At last they burst outside, the night air cold after the blazing heat of the fire. Celeste drew in painful gasps of breath and staggered away from the exit towards the crowd in the street. Raoul, who she had barely noticed with them, pulled Christine into his arms, their relief and love so palpable it was like a barrage of punches.

Celeste looked away from them, scanning her surroundings hopelessly, knowing that she wouldn't see him. There were many faces in the crowd, but none were his. She clung to the longing that he would have found a way out, that he would come back to her. Maybe they had been near another exit. Maybe they had been just down the corridor from her dressing room, or one of his many secret passageways, and he had slipped to safety.

She moved away from the others, feeling desperation and panic clawing through her. She wanted to sob but had no energy left. She stood isolated from the huddles of people comforting each other, soothing their fears and worries. There was no one at her side to do that. No father to stroke her hair. No mother to embrace her. No Erik to take her hand.

Turning from the crowd, Celeste looked at the fiery tomb behind her.

The sight of the ruined Opera House, consumed by fire and falling in on itself, made her gasp out loud in horror. The majestic old building, the place that had become her home over the years, was being destroyed before her very eyes. And she had left her heart inside.

Tears she hadn't realised she was crying made cold tracks through the grime plastered on her face. Her dress was singed and torn, no shield against the cold breeze that made her shiver. She hugged herself, wishing that Erik would appear from the devastation and wrap his arms around her.

The memory of her last sight of him, the harsh contrast of his crimson blood against the usual black and white, was stuck in her mind.

She felt Christine join her but didn't turn. They stood together in silence, both watching the burning wreck before them with shared sorrow.

Christine's gaze flickered over Celeste's face, clearly assessing her torment but not pressing for answers. Celeste was grateful for her friend's sympathetic silence - the pain in her eyes said everything she was unable to voice.

She continued to watch her beautiful Opera House being destroyed, the heat from the blaze making her eyes burn despite the tears spilling out of them.

She felt like an ancient guardian, ready to keep a vigil until the end of time for her Angel.

Raoul came over to stand on Celeste's other side, touching a hand to her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.

She raised her eyes to his silently. What could she say? There was no answer to his question, not until she could answer those swirling in her own mind.

"Are you hurt?" Raoul tried again.

She shook her head slowly, unable to form words.

His eyes flickered concernedly over her, but he didn't ask anything else.

Celeste said nothing either, her attention fixed again on the tear-blurred inferno still scorching her cheeks.

She unwound her arms from around her waist, gripping her hands together tightly as though that could anchor her. She felt something dig into her finger and glanced down. Erik's ring glinted back at her amid the stains of his blood, the flames reflected in the onyx stone and golden band.

A small smile lifted her lips, and a fire of her own sparked somewhere inside her. There was still hope, she told herself. Erik was clever, and he was quick. Even hurt, she knew he would be difficult to trap.

Christine slid her arm through Celeste's in a silent sow of support. She felt a rush of gratitude at knowing that she wasn't completely alone.

She turned her gaze from the ring to the fire as it continued to course through the building, pompiers arriving and attempting to tame it, but to little avail.

There was ruin here, yes, but perhaps rebirth too. The Opera Garnier would no longer be her refuge, or Erik's hideaway, but maybe they didn't need it anymore. They had each other; she just had to hold onto hope that he would be alright and have faith that her Angel - her fiancé - would come back to her side.

Celeste ran a light touch over the band on her finger. She thought of Erik's eyes, shining gold like the ring. Those eyes would look into hers again, his arms would shelter her and his lips would kiss her.

I am his, she thought. And he is mine. For all time, our whole lives long. Neither of us will have to be on our own again.

I am loved.

Erik felt like his whole body was burning. He'd managed to escape the touch of the flames themselves, aside from some cinders falling onto his suit, yet the smoke scorched inside his lungs, and the wound in his torso was sending searing pains shooting through his side.

He glanced down again and wished he hadn't, grimacing at the spreading red stain. A groan of pain escaped his lips as he overextended his next stride, the motion pulling at his injury and causing him to stumble again, nearly putting his hand into an open flame to steady himself.

As the crashing continued around him, he squinted through the thickening smoke. He wasn't even certain he had orientated himself right - he knew his way around the Opera House with his eyes closed, but with the destruction, the pain throbbing through his body and the panic that had clouded his mind at the need to get Celeste to safety, he couldn't be sure he was aiming in the right direction.

Erik knew the only safe place to go was back beneath the building, where there was no fire and no policemen, but getting there was proving to be something of a problem. There were ways to get there from outside, but the closest exit had been blocked off behind Celeste, and he didn't know how many other routes were passable. Going outside or even towards a way out would mean encountering other people which would likely be a bad idea, given his conspicuous appearance. Of the many passageways leading down within the Opera House, he had no way of knowing which were accessible and which had been destroyed.

His best hope was to aim for one he knew was made of stone rather than merely another corridor hidden behind wood. With that in mind, Erik pushed forwards. He had been heading towards Celeste's dressing room anyway when they had been separated, more focused on getting her to his refuge than getting the two of them outside.

Finding his way around the blocked corridor proved to be easier than he had imagined - perhaps just because he was becoming less and less aware of his surroundings as time went by. He found himself blinking frequently, not just against the watering of his eyes but to clear grey spots from his vision. His feet moved almost of their own accord, thankfully, somehow following the right route even though Erik himself had no way to know whether he was on the right track at any given point.

Finally, he made it to what he dearly hoped was actually Celeste's dressing room, as he was fast losing conviction to keep running. He practically fell through the door, breathing a sigh of relief that quickly descended into a coughing fit when his eyes landed on the familiar dressing table, now partly splintered, and the large mirror coated with ash.

The fresh rose he always left for Celeste was a burst of colour on the table, placed there barely an hour ago yet what felt like a lifetime away. When he laid it down, his head had been full of visions of returning triumphantly with her after their spectacular performance, their public duet he had spent months longing for. Even after she had begged him to stay away from the stage, he had been sure there would be more opportunities to share the experience with her, more time to prove himself. But it was all in tatters now.

Erik stumbled forwards until he could slump against the mirror, feeling numbly for the catch to open it. After what felt like several minutes of fumbling he finally located it, and quickly steadied his balance as his support slid away.

Staggering as he walked, he made his way gratefully into the cool darkness, the exhaustion he had held off until then threatening to overwhelm him. He had forgotten to take the lantern from the entrance, so without light he had to feel his way down the corridor, slumped into the wall and shuffling across the uneven ground.

At long last, Erik reached the boat by the shore and sank into it, pushing off with as much force as he could muster. He rested back against the stern, losing the effort to care whether he was still moving or not.

He closed his eyes, Celeste's beautiful face bursting into his mind. He remembered the mingled shock and delight in her expression as he had given her his ring, the last bright smile she had blessed him with that afternoon, the way her eyes had sparkled up at him as he teased her in her dressing room. He also remembered the distraught tears streaming down her face as she was pulled away from him, her cries breaking his heart.

Erik's eyes opened sightlessly into the darkness again, a spark of energy surging through him. He made himself sit up in time to feel the boat bump into land. Struggling to force his failing body into motion, he pushed himself up and out of the boat, stepping blindly onto the shore in the absence of the usual candlelight. He made it away from the water before he sank to one knee and rolled onto his back.

He lay there, gasping for breath against the pain that had burst through his previous numbness. He knew for sure that he wasn't going to be moving any time soon, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Shifting slightly without getting up, he managed to tear a strip of cloth from his shirt and tie it around his waist, hopefully, bandaging the bullet wound enough to slow the bleeding for now. He knew he needed to clean the wound, to check for fragments and dress it properly, but his last remnants of energy had drained away.

A dry laugh escaped his lips, echoing through the otherwise silent darkness. It was ironic, really, that they had finally got him, the Phantom of the Opera, just as he was trying to save someone for once. No doubt the policeman had thought he was doing the right thing, probably suspecting Erik had been attempting to abduct Celeste amid the chaos, or thinking he had only saved her from the chandelier to take her life himself. Erik supposed it was his own fault really - aside from building himself up as a threat and causing other similar disasters, his fixation on Celeste had likely made her bait in their eyes, and by appearing at her side he had played right into their hands.

As darkness closed in on his vision he allowed it, certain there was nothing for him to do but rest until he could deal with himself properly.

Senses shutting down until even the pain faded away, Erik's last thought before he drifted into unconsciousness was, I'm coming for you soon, my little angel. I'm not leaving you now.