Paris was a lonesome place at night. Without the steady clip-clop of horse hooves and the shrill creaking of carriage wheels, the streets were eerily empty. The pigeons had gone home to roost and the stray cats were hunting in the fields. The people, too, were absent, except for one solitary shadow that crept through the alleys and side roads with an unnatural smoothness.

The dark specter hovered silently across the cobblestone, pausing every so often to make sure he wasn't being followed. Shielding one side of his face from the light of the moon, he ducked beneath a staircase and held his breath as a policeman strolled down the road. When he was sure that it was safe to proceed, he did exactly that.

Climbing up a rickety ladder, the man stepped gingerly onto a slanted roof. He made his way across the precipice slowly, then slid down an overhang and landed nimbly on the sidewalk. He paused to catch his breath, then slunk into the shadows once more.

It wasn't long before he ran into his first major delay. There was a homeless man leaning against a wall, and he would have to cross his path to avoid the wandering police. Whipping out a looped rope, the specter assessed the situation. With a barely-perceptible twitch of his lip, he withdrew the lasso and slithered past the tramp quickly, hoping to avoid conflict.

Although escaping the police was his top priority, the man's thoughts wandered back to the bittersweet moment that had come to pass not three hours ago. He wanted to hold on to that memory (and one very specific event in particular), but he quickly realized that it was foolish to reminisce while his life was in danger. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he drifted down another road, listening for any signs of trouble. The voices of the policemen were growing faint, and he was presently moving through a very run-down quartier, which made blending in easier. The telltale signs of poverty adorned every corner, from empty crates to piles of rubble. Finding a place to hide would be no problem on such a cluttered road.

Scampering through the rubbish like a rat, the man rounded the corner.

"Hello."

In the middle of the alleyway, sitting calmly with her paws crossed in front of her, was giant fucking yellow dragon. The man was absolutely petrified. He stood with his jaw hanging, unable to comprehend the logic (if there was any) of what he was seeing. The creature waited patiently while he stared.

"You know, it's considered courteous to reply to someone when they greet you," the dragon said in a distinctly female voice.

The man didn't move. He was looking up at the monster with shock. It was as though everything he had ever known was suddenly invalidated by the existence of this animal. He didn't feel threatened by the dragon, however, as his mind was preoccupied with the endeavor of figuring out what exactly was going on.

"So . . . You're The Phantom of the Opera, right?" the dragon prompted. When he didn't reply, she flicked one of her ears backwards. "Um . . . Feel free to answer . . ."

He couldn't muster the strength to speak. The dragon was not impressed.

"Good Lord, I knew you'd be surprised, but I didn't think you'd be comatose . . ."

The man squeaked lightly in lieu of forming actual words. The dragon blinked.

"Okay, that's something . . ."

She waited a little while longer. Try as he might, the man was unable to provide her with a proper reaction. Placing her cheek in one paw, the dragon tapped her available claws on the ground in irritation. The man twitched. Finally, she could take it no more.

"Okay, this is obviously getting us nowhere. Why don't I just take you back to my place?"

Without warning, she grabbed the man by his waist, spread her wings, and flew up into the air as the sky grew bright with the first traces of dawn.