"Oh but Christine, the flowers are lovely. Raoul simply must fancy you, no boy sends a girl roses without romantic intent."

Christine gave Meg a strained smile, gripping the bouquet of roses in her hand. "Yes, well, he's a Vicomte."

"Well, yes." Meg sighed. "Oh but just imagine what could be, you're so good at that."

"I could." Christine sighed, placing the roses on her dressing room table. "I suppose I'll need a vase, they're already wilting."

"Well after your performance, you'll need dozens of vases for flowers." Meg giggled. "Oh Christine, they're going to love you."

"Mmm." Christine began unbuttoning her costume, pulling it down from her shoulders. "I see."

"You're not listening." Meg accused, watching her button the costume up again.

"Mm. No." She hung the costume on a hook. "Not really."

"Christine." Meg chastised. "Doesn't being a star excite you?"

Christine sighed, reaching behind herself she began to untie her corset strings, carefully she let them loosen. "Well-" she grunted, experimentally pulling and tightening the strings.

Twelve men, guns hidden under spottless suits, smiling and chattering with other unsuspecting guests.

"I try not to think much of it."

The crack of guns as Erik staggered back in his chair, blood spilling from his chest.

"Christine......?"

Dust in her lungs, blood on her hands and aching knees. Blood on the satin dress.

"Christine are you alright?"

Where was her father? Where was he?

Christine's hands gripped the table tightly.

Splinters pulling more blood out of her flesh, dust filling the wounds. A cry for help, for her father, for anyone.

She was alone in a world of broken steel, concrete and dust.

Trapped in a falling building as the screams of the dying filled her ears.

"Christine wake up!"

Hands shook her shoulders, Christine blinked, trying to evaporate the vision in her eyes.

Breath in, 1, 2, 3.......

"Papa." She whispered, swallowed and closed her eyes, shaking the vision from her brain. "Where's Papa?"

"I don't know." A voice wailed her in ear.

Dust in her lungs, her hands holding the phone out for light.

"It can't happen again." Christine whispered. "Never again, it's over, it can't come back."

"What?"

Slowly Christine began singing under her breath, closing and opening her eyes, trying to rid herself of the vision.

Blood on her hands, blood streaking from her face, dropping on her perfect satin gown.

"Focus on the notes." Christine whispered. "The song is what matters."

Her throat drew out more notes, beautiful and silvery like her gown.

Her bloodstained satin gown.

She closed her mouth and felt a tear escape from her eye. She gasped, surprised when she didn't cough.

Breath out. 1, 2, 3

Her hands clenched someones arm.

"That is Meg's arm." Christine whispered, her hands felt the fabric of her petticoat. "This is cotton." She said, making circles in the fabric with her thumb. "You made this a year ago."

Blood.

"There is no blood." Christine said sharply. "There is no blood, there is no bomb. You are safe, you are in the Opera House. You are safe."

Blood spilling from Bouquet's chest, bulging eyes as he stared at her in shock.

Erik eyes widening, blood dripping from his face, from his chest, from his hands.

Christine whimpered.

The life fading from his eyes, she watching helplessly as he died, blood dripping from her own hands. Her gun sprawled on the floor, empty of it's bullets.

"No." She whispered. "No no no no no."

Dust in her lungs, choking her, trying to kill her-

Water fell from the sky, splashing and roaring around her ears. Christine sputtered, choking and gasping, her memories vanished.

She wiped her eyes gently, her vision clearing.

Meg was staring at her with a bucket in hand. She dropped it, landing on the floor with a thud, then she burst into tears.

"I'm sorry." She cried. "I didn't know what to do, you were so distraught and there was nothing.... oh Christine are you going mad?"

Christine blinked. "That was drinking water wasn't it?" She asked shakily, slowly shaking away the last remnants of memories. Finally gaining enough strength to push them away.

"Yes, yes." Meg rubbed away a tear. "I wouldn't- Oh Christine!" She gave a sob and jumped on Christine, wrapping her arms around her neck and pressed her face into Christine's soaked shoulder. "Oh that was horrible. What happened?"

"Just a few bad memories." Christine whispered, hugging back the warm comforting Meg. "Come now, they're gone now. You needn't worry."

Meg nodded, pulling away her soaked face.

Christine looked down at her wet clothes. "Well at least only my underthings are wet." She joked.

Meg giggled and hiccuped, then she gasped. "Christine, those are the underthings you got for Christmas!"

Christine blushed, holding up one edge of her petticoat. "Well, they are very comfortable." She admitted. "I don't have any other things here though. It's going to be a long walk home."

"Oh I'll go run and get your things." Meg said earnestly. "It's my fault they're wet anyhow."

"You don't have too."

"I want to." Meg looked down at her own wet top. "I'm less wet than you."

"Thank you, I would very much appreciate it." Christine giggled. "You'll save my reputation. I could see the headlines, 'Lead Opera Singer Leaves Soaking Wet, Has She Lost Her Mind?'"

Meg smiled. "You just wait, I'll run home and be right back." She dashed to the door.

"Don't forget your coat, especially in this weather." Christine called as she squeezed through the door and closed it behind her. At the sound of it closing she slumped in a nearby chair and shivered.

How long had been since she had lost control of her memories? Years, she had long dealt with them.

Erik laying on a floor, eyes closed and cold, laying in a coffin with arms crossed.

Christine whimpered, but took a deep breath and sent it away. It wouldn't happen, it couldn't happen.

She wouldn't let them.

A knock at the door made Christine's head jerk up. Hurriedly she grasped a dressing robe and wrapped it around herself.

She walked to the door while tying the sashes and pulled it open.

Raoul was there, smiling brightly as the sun. He wore a suit, but it's fine effect was rather spoiled by it's wrinkled and the fact it was a little small for him.

"Oh- Raoul." Christine gave him a pained smile. "Now is not the time."

He wilted, like a flower left in the dark. "I-" he glanced behind her and brightened when he saw the flowers on her table. "I wanted to ask if you liked the flowers."

"Yes, they're lovely." Christine pursed her lips. "I suppose you want something else?" She asked.

"I- I just-" Raoul smiled sheepishly. "I was just wondering if you remembered me."

Christine blinked. "Remember what?"

"Remember-" he looked away, embarrassed. "You know, we used to play together, as kids."

Christine laughed, but it came out wrong, something between a giggle and a nervous sigh. "I think you mistook me for someone else."

Raoul squirmed. "You broke my nose once." He said, rubbing it ruefully. "I tried to kiss you."

Christine felt her face pale, she reached foreword and grasped his shoulder and pulled him in the door. She closed it behind her and faced him grimly.

"How did you get here?" She hissed, ignoring the shocked look on his face.

"I-in a carriage?" He stammered.

"No no." Christine ran her hands through her hair, dripping water droplets onto the floor. "Here, in- this time?"

"I-ah." Raoul frowned. "I'm not sure-"

"You really don't know?" Christine asked him, giving him a glare.

"N-no."

She relaxed, sighing while griping the doorframe. "I'm afraid you have the wrong person." She opened the door again. "You're free to leave."

"Christine- that was incredibly improper."

"I think you'll fine I don't care about what is proper or not." Christine said firmly. "I'm truly sorry though, even that was crossing a line for me."

Raoul glanced at her, then at the door. "Did I do something wrong?"

Christine shook her head. "No no. I thought-" she stopped to take a deep breath. "Please, this is not a good time."

He walked towards the door, shakily turning once he had crossed the doorway. "I enjoyed your performance last night.
Everyone was very impressed."  He said politely.

"Oh, thank you." Christine wrinkled her nose. "What happened to your suit?"

He glanced down at himself and grinned. "Oh, I've been at sea for the past," he paused, counting under his breath. "Two years, and I gained muscles that I didn't have when this suit was made." He shrugged. "We're still fitting my new ones. As for the wrinkles, I'm just not used to suits anymore, it'll be a few months before I'll walk in a neat suit again."

Christine pursed her lips, that explained his tan.

Raoul hesitated, then looked down at the floor and turned beat red. "May I take you out to dinner, say, tomorrow?" He stammered. "Even if you aren't, well. Even if we didn't play together as children, I'd still like to..... well. What do you say?" He looked up earnestly, swallowing and glancing occasionally at the doorframe.

"I'm sorry Raoul. No." Christine said gently.

He frowned, nodded his head gently. "Thank you, anyhow, Good day mademoiselle Daae."

Christine watched him walk dejectedly down the hallway, desperately trying to ignore the clench in her stomach. He looked like a poor puppy, having been refused his master.