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Description
"I relived that night last night. The night the barricade fell." The out-of-work actress looked vulnerable. The flames that climbed the curtains reverberating as though her brain was being crumpled like newspaper would haunt her forever; every time she looked in the mirror, every time she tried to sing. That hope had been given up long ago. She had been silent for years. Supportively, her therapist said:
"Take your time. I'm hoping that this time, we can get through." Emily looked at her therapist and as their eyes made contact, the nervous patient delved into her memories and began.
                                   *
I had wanted to play Eponine in Les Miserables for years. Ever since I was thirteen and saw it on its 25th Anniversary tour. I fell in love almost instantly. The unfortunate life of Fantine; the game of cat and mouse between Javert and Jean Valjean; the passion of Enjolras and the students; the love between Marius and Cosette and finally, the beautiful character that was Eponine. Her song: 'On My Own' felt like it was written for me.
Then, when I was twenty-one, I auditioned for the role in the West End. At first, it was given to another performer - one with more experience. I became her understudy. After the first couple of weeks though, she was sacked for unreliability and I, as her understudy, became Eponine. After eight years of dreaming, I was finally playing the icon for unrequited love.
Each night I performed at Queens Theatre in the West End. Each night I grew closer to Tom, our Enjolras. Before long, we had developed a relationship. I was in love with everything about my dark haired, green eyed boyfriend. For the first time, I'd found a partner - it was amazing. For the next few months this continued: performing, going out and being with Tom. Our performance got brilliant reviews and everything seemed perfect. I didn't even spare a thought for my predecessor.
       Returning one night after the show, I saw an envelope lying on my dressing room table. The elegant sloping script intrigued me - I knew no one with that handwriting. I opened the scarlet envelope and slid out the letter. It smelt of cheap perfume. The words written on it took me a few minutes to understand--the meaning was clear enough, I just couldn't believe what I was reading. I still remember what that distinctive handwriting said, as though it were lines given to me in a script:

"Hello 'Eponine',
Well, you won't be that for much longer. I want you to give up both the role and the boyfriend you stole from me. He still loves me you know, he just feels sorry for you. If this isn't done by 27th June, you won't live to regret it. One more thing, do not involve the police, it is not in your best interests."

It couldn't be true. I wouldn't believe it. There was no doubt about whom the letter was from. I knew she had been totally infatuated with Tom, but he'd felt no attraction towards her, had he?
        Throughout the next four weeks I received subsequent other notes. As the deadline drew closer, the letters got more frequent until I was receiving two or three a day. Each one had a similar message, and each one I burnt. Now, I know that I should have kept the notes. I did live to regret it, but because of me, others weren't so lucky.
         I almost didn't perform on the 27th June. I almost gave into the demands. The dread building up inside me almost became too much. It didn't. I couldn't bring myself to give up the dream I was living. I had everything I'd always wanted and I was sure that if I just ignored the threats, nothing would happen. As I arrived at the theatre, my hopes for an uneventful evening were shattered. Panic was running through the costume department. The white chemise that made up half of my costume had been slashed into ribbons. Fortunately, they found a similar shirt, but the vandalism had chilled me. She was here, in the theatre, and who knew what else she would do for revenge. Despite my worries, Act 1 went as smooth as ever-perfect in fact. I spent the interval changing my costume and drinking the water that was delivered to my dressing room. No sign of scented, red envelopes or jealous actresses, and I was trapped in a false sense of security as we began Act 2.
          During 'On My Own' I began to feel drowsy. I hadn't been sleeping properly, but this felt like more than fatigue. I struggled through my solo song, and by the time of 'A Little Fall of Rain' I could have fallen asleep in Mark's arms. It was all I could do to remember the lyrics. I only got as far as "I'll sleep in your embrace at last!", because then the world started falling down around me. Screams of terror filled the auditorium. I would have joined them, but something had fallen on me, knocking the air out of my body.
   I remember someone shouting: "It's the barricade! It's fallen!" I didn't understand. The barricade doesn't actually fall, it was a figure of speech. Then it dawned on me. It was the barricade that had fallen on us. I couldn't move. My mind was losing the capacity to think. The bitter smell of smoke danced through the air. I knew the letters were right. I was going to die. Mark was pulled away from me and I collapsed without his support. The smoke cloaked the flames, but I heard the fire, a fatal wood worm, eating the barricade and the rest of the set. I closed my eyes...
       I don't remember much after that. Only that I never saw Tom again. I was told that he went into the wreckage of the flaming barricade and saved my life. He died from smoke inhalation whilst I was in intensive care. I was also told that they had found sleeping drugs in my system. She had wanted to make sure that I couldn't escape my flaming prison.
        I tried to regain the life I had before, but who wants to see this at the theatre? Half of my face, burnt beyond recognition. People who saw it drew back; they couldn't stand to look at it. The mask, well, that was Mark's idea. Before he was Enjolras, he was in Phantom of the Opera, in which the phantom wears a mask that covers half his face. That's what I wear now- to save the looks of horror from strangers that see me. The fire burnt my vocal chords. I can hardly talk, and the singing that was my life, is now impossible. All because of a small grudge that grew and grew into hatred, and now, twenty years later, I just want to forget.
                                      *
The traumatised woman finished her recount with a splutter of coughing and attempted to stop the cascade of tears freefalling down her cheek. For a few minutes, she had been back in 2018, back in Queens Theatre, back with Tom. Now, in the therapist's office, the events of 27th June began to fade away as they had before. Like the flames that had engulfed the theatre, her memories had become just a story to tell, but they had also left a mark in time, in her life, that could never be erased.

Description
"I relived that night last night. The night the barricade fell." The out-of-work actress looked vulnerable. The flames that climbed the curtains reverberating as though her brain was being crumpled like newspaper would haunt her forever; every time she looked in the mirror, every time she tried to sing. That hope had been given up long ago. She had been silent for years. Supportively, her therapist said:
"Take your time. I'm hoping that this time, we can get through." Emily looked at her therapist and as their eyes made contact, the nervous patient delved into her memories and began.
                                   *
I had wanted to play Eponine in Les Miserables for years. Ever since I was thirteen and saw it on its 25th Anniversary tour. I fell in love almost instantly. The unfortunate life of Fantine; the game of cat and mouse between Javert and Jean Valjean; the passion of Enjolras and the students; the love between Marius and Cosette and finally, the beautiful character that was Eponine. Her song: 'On My Own' felt like it was written for me.
Then, when I was twenty-one, I auditioned for the role in the West End. At first, it was given to another performer - one with more experience. I became her understudy. After the first couple of weeks though, she was sacked for unreliability and I, as her understudy, became Eponine. After eight years of dreaming, I was finally playing the icon for unrequited love.
Each night I performed at Queens Theatre in the West End. Each night I grew closer to Tom, our Enjolras. Before long, we had developed a relationship. I was in love with everything about my dark haired, green eyed boyfriend. For the first time, I'd found a partner - it was amazing. For the next few months this continued: performing, going out and being with Tom. Our performance got brilliant reviews and everything seemed perfect. I didn't even spare a thought for my predecessor.
       Returning one night after the show, I saw an envelope lying on my dressing room table. The elegant sloping script intrigued me - I knew no one with that handwriting. I opened the scarlet envelope and slid out the letter. It smelt of cheap perfume. The words written on it took me a few minutes to understand--the meaning was clear enough, I just couldn't believe what I was reading. I still remember what that distinctive handwriting said, as though it were lines given to me in a script:

"Hello 'Eponine',
Well, you won't be that for much longer. I want you to give up both the role and the boyfriend you stole from me. He still loves me you know, he just feels sorry for you. If this isn't done by 27th June, you won't live to regret it. One more thing, do not involve the police, it is not in your best interests."

It couldn't be true. I wouldn't believe it. There was no doubt about whom the letter was from. I knew she had been totally infatuated with Tom, but he'd felt no attraction towards her, had he?
        Throughout the next four weeks I received subsequent other notes. As the deadline drew closer, the letters got more frequent until I was receiving two or three a day. Each one had a similar message, and each one I burnt. Now, I know that I should have kept the notes. I did live to regret it, but because of me, others weren't so lucky.
         I almost didn't perform on the 27th June. I almost gave into the demands. The dread building up inside me almost became too much. It didn't. I couldn't bring myself to give up the dream I was living. I had everything I'd always wanted and I was sure that if I just ignored the threats, nothing would happen. As I arrived at the theatre, my hopes for an uneventful evening were shattered. Panic was running through the costume department. The white chemise that made up half of my costume had been slashed into ribbons. Fortunately, they found a similar shirt, but the vandalism had chilled me. She was here, in the theatre, and who knew what else she would do for revenge. Despite my worries, Act 1 went as smooth as ever-perfect in fact. I spent the interval changing my costume and drinking the water that was delivered to my dressing room. No sign of scented, red envelopes or jealous actresses, and I was trapped in a false sense of security as we began Act 2.
          During 'On My Own' I began to feel drowsy. I hadn't been sleeping properly, but this felt like more than fatigue. I struggled through my solo song, and by the time of 'A Little Fall of Rain' I could have fallen asleep in Mark's arms. It was all I could do to remember the lyrics. I only got as far as "I'll sleep in your embrace at last!", because then the world started falling down around me. Screams of terror filled the auditorium. I would have joined them, but something had fallen on me, knocking the air out of my body.
   I remember someone shouting: "It's the barricade! It's fallen!" I didn't understand. The barricade doesn't actually fall, it was a figure of speech. Then it dawned on me. It was the barricade that had fallen on us. I couldn't move. My mind was losing the capacity to think. The bitter smell of smoke danced through the air. I knew the letters were right. I was going to die. Mark was pulled away from me and I collapsed without his support. The smoke cloaked the flames, but I heard the fire, a fatal wood worm, eating the barricade and the rest of the set. I closed my eyes...
       I don't remember much after that. Only that I never saw Tom again. I was told that he went into the wreckage of the flaming barricade and saved my life. He died from smoke inhalation whilst I was in intensive care. I was also told that they had found sleeping drugs in my system. She had wanted to make sure that I couldn't escape my flaming prison.
        I tried to regain the life I had before, but who wants to see this at the theatre? Half of my face, burnt beyond recognition. People who saw it drew back; they couldn't stand to look at it. The mask, well, that was Mark's idea. Before he was Enjolras, he was in Phantom of the Opera, in which the phantom wears a mask that covers half his face. That's what I wear now- to save the looks of horror from strangers that see me. The fire burnt my vocal chords. I can hardly talk, and the singing that was my life, is now impossible. All because of a small grudge that grew and grew into hatred, and now, twenty years later, I just want to forget.
                                      *
The traumatised woman finished her recount with a splutter of coughing and attempted to stop the cascade of tears freefalling down her cheek. For a few minutes, she had been back in 2018, back in Queens Theatre, back with Tom. Now, in the therapist's office, the events of 27th June began to fade away as they had before. Like the flames that had engulfed the theatre, her memories had become just a story to tell, but they had also left a mark in time, in her life, that could never be erased.