A/N: I have provided a full translation for all of the French spoken in this fic, and yes, there is a language barrier. Erik isn't in this chapter, but he'll be making his debut appearance in Chapter Three! Okay, Goblin, do your worst!

Goblin: The Incredible Nameless Wonder does not own Meg or Mme. Giry so; it behooves me to inform you that you have no case in court if you decide to take it there.

Me: Thanks, enjoy!


Chapter Two: The Freezing Issue

"Ayez Noël de houx joyeux; c'est le meilleur moment de l'année, Je ne sais pas s'il y aura de la neige, mais une tasse de bonne humeur." I woke up to the sound of people singing and bells ringing, mixed with horse hooves on a cobblestone street. I turned my head to the side towards the noise and gasped in wonder at what I saw.

A group of people in bright, old-fashioned outfits were standing in the street, singing Christmas carols in a language I didn't understand. Behind them were little shops with signs that I couldn't read lit by oil lamps and in one of the windows was a dress mannequin. I tried to sit up, and found that the reason my arms and legs were so cold is because I was lying in a snow bank!

If I'm dreaming, why do I feel so cold? I asked myself, but got no reply. I looked around to my right and my mouth dropped open six feet.

In front of me was a large, golden building with lovely statues and arches. It was impossibly tall, almost as tall as I dreamed the Empire State Building to be, extremely wide. A set of large French doors were set dead in the middle with a warm glow coming from underneath, illuminating the grand staircase that led to them.

From these doors, a young, beautiful girl with blonde hair lighter than mine came running out, dragging behind her a much older woman with a permanently cross look on her face and her graying hair done back in a braid. When the girl saw me awake, she squeal and ran down the steps, falling on her knees in front of me, gesturing for the older woman to come and see. The elderly lady looked surprised at my being there, just as surprised as I was, but she still ascended the stairs, towering over me.

"Vous voyez mère, je ne mentais pas!" (You see mother, I wasn't lying!) The young girl exclaimed; leaning forward at an uncomfortably close distance. I couldn't understand a word of what she just said, and I suppose the dazed look I gave her then made that perfectly obvious.

"Meg, vous effrayer! Je ne pense pas qu'elle parle français" (Meg, you're frightening her! I do not think she speaks French!) The older woman cried and the blonde-haired girl sat back, giving me some space. I didn't know I was holding my breath until she moved away. The older woman lowered herself to my height and cocked her head to the side. "Pouvez-vous me comprendre?" (Do you understand me?) I had no idea what she was asking, so I shook my head, making her nod.

"Qu'est-ce que les gestionnaires disent?"(What will the managers say?) The blonde asked in a distressed voice and again; I drew a blank.

"Nous ne pouvons pas la laisser ici, vous idiote!" (We cannot leave her here, you silly girl!) The woman snapped and the young girl grew silent. I wondered just what she had said, but I thought that it didn't matter, seeing as it was only a dream.

"Do either of you speak English?" I asked when I finally found my voice. And the elderly woman looked to me in surprise. She gaped at me for a solid ten seconds –I liked timing things- and then she finally spoke in heavily-accented English.

"I speak a bit, but not much." She replied and I was so happy to hear something I actually understood after close to ten minutes of 'what the hell did she just say' and 'is she secretly mocking me' that I almost did a happy dance.

"Oh thank the Lord!" I cried, throwing my hands to the sky. I stood up and felt wet fabric on my legs, making me look down and finally realize that I was in a green dress that did not belong to me. It was sopping wet and in a very old style, with a gown-style bottom and beautiful embroidery.

"My name is Mme. Giry, and this is my daughter, Meg." She said and my eyes widened.

"Hold on a second, Giry? Did you just say Giry?" I asked, bewildered and she nodded hesitantly. I wanted to ask 'from the Phantom of the Opera?' but something told me not to, and so I held my tongue.

"Yes, why?" she asked and I was left to improvise.

"Um… well… because… you're the ballet Mistress, right?" I was safe. A wave of understanding passed over her face and she nodded, looking proud. In truth, I was proud of myself for evading her that way; I knew it was just a dream, but telling her the truth felt wrong, horribly, horribly wrong.

"I am, and who are you?" She asked, pride in her voice and my mind froze for three seconds.

"My name is Annika Walters. I-I'm from Canada." I said and she looked confused.

"What is a Canadian doing here, in front of the Opera house?" She asked suspiciously and I gulped.

"I d-don't know." I stuttered, my teeth chattering from the cold. It was freezing outside, but this little detail seemed lost to Mme. Giry.

"You don't know?" Meg piped up, again in heavily accented French. Her English was worse than her Mother's and it hurt Annika's ears to hear.

"No, it's a blur. A total blur. I know I'm from Canada, I know I speak English, I know my name and I know you're the ballet Mistress. Other than that, a total blur." I bluffed and the two seemed to buy it. It was then that Mme. Giry realized to the cold and looked to me in shock, an apologetic look in her eyes.

"Oh mon dieu!" (Oh my god!) She exclaimed, looking to my sopping dress that had begun to freeze. "My girl, why didn't you say anything? Come inside, quickly, we shall talk then!" She said frantically, taking me and Meg by the hand and dragging us both up the steps and into the Opera house.

By then, I was coughing up a lung, and my head felt like it was on fire. Mme. Giry sat me down on a lobby seat and I hugged my knees to my chest, closing my eyes, trying to warm up. I'm shaking all over when I feel something being draped over my shoulders and I look up to see Meg with a blanket. I pull it tighter around me and give her a nod of thanks as Mme. Giry runs off to find the managers.

"Do you really remember nothing?" She asked in a timid voice and I nodded. Telling the truth wasn't an option, I didn't know why, but it wasn't, and I'd never been good at making up backstories that made sense, much less were believable, so pretending not to remember anything seemed like the only way.

"I can recall weird little details, like my name and your Mother's profession, but that's about it." I said sadly, trying to be convincing and the little blonde girl drank it up.

"That is so very sad, Mademoiselle, I hope you regain your lost memories." She just sounded so innocent and genuine, it almost made me laugh. I supposed that people in dreams were far more caring than those in real life.

"I do to, but given of what I remember, I almost do not wish to know." I replied in a faraway voice. "Where am I anyway?" I asked, although I already knew.

I had decided exactly seven seconds ago as we were ascending the Opera house steps that I was having a dream about The Phantom of the Opera after reading so much of it before bed, it seemed rational and much easier to explain.

"Why, Mademoiselle, you are in the Opera Populaire! She exclaimed in a way that I took as her wanting me to applaud or something.

"Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" I asked rather harshly and her smile fell. I instantly felt bad about it and apologized, after which she perked up a bit to give me the lo-down.

"The Opera Populaire is the most prestigious Opera House in all of Paris! If you can survive La Carlotta, the dancing is fabulous and some of the stagehands are quite handsome." She suddenly sobered and shook her head. "But stay well away from Joseph Buquet, he is rubbish! You'll know him, he's the short, portly man who will try to look up your skirt!" Meg said this all in one breath and I knew she was not kidding, but I guess she did mean it to be funny, I mean, I laughed.

"Is he truly that horrid? Dear God what have you left me with?" I asked to the universe and she giggled.

"You are so odd, Mademoiselle." She exclaimed and I nodded, doing a strange sort of dance as my body was racked by a hybrid of shivers and a coughing fit; all at the same time. Meg didn't have time to add anything else for at that very moment, Mme. Giry returned, with two hapless look men trailing behind her.

One looked ancient, with gray hair and a dated tuxedo while the other looked younger, but still middle-aged. His hair was slicked back like Elvis and his strange, blue tuxedo was much more recent in style, it seemed, and was free of any rips or tears.

"Ici, elle est Monsieur." (Here she is, Monsieur) Mme. Giry announced and the two managers looked completely dumbstruck.

"Dieu du ciel! Où est-elle venue?" (God in heaven! Where did she come from?) The older-looking manager cried and I winced at the incredibly high octave he hit.

"Nous ne savons pas, nous l'avons trouvée en dehors de la maison d'opéra." (We do not know we found her outside the Opera house) Mme. Giry replied and by that time, I was totally lost. I looked to Meg for a translation but she shook her head in a way that told me she didn't know the English for the spoken words.

"Will somebody please tell me just what the Hell is going on?!" I asked loudly, pulling Mme. Giry and the Managers from their quiet little side-fight. Mme. Giry's mouth formed a line as she came and sat down next to me.

"Cette fille est de mourir de froid et elle a de la fièvre. Elle se souvient de rien de sa vie et que vous souhaitez la chasser! Vous êtes pathétique!" (This girl is freezing to death and she has a fever. She recalls nothing of her life and you wish to turn her out! You are pathetic!) Mme. Giry sounded very angry when she said this and it kind of scared me. The younger-looking manager approached me and kneeled down in front of me, getting closer than Meg and scaring me very much.

"Quel est votre nom?" (What is your name?) He asked like a question and Meg translated that.

"He asks your name, Mademoiselle." She clarified and I nodded, turning back to him.

"My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my Father, prepare to die." I couldn't help but laugh at the Manager's dazed expression when I quoted the Princess Bride - a very good book given to me by one of the guards at the hospital- but Mme. Giry just shook her head and told him my real name.

"Elle me dit que son nom est Annika Walters. S'il vous plaît Monsieur, elle a besoin d'un médecin, il suffit de regarder sa!" (She tells me her name is Annika Walters. Please Sir, she needs a doctor, just look at her!) Mme. Giry felt my forehead and she quickly withdrew as if she had been burned.

My face did indeed feel like fire had touched it, and I'm sure it was just as red. My coughing returned at full-force and for a second, I couldn't breathe. I felt the wind being knocked out of me as I clutched my throat, trying to concentrate on getting oxygen to my brain. As another coughing fit racked my body, my vision began to blur. I tried to fight it, but soon it overcame me and I blacked out.