Readers,

Forgive my tardiness with the last update! I did not realize it had been so long since I posted. My sincerest apologies. This chapter is distinctly lacking in Erik, but all is not over. Thank you for your constant indulgence; I hope I repay your kindnesses in decent writing. Zut alors! I ramble again.

Adieu, fair readers, until next chapter.

S.R.

---

At four fifteen the next morning, Cecily made her way to the practice bar to stretch. She moved silently, so as to not wake those who could sleep in on this, a rare day off for the chorus. The room was lined in mirrors, and Cecily held herself straight as she lifted her leg to the bar. She had not danced properly in a long time. Chorus movements were one thing; the choreographed movements flowed somewhat naturally. The exacting grace required by dancing was more difficult.

She stared at the mirror, allowing her thoughts to drift as she tried to loosen muscles she had forgotten she possessed. Her thoughts flew to the last time she had danced, two nights ago with Erik. She allowed herself to imagine his hand at her waist, spinning her across the floor. She twirled lightly across the wooden floor.

"Cecily!" Cecily stumbled and fell, a dart of pain shooting up her leg. Meg ran over to her. "Oh, I'm so sorry Cecily! I didn't mean to startle you! Are you all right?"

Cecily propped herself up against the mirrored wall and took a deep breath. "It's all right Meg. It isn't your fault; I'm the one should have been paying attention." She tried to hop up on the leg that wasn't pulsing with pain, but fell back against the mirror. "Help me up, will you?"

Meg eyed the already swelling knee dubiously. "Maybe I should get Mother…"

Cecily rearranged her skirts so the disgusting swell of her leg wasn't visible. "Meg…"

"Cecily…" The simultaneous word came from Mme. Giry's mouth. "What happened?"

"I fell while warming up."

"Let me see it." Mme. Giry peeled back the skirt and flinched, a nearly imperceptible motion on her taut face. "Meg, get Monsieur Ollinard. And bring some cold wraps. Go!"

Cecily looked up at the older woman. "How bad?"

Mme. Giry didn't meet her eyes. "We shall see."

Cecily's entire body froze. She would not be able to dance! She would not be able to play her part… Her stomach turned within her at the thought. She had worked so hard! It wasn't fair! She wanted to rage at something other than blind fate, but there was nothing more to it. Meg had intended no harm; if anything, the blame fell squarely on Cecily's own shoulders.

She allowed herself to be carried back to the dormitories. Fabrizio lifted her carefully into his arms, a concerned Linnea hovering close behind. Cecily smiled briefly at the thought that two of them must have been together to both be here so quickly. A pulsating pain wrapped itself around her knee then, and she grimaced, all thoughts leaving her mind except to desire to control this pain.

Fabrizio set her down on the bed gently, and the sadness in his gaze nearly broke Cecily's heart. His eyes spoke volumes of understanding, but Cecily could not determine where such empathy could have come from. Linnea sat with Cecily for awhile, until the doctor came, but said very little. She tried to be happy, but both of them knew what this injury meant: Cecily would probably never move the same again, and without being about to move, she could not perform. Being of no use to l'Opera Populaire, she could easily be turned out and replaced by someone who could fill the position.

Monsieur Ollinard, the resident medical help, came and confirmed Cecily's greatest fear. She would never dance again. The others eventually had to leave her, morning rehearsal being ready to start. Cecily leaned against the wall in anguish, pressing her head against it in an effort to drown out the pain and the noise of the busy rehearsal. Over all the rest of the noise, she heard it, clear as a bell. The new prima mezzo-soprano, her former understudy, was singing, clear and beautiful. The words that had been so difficult for her rolled off the young woman's tongue like sweet water, and Cecily listened, if only to give her something to focus on.

"Stride la vampa! - la folla indomita
Corre a quel fuoco - lieta in sembianza;
Urli di gioia - intorno echeggiano:
Cinta di sgherri - donna s'avanza!"

The woman continued her song, but Cecily was no longer listening. Her rage had fuel enough. She groaned wretchedly and slammed the back of her hand against the wall. Without another thought, she stood up. It was strictly against orders; she was to remain off her leg for a day or two. She rummaged through her trunk, pulling out the nightgown Erik had given her, one she hadn't worn in ages. It was far too elegant for common use in the dormitories, but Cecily was bound and determined not to give in to the sinking feeling that was engulfing her.

"I will not stand idly by!" she hissed to herself, slipping into the gown and back into the bed. "I will never stand by again! I promised myself! I promised Sophie!"

Sophie. She had not spoken that name in years; she had barely even thought it. Pain rushed into her, but not from her knee. She bit her lip hard, tears that she refused to let fall turning into blood on the inside of her lip. She barely noticed the new cut, so lost was she in memories. With a forceful shake of her head, Cecily brought herself back to reality. She would not think of Sophie or any of them. She could not.