelle." Edwin said. "And good luck!"

She smiled thankfully at us, and ran towards the front of the hall. Inevitably, she was almost bowled over by the person in the bear costume.

I laughed merrily. That guy gets everywhere.

Everyone inside the hall stopped dancing and running, facing the stage silently. As much as they itched to get on with the party, they knew that Mr Gerik would have a detention ready for them if they caused a disturbance. And so every face was blank with boredom and impatience.

Neither Edwin nor I listened to any of the speeches made by the pupils in the other years, praising and wishing luck to the departing students, until Estelle stood at the lectern.

She cleared her throat.

There was a thunderous boom, like the crashing of cymbals with an undertone of at least five gigantic gongs, but it wasn't the band. It was at the other end of the hall. Every last head twisted rapidly to face the source of the sound. Eyes darted back and forth wildly, trying to visually locate it. I could hear Estelle stutter into the microphone, stunned by the sound.

A single second after the noise faded into almost silence, there was a powerful explosion of orange stars and fire by the drinks table.

I flinched from the heat, covering my face with my arm. The burst was so hot that it felt like my hair was on fire. In fact, with all the hairspray that Mum had put on it I feared that it would catch alight.

"The Magician's Flame." I heard the person next to me whisper. I shot a glance at his face, and saw it to be Monsieur Nadir Khan in the garb of a matador.

My brain whirred into activity. If Mr Khan was standing next to me...and Mr Gerik was on the stage...

Who else was there who could pull off a trick like that?

That was the work of a Phantom, a true Phantom to the core. It was professionally done! I could not imagine any of the boys in the school, from kinder to year twelve, who could find the resources to do something like the Magician's Flame. You didn't learn that sort of thing until you formally applied for a university course at the Leroux Institute.

I may have only been in the school for less than a year, but I knew that things that complex never happened in St Gerik's School.

Nothing happened for a few long moments. Acrid smoke form the explosion lingered in the air above our heads, tingling my nostrils. The silence was solid, like a tangible entity, weighing down the atmosphere inside the hall.

Gradually, the heads turned one by one back to the stage. A young girlish voice towards the front of the audience gasped, causing more people to turn. These people breathed, "What?" and "Oh my." More people faced the stage, curious about what everyone was so surprised by.

An Ingénue screamed.

Edwin gripped my hand until it turned numb with pins and needles, his plastic claws digging into my palm.

"No." I whispered. A dreadful realization entered my mind slowly, painfully.

That crimson explosion...it wasn't a concealing trick...it was to distract! We were all looking at the hall's back wall when it happened; that must have been the plan all along! We weren't supposed to be looking at the stage, where Estelle had been about to present her speech.

I could see the golden figure of Mr Gerik marching around the stage, yelling angry phrases. Nothing was right, and no one could explain what had happened. No purple mask poked above the lectern.

"Oh no." I repeated, not really hearing myself. "No, God, no."

Estelle wasn't there anymore. She had been stolen right off the stage in front of a massive audience.

Just like Christine Daae.

This chapter is three thousand words precisely, and I am absolutely exhausted. But I am also very satisfied with the ending, and I hope everyone can review with their thoughts. If I have erred in grammar or spelling or otherwise, I beg you to say so. But it would make me very happy if you just dropped a comment detailing how you reacted and hopefully enjoyed it.

Estelle's costume was based on the quilt on my bed! Dana's costume is based as said in the last chapter. Everyone else's is a random idea, excluding the girls with "tiaras of gold" (ballet dancers in Hannibal), the girl with the spiderweb skirt (Carlotta Giudicelli), the jester (ensemble member) and the toy soldier (ensemble member). I got those from watching the Phantom of the Opera musical.

Please review! There are not many chapters left, so do it while the story's ending is unknown to you all!
DarkFlame