A/N: Okay, sorry for taking such a long time, guys. I HAVE NOT ABANDONDED THIS STORY! I am just extremely busy, and have been for quite some time. Last month was competitions in band, away games, and homecoming week. I've had homework, lots and LOTS, and mid-terms are this week for me (tomorrow, actually.). I have a lot to study for, and need to bring up my grades. My muse HAS NOT died for this story, and I still have a lot of ideas. This update was mainly to tell you guys what is going on, and so you don't lose faith in me.

Below is what I have written so far of chapter 9. I just thought I'd stick it up to stall you...I mean, for your enjoyment...;)

Therefore it is dubbed chapter 8 1/2. Well, I'm off to study for mid-terms, and I do hope everyone forgives me for this long coming update.

8 1/2

Sample

Amy stepped out from the dark passage and into the hallway, body chilling as it was still slightly damp. Small, nearly blue fingers clutched more tightly around the Phantom's cloak as she breathed out a delicate breath of air. Turning, the girl was slightly surprised to find the Opera Ghost and all traces of a secret corridor completely gone. Slightly.Her eyes drifted over the dirty, old wallpaper covering an ancient - and probably rotting - wall; piercing green orbs scanning every splintered niche, every mildewed strip, every brown and crusty flower that could have once been called 'elaborate' and 'beautiful' when the design was first put up but was now grimy and disgusting.

Her breath came out in one warm gust, visible like smoke as the cold darkness enveloped her. Amy shrugged stiffly, turned on her heel, and strode confidently towards the ballet dormatories. Of course, if one had ever observed her normal pace, you could tell she was slightly shaky and her steps were timid, as if her foot would fall through a trap door if she were to put too much pressure on the floor.

She pushed the old wooden door open - the hinges creaking and some rust from the handle rubbing off onto her hand - and blinked a few times, surprised to see mutliple gas lanterns lit and all the dancers of the corps de ballet, including La Sorelli, huddled arounda single lampin the center.

Sorelli, of course, sat atop a rather plain chair, higher than the rest of the girls who stared up at the "Mistress of Stories" with an awed stupor in their eyes.

Of course, Amy had walked in right in the middle of story time...