Erik sighed as he stacked the boxes inside the theater door. He began to remove dolls from one of the 4,297 boxes.

"And we all say—"

"SHUT UP!"

"We're not gonna pay—"

"God in heaven, die!"

"—attend the tale—"

"How all the demons in hell come to torment me!"

"—nighttime heightens sharpens each—"

"I sing prettier than that!"

"—As magical Mr. Mistoffelees!"

When he placed it on the shelf, it began to sing again, resulting in numerous dents along the wall the exact size of Erik's forehead. Spiffy, isn't it?

"I'm not unloading the other 4,296 boxes."

As Erik opened the door, Mistoffelees flew by, shrieking, with Raoul and Victoria at his tail. He changed his mind pretty quickly.

"And we all say—"

"SHUT UP!"

"SAVE ME SAVE ME SAVE ME SAVE ME!"

"You too, Misto!"

"We're not gonna pay—"

"God in heaven, die!"

"Oh my God! Not the mascara! AAAAAAH!"

"—attend the tale—"

Erik began to chuckle like the loveable sadist he is.


Raoul looked at the shelves and shelves of dolls lining the lobby happily. He melodramatically pretended to wipe away a tear.

Erik sat beneath a shelf and sobbed, his tail wrapped tightly around himself and his ears still ringing with the toys' song.

Mr. Mistoffelees hurriedly wiped off the remaining lipstick that had been forced upon his nonexistent lips before dashing backstage. All the cats followed, and within moments, the theater door was opened.

"And we all say, 'We're not gonna pay attend the tale nighttime heightens sharpens each as Magical Mr. Mistoffelees!'"

Fangirlish squees filled the air.


"Let's see…so far we've made...3.2 billion dollars."

"Just enough for a time machine!" Erik was happy, for once. No one else was in pain, he hadn't just noticed a lovely BLOND prima donna, and he wasn't eating an éclair. Yet he was happy.

"So I can dance beautifully again!" Little Cecile Jammes was ecstatic.

"You kind of have to learn to dance beautifully first." (A/N: Whereas this would normally cue Cecile slapping Erik across the face, the cat's anatomy does not allow this. Even though it is possible for the author to come up with some ingenious way for this to occur, she feels it would be far too painful for both author and reader to witness, even with their mind's eye.

Yes, you have an eye in your mind. Kind of gross, isn't it?)

"Wait…Why do you need a time machine when you have me?" Misto struck a cute little pose.

"You're not a very good magician, Misto," Erik reminded him. "If you were, we wouldn't even be here!"

"Oh. Right."