A/N: Hello there! I've tried to do a few other fics for Phantom, but I could never go through with any. Yet this idea, while overused, was something I could definitely do without much trouble. I hope people like this! And yes, before you ask, the main cast will show up in the next chapter.

xxx

You know what really makes me uncomfortable? My grandfather owns this very awful looking little monkey. He wears Persian robes, has the smile of a demented gremlin, and holds little symbols. They bang silently as some little tune plays when you wind it up.

I've asked my grandfather why he owned it but he would never tell me. Well... Not the real reason. All he ever says is that it's a family heirloom, that when it becomes time, I will have it in my possession...

I think I'll just sell it when I get it. It's an antique and someone is bound to put it in a museum or in their own personal collection. I don't tell this to my Grandfather but I think he knows I don't like the little creature.

But anyways, my name is Angel. Well... Angela, but I like Angel better. And as cliche as it may sound, my grandfather insisted I'd be named something that was close to being holy. He's a Christine, you see, but he isn't one to toss it down your throat unless you've done something stupid.

Anyway, the reason why I'm telling you about all of this is because recently, weird things have been happening when I get near that monkey. Sometimes it'll start playing out of nowhere and other times it'll look like its turned it's head in the direction I've walked or where my grandfather has walked.

I told my Grandfather about this but he just smiles, pats it's head, and tells me that I should enjoy the fact that the little monkey is giving us attention. It means that there is a special presence among them! What that could mean, I'll never know. I just know I want it to stop.

But one day, while I swept through the hallway where it stayed seated in it's special little spot, I had been singing. Now, I'm not the best singer. I think I sound like a dying bird. My voice cracks in certain spots in any song I sing. Grandfather says I should take lessons, I tell him to shush because I'm more in tune with drawing or painting than I am with singing. Besides, who would ever listen to me? The voice doesn't match the body!

Where was I going with this? Oh! Right! Back to the monkey! As I kept singing, I stopped, particularly frustrated with a note I couldn't reach, and found myself glaring over at that monkey. It looked amused in its cynical way (as always), but something felt off. There was a new energy in the air. It crackled in an unfamiliar way.

"You like that, Monkey?," I huffed. "I can never reach that note. I always sing this song but I can't reach that stupid freakin' note." I leaned against the broom, taking a deep breath. "Should I try it again? I think I can do it... I just... need to turn around. Your eyes are freaky."

And doing just that, I set the broom to lean up against the Monkey's perch, took a deep breath, cleared my throat-

I lost myself.

I lost all sense of surroundings as I found myself soaring to a new height in my untrained voice.

Yet once again, as I sang, the room began to crackle with that energy I told you about. That energy that always seemed to perk up when either Grandfather or myself sang near or around that damn monkey. Seeing a flash of light behind me, a loud bang of symbols and a familiar musical tune following it, I found myself turning around, note stuck in my throat as my breath seemed to leave me. Had I sung so horribly that that damn monkey had exploded? Yet by the time I was able to see anything, my eyes stung from the brightness that ate away at my vision.

Rubbing at my eyes, I cursed softly to myself while trying to figure out what had just happened. Yet all thought seemed to go blank when my vision returned. In place of that horrible monkey laid a grand sight to behold. Rows upon rows of seats hit my vision along with an unholy amount of red, gold, and black lined walls. Eyes wide, I tried to take everything in. That turned difficult as I managed to find myself in a panic attack. Had I knocked myself out or was I having a euphoric vision of what could be? Was I still singing without realizing i-

That thought seems to drain the moment I feel a hand turn me around. A man with unkempt hair was talking in French, motioning around like he'd seen a ghost. He points from the spot, seeming to ask me a question over and over.

Not hearing him at some point, I found my vision becoming dark-

Where the heck was I?

When I came back from my sudden fainting spell, I was in a rather small, rather lumpy bed. A lingering thought of how long was I out passes through before I find myself staring at a man who paced, muttering nervously as he wrung his hands. I could barely make out any distinguishable feature from the faint light of a few candles on a tiny candelabra that sat on the equally as small bed side table.

"Hi?," I croaked out. "Hey, where am I? Did I faint?"

Startled, he jumps like a jack rabbit, hands going to the side as his one leg shoots up close to his body. Eyes wide he gapes, then begins to speak. I get a few words here or there but that's because I've read enough stories and even comics with 'French' people in them to know what they meant. Trying to hide the fact that his rambling was getting on my nerves, I hold up a hand. This seems to quiet him long enough while I sit myself up on the side of the bed.

I ask, voice hoarse, "Do you know English? Can you tell me where I am? Did you see how I got here?"

"Opera," he says in a thick accent. "'ouse. You... show up," here he seems to struggle with what he was trying to say, "like ghost! Poof!" And he gives a wave of his hands for emphasis.

Now cue myself being surprised - mostly for the fact that he'd seen how I'd gotten into that Opera... whatever. Yet why should I be? This was the man who'd come up to me frantically pointing at my feet while yelling at me in French!

"Well heck..." I rub at my face as I try to understand what he meant by that. Had he heard that crack, seen that bright light? Or had I shown up as he had said? Faded into sight like a ghost does when it wants to be seen? Grumbling to myself, I wish for whatever was happening to stop. I did not need this. I needed to be home with my grandfather. I forgot to mention earlier but I take care of him. He just needs help with small things, like taking his pills or cooking food. Plus I owed him since he had been the one to help raise me. I mean... I just- He was going to need his medication soon!

Yet how was I going to do that? I obviously not in a place where I could get home. I was in some dank little room with a fairly disheveled looking man who was staring at me like I was something extraordinary. Sighing, I bite the inside of my cheek. I felt like I'd gone insane. I was literally thinking that the oddly dressed man that - now - sat on a stool besides the bed, staring at me intently, was from a different time altogether.

Especially since there was a butt ton of obvious in my face. The candles, the lack of jacks in the wall, the way the man dressed and the fact that this bed I was sitting on was made of a hand made metal bed frame? Well, it couldn't be coincidence, right? Rubbing once again at my face, I turn to the man.

"I'm going to sound crazy," I whir my index near my head to show him what I was saying, "but what year is it?"

When he gives me an odd look, I repeat myself slowly, "Year?"

This seems to perk him up, "C'est 1881!"

And my reaction? Think holy shiitake mushrooms, I am screwed.