AN: Okay, so I checked and double-checked on the year that POTO takes place before deciding how long after that this story happens, and I'm going to do my best with all the historical stuff, but forgive me if I get some stuff wrong and stuff.

ALSO, I've decided to sort of alter the Kay timeline a bit, so let's say that instead of fifty-something, Erik is 32 in this, kk? I dunno, I just don't like the idea of him being old enough to be Christine's father by the time the whole thing happened, it sort of takes away from the ALW story for me a bit. I'm more comfortable with him being something more like 10 years her senior than thirty-something. (I guess I'm more comfortable with that because I ship Grilo from Repo! the Genetic Opera, and the age gap between them is generally viewed as being somewhere around that mark, so yeah.)

Ok, last thing, I promise! This is NOT going to be a romance between anyone. I'm not going to pairing Miette up with Erik, nor am I a shipper of Meg/Erik (though I do love Meg, she's always been one of my favorites), so this is just going to be that like Miette slowly manages to earn his trust and sort of become his friend, that sort of thing, there won't be any romance, just to let you know. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. It's just that...like...while I DO ship Raoul/Christine, I also cannot fathom ever seeing Erik with anyone else. While I can read fics like that, I find myself unable to write them, so that's why. :)

DISCLAIMER: I own Miette Comtois, but the rest belongs to Leroux and/or ALW.

1883
Paris, France

It had been two years, and Erik was still wandering the halls and secret passages of the Opera Populaire, abandoned after it had partially burned down on that fateful night. He was still wrapped up in his music, as he had been all his life, but he no longer composed, having lost his muse and inspiration. He still sketched, though. Lord, did he sketch. There was one area of his lair completely littered with drawings of Christine; on the floor, the walls, everywhere. When he wasn't absorbed in his music, he was usually sketching her obsessively. Like everything else about her, he remembered her appearance perfectly. Much as he remembered the events of his own life, as well.

He would often go up to Box Five, even now, though it was really more out of habit than anything else. He would stand there, sometimes for hours at a time, and gaze down at the wreckage of the chandelier on top of the audience seats while he reflected on everything. Sometimes his thoughts would take him beyond the Opera House; back to Persia, back to when he met Élisabeth Giry (though her name hadn't been Giry then, it had been Boisseau) for the first time, back to Luciana and Giovanni, back to the Gypsies, sometimes even back to his mother and that blasted house he hated so much.

He never ventured out anymore. Not even Nadir knew he was still there. Only Élisabeth and her daughter knew he was even still alive. They were the ones that provided him with everything he needed to survive, which, for the most part, only consisted of food these days. He would be dead by then if not for Élisabeth and Meg, not that it would make much difference to him. He had lost the will to live long ago and didn't understand how that alone hadn't killed him yet.

Then, suddenly, things changed without warning.

Upon opening her eyes, Miette knew by some instinct that something was not right. First off, why had the catacomb cops not arrested her? She had expected to wake up in the police station with Uncle Théo there all pissed off for getting herself into this situation and making him get a call from the cops. How strange, she thought as she got up and brushed herself off. Her head was throbbing where she'd hit it, and she had to grope in the dark for her flashlight, finally finding it near where her knee had been. Thankfully, it worked when she turned it on, so after fixing her ponytail, she set off through the tunnels to leave.

When she reached the exit, she halted in her tracks.

Everything was different. The Paris before her was like something straight out of the history books at school, not at all like the Paris where she had lived out all nineteen years of her life. "I have to be dreaming," she whispered to herself. Yes, that was it. Of course. She was still knocked out cold, probably being taken to the police station right that very moment, and this was all just a figment of her subconscious imagination. That was it. That had to be it. It was the only logical explanation for what she was seeing right now. Either that, or she had walked out onto a movie set without meaning to.

But that didn't account for the incredible detail.

She shook her head. "Focus, Miette," she said. "Worry about that later. Right now, just..." She trailed off, looking around, trying to figure out what she should do or where she should go for the time being. Then she realized that she hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was well past lunchtime, so she decided to go find something to eat. Wandering through the streets, she got quite a few stares and made a mental note to see about new clothes so she could blend in, but for now, she focused on the food. And, perhaps even more importantly, keeping an eye out for something to tell her the date. Finally, her nose led her to a bakery.

"How much for a loaf of bread?" she asked.
"Ten francs," the man behind the counter replied.

Miette froze while digging through her bag. Francs? No, that couldn't be right. Francs hadn't been used since 1999 when France had converted to the euro. After doing some quick math in her head and determining that ten francs meant 1.52 euros, she pulled out the appropriate amount and held it out to the man. He shook his head, though. "Your foreign money's no good here," he said. "Now, step aside, I have customers waiting." Not having it in her to argue, Miette stepped away from the counter and hung her head in defeat as she turned to leave. "Ah!" she heard as she opened the door. "Madame Giry! The usual, then?" The reply was cut off as Miette let the door close behind her, then, not knowing what else to do, began slowly making her way down the street with her bag hugged against her chest.

"Wait! Mademoiselle, wait!" a voice called.
Miette gasped in surprise as someone caught her by the arm and turned her around, only to be met by the sight of a blonde girl about her own age holding something out to her that was wrapped in paper, a smile on her face. Behind her was a woman in a black dress with a cane and a long braid. "Take it," the blonde girl said, nodding to the thing in her hands. "We saw how you got turned away from the bakery, so we got you some bread."

A grateful smile crept onto Miette's face as she reached out and took it. "Thank you," she said, "thank you so much."
"Oh, it was no trouble," the blonde replied. "I'm just glad we were able to help."
"Meg," the woman said. "Come along now. We must be going."
"Coming, Maman," the blonde said over her shoulder.

Before Miette had the chance to say anything more, the girl and her mother had disappeared once more into the crowd. Shrugging, Miette turned and continued on her way, unwrapping the bread partway and breaking some of it off to eat as she walked, trying to decide what to do next. That was when she noticed a newspaper lying in the gutter. She stopped, picked it up, and shook some of the water off, then scanned for the date. Finally, she found it up in the corner of the front page.

August 19th, 1883

She stood there, a piece of bread halfway to her open mouth, just staring in disbelief at the year on the page in front of her. She was only snapped out of it by the feeling of raindrops hitting her head. She looked around, then shoved the remainder of the bread into her bag before taking off to search for shelter, using the already-drenched newspaper as a flimsy excuse of a shield against the rain that fell.

She thought nothing of it to run into a building that was quite clearly abandoned, not caring that it showed evidence of being partly burned.

The more she explored the place, the more it became evident that it had once been some kind of theater. Especially when she, by chance, found herself on the stage staring out at the chandelier sitting atop the audience seats, no more than wreckage now, though it once must have been glorious, just like the rest of the place showed evidence of having been. On a sudden whim, Miette dropped her bag on the floor and began dancing around, singing her favorite Disney songs, ending her little performance with one of her all-time favorites.

"Laisser aller! Laisser aller! Et je prends la parole comme l'aube! Laisser aller! Laisser aller! Cette fille parfaite est parti! Je me tiens debout, et ici je resterai! Laissez la rage de tempête sur...! Le froid ne m'a jamais dérangé de toute façon."

Bringing it to an end, she took a bow, smiling and blowing kisses to an invisible audience. She stumbled on a loose floorboard suddenly and tumbled to the side, knocking her bag over and sending the contents spilling all over the stage. "Merde!" she cried, getting down on her hands and knees to pick everything up and stuff it back in the bag. She turned away from her iPod for a moment to put something else into the bag, and when she turned back around to grab it, it was curiously absent. "The hell?" she muttered, and promptly began searching for it elsewhere. Then she realized that she had the oddest sense of being watched.

She looked up and gasped.

Standing above her examining the iPod was a man with dark hair swathed in a black cloak with one side of his face covered by a white half-mask. Miette slowly got to her feet and swallowed before finding her voice again. "Um...e-excuse me, sir, can I have that back please?" she asked, holding her hand out for the iPod. He raised his head to look at her, revealing that he had dark eyes to match his dark hair. "My apologies, mademoiselle," he said, and gave the music player back to her. She noticed as he did so that he wore black leather gloves.

"Have I startled you?" the man asked. There was something about his voice that she couldn't put words to. Some beauty that was just...there, she supposed. Miette nodded wordlessly in response to the question. "Forgive me," the man replied, "I intend you no harm. I was simply drawn here by your singing. No one has been in here for two years. May I ask what brings you into the opera house?"

"Th-The storm. It was a place to stay dry," Miette said. The masked man nodded as if deeming her response a suitable one. "What about you?" she asked.
"I am here for...many reasons," he said, "some which involve taking shelter like you are, though perhaps from different things that I believe are best unnamed."
Miette nodded slowly, wondering if she was perhaps talking to an escaped psycho or something and severely hoping she wasn't. After a moment, she managed a smile as she thrust her hand out at him.

"Miette Comtois," she said. Instead of shaking the offered hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it lightly, making her blush.
"Pleased you meet you, Mlle. Comtois," he said, "I am Erik."
"And...is there a last name to go with that?"
"Yes, but I prefer not to share it."
"Alright. Suit yourself."

"That song you were singing. I don't believe I know it. Is it from an opera?" Erik asked.
Miette blinked, unsure how to respond to that. How could he not know Laisser Aller, she wondered. If this was just a figment of her imagination, shouldn't he be as familiar with it as she was? Even if it was the movie set explanation, he should still be familiar with it. And why did he think it was from an opera? "No," she said, "it's from a movie." From behind the mask, he gave her a quizzical look. "N-Nevermind," she said, waving it off.

"I wonder why he wears that mask,"she thought. "He looks like he'd be pretty damn good-looking if he'd take it off."

"And," Erik said, pointing to the iPod in her hand, "what is that?"
"What, this? It's an iPod. You download music onto it and can listen to it on the go."
His dark eyes seemed to light up somewhat at this. "And," he said, "how does one do this?"

"Download or listen?"
"Both, I suppose."
"I can't really explain downloading very well, but I can show you how to listen if you want."

When he gave a single nod of affirmation, she punched in her password and showed him how to go to the music menu and choose a song, artist, album, or playlist. "Les Misérables?" he asked, pointing to the movie soundtrack. "Monsieur Hugo's novel? I don't understand."

By that point, she had determined that she must be on some kind of movie set or something, after all, and for him not to know about the Les Mis musical and movie...Miette could understand wanting to stay in character for this...whatever by keeping the period feel, but would it seriously kill this guy to come back into the 21st century for all of, like, two damn minutes?

She said as much, and all it got her was a look that seemed best described as confused anger. "You, Mademoiselle," Erik said, "seem to be ill in the head."
"No, I'm not!" Miette yelled. "You're the one that won't even break character for ten seconds to help me understand what the hell I've walked into!"
"No one is acting here, Mlle. Comtois," he replied coolly.

This girl, this...Miette...was mad, surely. The 21st century indeed! She must have escaped from some sort of mental institution. It certainly might explain her odd clothing. Finally getting fed up with her ranting, he turned on his heel with a whirl of his cape and began heading off in the direction he had come. "Get back here!" Miette screamed. "I demand that you get back here and give me a proper explanation this instant, you hear me?! Come back!" He could hear her running after him, and at the last second, he turned, one hand going to the back of her neck and the other to cover her mouth and nose. With the one hand, he squeezed hard enough on her neck to make her stiffen, eyes seeming to bulge slightly as she bristled. He could easily choke her if he wanted to, but he saw no reason why he should. For the moment, at least. Whether or not that changed would be up to her.

"Mademoiselle," he said in a low voice, "I strongly advise against pursuing me. If you are not careful, you shall soon find that you have crossed the point of no return and cannot go back. Quit while you're ahead. Trust me."

He loosened his grip on her neck somewhat and she immediately pulled his hand away from her mouth. He tightened his grip again and was about to put his hand back over her mouth when she said something that made him stop with his hand mid-air.

"The Third Republic will fall, monsieur," she blurted out. "In 1940, Germany will take over the country and be replaced by the Vichy France government. Vichy will be replaced by the Fourth Republic. The Third Republic, though...Seventy years, Monsieur, the longest lasting French government system since the Ancien Régime almost a hundred years ago. Impressive, don't you think? And M. Hugo's work is world-famous. Made into an opera."

He stared at her wordlessly.
"I know things, monsieur," she whispered. "This is the Paris Opera House, right?"
"The Opera Populaire."
"One day it'll be called the Palais Garnier. They'll fix it. It'll be beautiful again."

"NO! You lie! Nobody dares come near here after what happened two years ago!"
"Just call me the Prophetess, monsieur!" Miette cried, and Erik let go of her neck, instead holding her wrist in a vise grip as he dragged her off. "Where are you taking me?!" she demanded.

"DOWN!"

OOOOOh, Miette's in trouble now! I've already gotten two reviews for this talking about how the catacomb thing made them claustrophobic, lol, sorry, guys, didn't mean to do that.

Also, Madame Giry and Meg! I'm seeing Miranda Richardson and Jennifer Ellison for them (the actresses from the movie).

And I checked, and Les Mis was first published in 1862, so don't worry, I didn't screw anything up with that, lol.

Okay, the song that Miette was singing is Let it Go from Frozen. I typed the last verse of it into Google Translate, lol. And yeah, I was listening to The Point of No Return when I wrote that one line of Erik's, lmao.

Okay, I'm tired, please review so I don't get Punjab'd, goodnight. :)