Disclaimer: I own no rights to The Phantom of the Opera. Be it book, movie, or theater production. Though, Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber do. Probably some others as well...I dunno, just not me.

Authoress' Note: Fear the strangess of my title. Any who, I quite like the idea of a.. Meg/Erik fic. So I wrote one! Though, it's not going to be romantic.. I don't think. Unless people want me to make it that way, in which case I'll try my best, they just have to tell me. The first chapter isn't too exciting. I'll let you judge that though. This is my first POTO fan fiction.. and first fan fiction on this site.So, hopefully it's not too disappointing. Corrective criticism is appreciated!
†This will be placed next to things in the story I would wish to explain. They will be detailed at the end of each chapter.
'This' will be thoughts, and it should be easy to tell who is thinking what.

Into La Ment

The sound of soaring wings cut though the mounting rain. The black eyes of a scavenger surveyed the dingy back street for refuse from the oncoming shower. Darkness melts into the ebony feathers of the mysterious bird as it elegantly lands on a pole, part of a fire escape. The walls of the building behind the bird's position, stand, streaked from mold, results of previous rains. The raven calls out into the street only replied by the rhythm of the rain, a clutter, then the sharp crash of a falling compost bucket. Wavering, the raven took flight, landing on a nearby window seal of the poor conditioned apartment building. The soft light of a candle from inside danced across the raven's feathers, making them gleam.

'Hello.' Thought the young lady within the building, sitting carelessly in the bay window of her apartment that overlooked that said street. A book lay open on her bent knee; a candle lit closer to the window itself. She smiled, faintly being able to make out the dark bird's body against the night. She leaned her head delicately against the window, making her blond hair scrunch up against the glass. She slowly brought her hand up to the window and whistled subtly, tapping the glass, flinching a bit as the bird fluttered its wings in surprise. The woman sighed and turned away, looking back to her book with which she found herself re-reading every other sentence.

'I'm so sick of this.' Frustrated, she tossed her book aside with a loud thud. 'It's not like it will get any better anyways.' With another sigh, she sat up, rubbing her temples. Why couldn't she stop thinking about everything? It's been a year.. almost two.. but she missed her old life. Everything has changed.. 'Get a hold of yourself Meg. Your just moping.' Standing, Meg Giry glanced about her small lounge room. It wasn't so bad; at least for the price she was paying for it. A chair was in the opposite corner before a door-less opening lead into the little kitchen. She absentmindedly placed her hand on the corner of her window, running her fingers across the molding on the corner of the wall. The beautiful bay window was the only thing that she adored in the room. Meg didn't care if it wasn't customary for a woman her age to be living alone, she wasn't about to move in with some trash of a man whom her mother had tired so hard to steer her away from.

It has been raining for almost two days; it has been virtually constant. Meg pushed herself forward, 'Why is it so dull now?' Inside her mind, she stressed dull. Nothing happens anymore, no one is with her anymore. A sob raised in her throat, but she caught herself. 'Honestly Meg!'

The days passed like this. She barely did anything with her time. Had to stop herself from thinking about the past, and not to sulk. Life did have its rare.. amusement. Meeting men, whom she really had no interest in. She could be called a tease, but they where the ones who approached her, so, she tried to make drama to only amuse herself. She was never serious with them, and they all suddenly stopped visiting her at work after time, which was fine by her. Meg worked at a small ballet school, about three miles from her home, a pone which she had to walk to. The pay wasn't much, but it supported her for what she needed. She only taught three days a week, and tomorrow wasn't one of them.

Meg yawned, stretching her arms as she did so and glanced at the clock, '9:53' She froze as she read this and stared at the clock oddly, 'Wow, where has time flown to?' She reached forward and poked it, then moved back as if it would jump at her. Usually, she went to sleep much earlier. Maybe she had dosed off while attempting to read. She didn't remember. Shuffling her feet, she entered her bedroom, already in her dressing gown. A simple dresser was pushed against the wall on the right of her. A vanity mirror was set on top, along with random essentials: comb, bushes, ties, ect.

There was one thing on the dresser that stood out. A medium sized mahogany box, stunningly polished with gold colored entwined lily patterns along the corners. Meg walked passed the dresser, and stopped suddenly, glancing back at the box. She smiled and put her hand back, brushing the top of the box with her fingertips. 'After all this, and I'm still fascinated.' With a shake of her head, Meg turned, falling down on her bed. She lay, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, then turned on her side and stared at the box. 'I dare say.. I maybe obsessed.'

Little Meg fell asleep; staring at the box made of mahogany.

Meg groaned, turning over in her bed, her sleep interrupted by the morning sun shining in her eyes. She threw up her hand as if to knock it away, "Shoo... five more minutes.." She grumbled, realizing the sun wasn't going to comply, she opening her eyes and blinked as they adjusted. Mumbling incoherently, she sat up and yawned, 'What time is it?' She thought, while throwing the covers off her and getting up to wander into the restroom. She exited, going back into her room and grabbing the brush off her dresser. She began to brush her hair, tugging at a knot for a moment until it was brushed through. Grabbing at a hair tie, she glanced at the box and couldn't help but smile at herself. "It's not like it's gone anywhere." She said groggily, tapping the top lightly with her comb in good cheer. She quickly tied back her hair and changed into a plain evening gown and hurried out her room and into the kitchen.

She opened the door to her icebox†. As she opened the door, she stared pathetically inside. 'Oh, where has all the food gone.'.. "I ate it." 'Yes, yes you did. Ew, except that.' Her face turned up in disgust at an unidentified food object, that, she swore, growled at her. Sighing unhappily, either for the lack of unspoiled food, or the realization she was talking to herself, Meg shut the door. At least she still had enough ice to last awhile.

She never liked going to the market, and it was a good distance away. The actual length didn't bother her, but the area she lived in was terrible and she didn't enjoy walking through it. Reluctant, and mourning for her cheerful mood, Meg walked to the door and grabbed a set of keys, as well as a small knife, from a table by the door, the only other furniture in the lounge room besides the chair. She opened the door while slipping on her shoes and stepped out into the world. She took a deep breath of the air outside, it was no where near clean, but it was still better then the musky feel of her apartment. Turning, she closed the door and locked it's dual locks and limped forward on a leg as she put her keys in her left shoe and slipped the knife down her right sleeve, then proceeded down the stairs.

Looking up, she noticed the sky was already starting to darken from the lingering clouds. 'It better not rain on me.' She glared pointlessly, it wasn't enough that she was hungry, and had already felt and heard her stomach gurgle, oh no, now the rain was threatening her. As Meg thought, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye and heard something clatter. Her brain seemed to pause, and she stopped. After listening for a minute, a small huff of laughter slipped past her lips. 'I'm being ridiculous.' Paranoia was starting to rise in her, despite trying to reason with herself. Sighing, she continued onward, it was still another few miles until she would reach a market, and nothing was following her. 'Right?' She glanced over her shoulder. 'Right.'

† I asked my mother if they had refrigerators in the early 1900s, and she said no. Then explained these weird icebox thingies. But no, it's not like a modern day cooler.
Random: Madame Giry is deceased in this. Which is sad.. but it had to be, for the plot. Sorry.

If you notice anything I did wrong, feel free to inform me. I shall continue updating this if I'm wanted too. So review, please!