Chapter Text
*Christine
**
The Opéra Garnier was on fire.
I ran after Raoul, clutching his hand as he led us through the flames. I shielded my nose and mouth from the dust with my free hand. My eyes stung from the fire.
My heart clenched with despair.
The Opéra was more than just a place for me to work. It was my home. It was painful to watch the corridors I'd walked through for so many years, burn.
I felt anger at the fire department, who still hadn't shown up to put out the fire. After all, so much time had passed...!
My thoughts darted to Meg and Madame Giry, praying that both women were safe.
I slowed down for a moment as my thoughts drifted to who we had left behind, who I had left behind in the basement. Despite everything that had happened between us, I sincerely hoped he would make it out of the basement in time.
Although flames were everywhere, obscuring my vision, I felt ourselves approaching the stairs. We were approaching the exit.
In an instant, I felt my body freeze as I realized that the only precious memento I possessed—a photo of my father—was lying on the dressing table in my dressing room.
The knowledge that I would never be able to see the face of my beloved father terrified me.
I knew I couldn't let that happen.
I acted on the spur of the moment.
ripped my hand from Raoul's steely grip, and before he could react, I tugged up the folds of my skirt and ran toward the dressing rooms.
Behind me, I heard Raoul's slowly fading cries, but I paid him no mind.
I had one goal in mind: to get to the dressing room as quickly as possible to save my father's photo.
I jumped when a loud bang suddenly echoed through the hall. Turning my head slightly, I saw one of the columns collapse, separating me from Raoul and my path to the exit.
**
Still covering my nose and mouth from the smoke, I ran forward.
When I suddenly turned left down the hall, a quiet sigh of relief escaped my lips. The fire hadn't reached the dressing rooms yet.
Wasteless, I ran to my dressing room door and flung it open.
I rushed to the dressing table.
On the table, among the bobby pins, brush, and makeup kit, sat a framed photo of my father. Before a performance, I always stared at it, giving myself courage.
With trembling hands, I reached for the frame. I wanted to pull the photo out as quickly as possible, but my hands were shaking too much. I caught my fingertips in the frame a few times before I managed to pull it out. I quickly folded the photo of my father, worn out by the years, and tucked it into the neckline of my dress.
I knew I was pressed for time, yet I allowed myself a quick, probably last, glance around my wardrobe.
Various memories flashed through my mind, including how Meg and I would spend hours gossiping, lessons with my "angel of music," and meeting my fiancé, Raoul, after all these years.
I wiped a lone tear with my fingertip and, pulling myself together, ran out of the room.
I felt that even though I was running as fast as I could, the wedding dress Erik had made me wear was slowing me down. The several layers of petticoats and the material of the dress weighed quite a bit.
I kept holding my dress with one hand to keep from tripping over it, and with the other, I tried to cover my face.
I coughed, feeling more and more carbon dioxide build up in my throat. With each passing moment, my eyes burned more and more.
I paused for a moment, looking around frantically. Flames surrounded me on all sides, making it impossible to tell which part of the opera I was in.
It was getting harder and harder to breathe.
Feeling desperate, I ran forward, hoping I'd chosen the right direction.
I screamed in terror as I lost my balance and tripped over what I thought was a rolled-up carpet. As I fell, I collided with a fallen, broken wooden beam.
I stifled a cry of pain as I felt a searing pain shoot up my arm. Glancing furtively at my shoulder, I saw the torn fabric of my sleeve and a bloody wound.
I pressed my lips into a thin line and, hissing in pain, pushed myself up. I clutched the sore spot with my left hand, while my right arm hung limp.
I moved on.
The cough intensified, and my eyes began to sting so badly that it was difficult to see anything through my watery eyes.
In an instant, I coughed so violently that I stopped. It felt like my vocal cords were tearing apart from the inside, while my lungs were burning.
Flames danced ominously around me. I felt my chances of escape diminishing with each passing moment.
I froze when I heard something above me.
With tearful eyes, I looked up.
A burning beam, several meters high, hung above me, sliding dangerously lower with each passing second.
Without time to move or jump away, I saw the beam fall in slow motion. It began to fall with a muffled thud.
Next, I was lying on the marble floor, crushed by a heavy, burning beam. I felt a throbbing pain in my left leg.
Terrified, I tried with all my remaining strength to pull it off me. But to no avail.
It was far too heavy.
I began to breathe heavily and unevenly. I felt the flames approaching me. They slid along my dress and body, hissing like snakes. My entire body was burning.
I knew my end was near. There was no way I was going to get out of the opera house alive.
Second by second, I felt my body growing weaker, and my eyelids growing heavy. I wanted to fight it, but it was difficult.
It was pointless.
So I closed my eyes, praying for a quick death.
**