She had been there for about three years, but it seemed like an eternity. She couldn't really remember the life she had lived before. The only thing she really knew was that it was better than her life was now. She was cold, hungry, and alone. Not literally, no, there were many people around her that were feeling the same way she was. But they never talked much, and especially not to her. As the bluish purplish horizon began to set, she decided to get up and go for a walk. Where she was going, she didn't know. But it didn't really matter. No one would miss her anyway. As she walked down the streets of Paris she could see people in their warm, cozy homes. This winter had proven somewhat fatal for the "scum" of the city. One of the coldest she had been through. But it wasn't as bad as last year, when influenza had wreaked havoc on all of Paris, not just it's scum. That was the year her mother had died. The only thing she had from her was the heavy coat she was wearing. Not only had it kept her from freezing, but it also had extreme sentimental value to her. As did the blue-stoned necklace she wore. Oh, her father. She could barely remember him. He died when she was but a child at the mere age of two. As she was reminiscing, a slight noise could be heard behind her. But since she was thinking about such sad thoughts, she didn't seem to notice it. As she was coming out of her trance-like thoughts, she heard the noise as well, but it was too late. Out of nowhere huge arms encircled her and ripped the coat off her, at least they tried to. She wouldn't let it go without a fight. Although she was determined to get the coat back, the man showed himself to be too strong and got what he desired. She caught a glance at his face for only a second. She remembered him. He was one of the impoverished men she had seen everyday for three years. He had harassed her before. As he took the coat from her, he began to beat her mercilessly. He threw several blows to her face and kicked her ribs many times. She lay there, a hopeless bleeding mess as her attacker walked away with her only source of warmth, both physically and emotionally. If she didn't die from blood loss then she would defiantly die from the frigid temperatures. However, she hadn't had time to notice where she had ended up, which was right in front of the Opera House.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling. He tried to close his eyes and sleep, but it didn't work. The insomniac decided that this wouldn't help, so he got up. He would take a walk. After all, walks always helped him to clear his normally cluttered mind. As he was about to leave, he remembered the one thing he thought he would never forget. He walked towards the dresser and picked up the only thing that had remained a constant in his life: the mask. He put it on and left. As he walked into the brisk night air, something seemed wrong. Out of place. That's when he noticed the girl, blood-soaked and unconscious.