A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews. ) And here's chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-2-

Flames.

They leaped up, licked the sky. A deafening roar reverberated through the street as a section of the ornately carved roof collapsed. The dust from the disintegrating architecture swirled up, combined with the flying sparks. The Opera Populaire was burning. Christine felt the heat of the fire on her skin but did not move; her eyes were transfixed on the horrible sight.

She thought she heard Raoul call, and against her will, tore her gaze away from the fire. She turned around, but did not see him. Or anyone else, for that matter. It occurred to her all of a sudden that she was alone.

With great effort, she began to walk away from the fire. Why was the street empty? There had to be someone . . .

Where was Raoul?

"Raoul?"

The roar of the fire behind her grew deafening. She whipped her head around, just in time to see the great, monstrous flames jump forward to greet her.

"Raoul!"

‡

Her eyes snapped open.

Meg was bending over her. Her clouded expression immediately cleared. "Christine! You're awake!"

" . . . yes." Christine swiped at the cold beads of sweat that dotted her face and struggled to sit up. Pain throbbed in her head, and she quickly lay down again. She looked around. She was apparently lying in a bed in the Girys' house. Had she gotten injured somehow? "Please remind me, Meg. What happened?" Her voice was so hoarse that she barely recognized it to be her own.

Meg's blue eyes grew troubled again. "You don't remember? There was a fire at your mansion—"

"Oh, yes. I remember that." Christine frowned as she remembered that night. "Is Raoul hurt? What exactly happened?"

Meg paused for a moment. "I'm not really sure. The doctors are still tending him. I'm sure he'll be fine, though." She smiled reassuringly. "Anyway, what happened is that you were hit by a falling beam. You got burned pretty badly. Mother and I thought you weren't going to make it, but the doctors did a wonderful job!" They even got your face to heal up . . . well . . . mostly . . . " Meg suddenly gave a short, nervous laugh and began to talk faster. "I'm so glad you're feeling better now! I'll go tell Mother and we can—"

"My face?" Christine interrupted.

Meg fidgeted. "Well. It kind of got scratched up a little."

Kind of got scratched up? "Can you get me a mirror?"

"Christine, I really think you should rest some more."

"Don't worry, Meg. I'll be able to handle it."

"Christine—"

"Mirror."

Sighing, Meg fetched a mirror from a table in the center of the room and handed it to her. Christine took a deep breath and peered into it. Reddened burns marred her face. They were half-healed, and would no doubt become less conspicuous soon. But the gash . . . the gash ran across her face from her forehead to her right cheek. The beam had cut deeply.

Christine flung the mirror down on the bed with a hopeless groan. Meg quietly returned it to the table.

After a while, Christine spoke again. "I need to see Raoul." Ignoring the pain that lanced through her body, she sat up and stepped down to the floor. Her legs gave way under her and she collapsed, but she managed to stagger to her feet somehow. Meg grabbed her shoulders, her eyes wide. "Christine, no. Sleep."

"Let me see Raoul, please." She flung off Meg's hands and limped toward the doorway. She opened the door and looked out into the corridor, leaning heavily on the wall. "Where is he?"

Meg sighed once more and took Christine's arm. "I'll show you."

They slowly and carefully made their way down the hallway toward the door at the end. As Meg reached out toward the doorknob, the door swung open, and a physician stepped out. He stared at Christine briefly, and a pained expression flitted across his face. He quickly bowed and hurried down the stairs. Christine glanced at Meg, but Meg did not look at her.

Christine entered, and Raoul weakly turned toward her. Madame Giry stood up, alarmed.

Christine could immediately tell that Raoul had not fared much better than she had—if not worse . . .

He's dying; the thought struck her, but she forced a smile. "Raoul?"

He smiled and reached out to take her hand. "Christine, I love you . . . " She met his gaze and silently clutched his hand.

And then Raoul's eyes closed, and he was perfectly still. His hand grew limp and dropped hers.

Christine did not understand what happened after that. She thought she saw Meg cry, and thought she heard Madame Giry speak to her. She remembered burning tears roll down her face. She saw the floor rush up at her, and she felt her head throb again. She remembered standing in a beautiful garden, in front of a gravestone, and she thought she felt a horrible sense of sorrow.

‡

Then, she had awoken on a couch in a house she did not recognize. She had not recognized its occupants either—a rather aged but elegant woman, and a young blonde girl. They seemed to know her and had called her Christine.

Christine did not remember why she was here, or why her face was disfigured.

But in the midst of her confusion, one thing somehow seemed clearer than anything else to her, and seemed to hold something understandable. Perhaps it held her memories as well. It was the halfway constructed opera house across the street.

And that night, when both the woman and the girl were asleep, she pulled on her cloak and ventured out to visit the opera house.