Paris, France, 2034, December 25

The dust filled her lungs as she struggled to pull in air. Screams echoed through the air as she, crawled through the wreckage. Trying her best to stay low. There was smoke too, but it was above her. Lower down, there was enough air to breath.

"Papa." She croaked, pushing aside several bricks, one fell apart in her hand, spewing more dust to her face. She coughed and waved it away before containing to crawl. Her knees scrapped over the concrete and wood.

Her hands were bleeding, every part of her was bruised and scratched. The bleeding hand tugged her fur jacket up her shoulder. It was cold, almost frighteningly so. Her dress, smooth satin, didn't keep it out very well.

"Father!"

She couldn't find him. Steadily, she searched. The longer  she searched, the harder it was to breath. Her throat seized up and she had to stop for a fit of coughing.

Her hand searched along her silk dress, in her pocket she pulled out her phone, it's glow lit up the way before her as she crawled.

She crawled until she could not see her skin as it was so coated in blood and dust. She crawled until her knees showed exposed flesh.

Finally she came upon an opening, she crawled through it and found a little alcove. Above her head through the steel girders and the wooden splinters she saw bits and pieces of the sky. It was grey, snow was finding it's way down through the steel girders.

Like a child, she stuck out her tongue, one snowflake fell on it. It tasted of ash.

She sighed, and sat down again, her hand scrolling through her phone. Her nails, once so perfectly manicured was now chipped and cracked.

No connection, her phone announced. She couldn't call anyone.

She laughed, great loud laughs that shook her whole body. It ended with a fit of coughing. The day had started so well, it had been supposed to be happy. Now nothing seemed right anymore and she couldn't find her father anywhere.

How long would it take for them to dig her out? She wondered. Could she last that long? It was an enormous building.

Above her head, she heard a creak, she looked up, there above her head a large piece of concrete was tipping over.

Right over her.

All she could seem to do was scream.

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1881 November 25, Paris, France

"Christine, I must thank you!" Emily cooed as she ran over the white cotton with her hand. Next to it there was a small amount of lace. There was a generous amount, enough to create a beautiful gown. Which was precisely what Christine intended to do.

"Yes dear," Christine gently placed her hands on the girls shoulder and began directing her to the stool. "Now please, it's time to get your measurements. We only have two weeks until the wedding. And we need to start as soon as possible."

Quickly, stepping onto the chair, Emily grinned ecstatically while Christine began helping her out of her everyday dress.

"Now I am not very good at sewing." Christine reminded her, while pulling out a measuring strip. "But I'll do my best."

"It's perfectly alright!" Emily smiled down at Christine, the dimple in her cheek deepening. "I did not think I'd get one. Any wedding dress is a gift from the almighty, really."

Christine wrapped the tape around Emily's waist, pulling it tight. She scribbled down the measurement on a piece of paper using a charcoal pencil.

There was a knock on the dorm door, "Who is it?" Emily called.

"Meg." A voice answered back.

"Come in, but be careful."

The door opened, and Meg slipped in. Her golden curls bounced as she walked smoothly across the floor. She cocked her head to one side. "What are you making?"

"A wedding dress!" Emily gushed. Her arms wrapped around herself and she began jumping up and down.

"Please be still darling." Christine said, having been in the middle of the measuring her arms.

Emily blushed and held out her arm, Christine pulled the tape across it and examined the number critically. Behind her the girls began to chat again.

"I though you would not get one, with the dressmaker being a cheat and all. Weren't you going to wear your blue one with the white ribbons?" Meg sat on the end of the nearest bed, letting her dancers costume spread out perfectly.

"Yes! Until Christine volunteered to pay for it!" Emily patted Christine's arm as she jotted down another measurement. Christine shrugged.

"I've known you since you were small darling." Christine said, then turned back to Emily and smiled. "I would do no less for my own daughter."

"That's so kind of you Christine." Meg clasped her hands together while Christine rolled up her sleeves. Despite it being in the middle of November, it was hot in the room. Likely because this particular dorm was near the kitchens, who had fires burning day and night.

"Arms up."

Emily held up her arms and smiled. "She got lace too. I can't believe what it must have cost her. Goodness knows how little I make."

"Well Christine makes more than we do, being our teacher, but she never spends it either. I declare, don't think she's spent more than a few francs for a ribbon in all the ten years she's been here. She must be practically rolling in money after all she's saved!"

"Not quite." Christine smiled and winked at Meg who in turn gave an even more exaggerated back. "But almost."

"Your truly the best teacher one could ask for." Emily murmured, letting her head drop. "It's more than I deserve after everything that I've done."

"Nevertheless." Christine cut in. "I want you to be happy in this wedding, and I want you to have something special to remind you of it.

"It's still so kind, more than I expected."

"Your welcome darling. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

Emily bit her lip nervously, then asked. "Do you have any advice, anything I should know?"

"I've never been married you know." Christine reminded her.

Meg jumped up from her seat and began running her hands along the cloth, sighing dramatically from the whiteness of the cloth. "You did live with your father for years and years though. She said, "And that is practically the same thing, save that you are not married and are family."

Christine laughed, her head arching up as it shook her body. "Oh darling, I think that it is very different indeed, but perhaps I do have some advice to give." She began rolling the tape up, looking thoughtfully at Emily.

"Men largely do not enjoy talking, so do not treat him as if he were your girlfriend and to babble away with you. I remember I used to chat away with my father for hours at a time, he told me later that he was bored to tears! I feel sorry for what he must have suffered because of my foolish chatter."

Emily nodded, but pressed her lips together doubtfully, stepping down from the stool to retrieve her dress and petticoats. "I find it rather hard to believe you have ever spent hours talking."

Christine smiled and swept up the stool to place it under the bed again. "I was once young as well. Perhaps you should ask some of the seamstresses, many of them are married and would have better advice than I."

Meg grinned as Emily turned to her and opened her mouth. "Don't ask me for advice! Mother never lets a boy look at me, let alone court one."

"Glad of that I am too darling." Christine remarked, she placed the measuring tape on the table and turned to face her. "I do not think there are many men who would learn to appreciate your free spirit."

"Perhaps that is the reason why you are not married Christine." Emily countered. "If someone where to ask me, I would say that most men would be hard pressed to keep up with your wit and your intelligence."

"Perhaps so." Christine raised an eyebrow. "I always thought it was because of my lack of subtlety."

A knock resounded at the door, prompting Christine to call out an invitation. Once inside, a ballet girl in a beautiful pink costume limped inside, on her right a similar dressed dancer supported her, the first dancers right ankle was wrapped in cloth. Emily gasped.

Meg swore she hopped down, making every ballerina in the room stare at her in shock.

"Meg, don't say such things." Christine said sharply. "Swearing never helped anything."

The pink dancers face turned pale as the second dancer carefully helped her on the bed, she turned to Christine. "Madame Giry says she can dance again in a few days. But there is no understudy to take her place and Louis needs more practicing. Madame is furious, he dropped her, see. Now our lead-" She gestured the the pale pink dancer. "Can't dance."

Christine had already crouched beside the injured girl and carefully tested her foot. It was sprained, nothing serious but she supposed it hurt. Gently she patted the girls knee. "It will heal before the performance, there is nothing to worry about."

"She's a bricky one alright." The second dancer said with a grin. "She just needs a few minutes to remember."

"Who's going to take her place?" Meg wondered, "No one has learned the dance but Madame Giry and the lead. She does not have a backup dancer."

"I know the steps." Christine said slowly. "I daresay that I could give Louis some practice."

Meg turned the Christine and squealed. "I forget that you help mama plan the choreography." She wrapped her arms around Christine and squeezed. "You have saved us again!"

"Don't get too excited!" Christine warned, stumbling back a little at the force of the affection. "It's been quite some time since I've dance with a partner, or any routine at all."

"You would do that for me?" A quiet voice murmured behind Christine. She turned to find the pink ballet girl staring at her in wonder.

"For you and Louis." Christine corrected gently. "You rest and get well. Your first performance is only a weeks away."