Merry Christmas and Happy holidays to everyone. My friends, Annastasia and Ouyang have been pestering me for a while to write a P.O.T.O. fanfic, so here it is! Merry Christmas to you two. You'd better love it, cause this is your Christmas present!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, only do I own my characters.

Please enjoy!

The frigid fall air swept through the streets of Paris, France as Calla St. Claire walked up the steps to the Opera Populaire. More than a hundred years ago, this had been the famous opera house that had the starring role in the infamous Phantom of the Opera incident.

For the last seven months, Calla had only left her small apartment when necessary, not after the attack. But, this trip was more than necessary, it was vital.

Jagger Masen, Calla's fiancé, the soul owner of the opera house, had been missing for the past year and in his office there had been a note asking for his will to be read, should he be missing for more than twelve months. So, his lawyers had read his will and he had left the opera house to her.

This opera house was her last connection to Jagger. And as such, she had decided to move in.

She shifted her duffle bag to her left hand, adjusted her backpack and guitar straps, and pushed open the door.

They opened to the foyer, which was occupied by the Masens' lawyer, Calla's lawyer, and Jagger's grandfather, Jackson.

"Ah, Ms. St. Claire. Good to see you," the Masens' lawyer called to her, causing the others to turn and look at her.

"And to see you, Mr. Johnson." She nodded to her lawyer and turned to the final occupant. She said warmly, "Jack."

She sent down her duffle bag and tightly hugged the 80-year-old man.

"The ever lovely Calla. How are you, my dear?"

She smiled ruefully. "Holding up."

"You're a survivor, Calla. You'll make it." He squeezed her shoulder. "If you need anything, anything at all, you have my number."

She hugged him again. "Thank you, Jack."

Calla's lawyer closed the file she had been looking at and turned to her. "Will you need anything else, Calla?"

Calla shook her head. "I'll be fine, Mary Ann. Thanks."

After quick goodbyes, the two lawyers and Jackson left, leaving Calla alone.

The vastness of the opera house suddenly hit her and she shrank back from the faded bronze statues as she ran up the stairs.

She knew this opera house better than the back of her hand and knew where all of the trap doors and secret passageways were. Which was why she choose the only room without either.

Dropping her stuff onto her bed, she rummaged through her backpack until she found what she was looking for.

She went to the chapel, picture and candle in hand.

The empty chapel only held the remnants of old, broken picture frames and long melted wax candles.

She set her favorite picture of Jagger and lit the large white candle.

Pausing, she stared at the picture, momentarily lost in her grief.

Jagger's blond hair was so light, it looked almost white and his jagged bangs fell into his steel-colored eyes. He wore faded black jeans, black combat boots, and his favorite Eagles t-shirt. His pale arms were wrapped around Calla's shoulders, covering the top of her off-the-shoulders purple halter top, which fell over her kaki skirt. She also wore black combat boots and a purple headband, holding back her long, curly black hair that fell down to her shoulders, spilling down to her over her shoulders.

They were both smiling at the camera, two pale faces, illuminated by the bonfire in the background.

God, she thought and she closed her eyes. If you're listening, please send Jagger back to me. I need him.

She pushed her hair out of her tearing, icy blue eyes. She ran out of the chapel, barely reregistering the singing that followed her.

~OOooOO~

Erik had first scowled at the thought of a new owner of his opera house. But it wasn't like he had a say. After finding the key to immortality, he remained to the shadows, always a witness, never a participant. Not after Christine.

Oh, Christine.

All he knew of the new owner was that they had inherited it after someone or another went missing.

Silently moving through the shadows in the corridors, he heard the door to the opera house open and close and a man say, "Ah, Ms. St. Claire. Good to see you."

So, the new owner was a women?

Erik left before hearing her reply, stalking towards the chapel, the only room the whole damned building that had not been touched by the fire.

He heard the creaking of the steps and melted back into the shadows, barely content with just watching.

He saw a young women with curly black hair, clad in black jeans, black, scuffed combat boots, and a black halter top, enter the room.

She carefully set down a picture and lit the large white candle.

Hesitating, she closed her eyes. Silence lasted a moment as she opened her eyes. She pushed her hair out of her icy blue tear-filled eyes and her lower lip wobbled.

Erik froze. Something about this girl made him want to protect her, to make her feel safe.

"Silently the senses, abandon their defenses…" he sang softly.

She bolted out of the chapel.

Thanks for reading! Please review!