As you may have noticed, this is an entirely different universe than the original movie. I actually wrote this fanfiction before the movie even came out, so in this, I didn't know he couldn't talk. This story does involve shipping Francœur and Lucille, but they aren't the major characters. The song doesn't belong to me, but I don't know what it's called or who it's by.

The Letter

It was a few weeks before Frankie had made it to Toulouse. She was tired, and sick of being on the run. She got off the train and stepped into the heavy snow. She needed a place to sleep, and fast. She was almost dead on her feet. If she didn't find warmth and a roof soon, she really would be dead. She ran through the deserted streets, moving quickly to keep warm. She didn't run out of strength for a few minutes; when she did she collapsed on a lit porch step. The only lit building on the street.

The door opened, and a rather tall man looked around. He looked down, and found a teenage girl out cold. Her skin was practically blue, and she was hardly breathing. He quickly scooped her up, and brought her inside, setting her down near the fire. After a few minutes, she sneezed and sat up.

"Wha-? Where am I?"


The door swung open and a bedraggled girl burst in. "Oh, la, la! It's freezing out- Oh! Who's she?" Francœur looked up, about to explain, but he looked at the other girl's face. She was wearing a mask, and something red was trickling down her face.

"Audrey!" He went to her and removed the mask. There was a fresh slash in her face, starting near the edge of her right eye and going across her nose. "What did you do now?"

"Nothing more than usual. Who is she?"

"Confused. Thoroughly confused. And cold. That's what I am," Frankie said, sitting up and rubbing her arms. "Where am I?"

"You are at our cabaret."

"I see… does it often come down wet and heavy out of nowhere, or am I just lucky?"

"You're lucky."

"And you're soaking wet," Francœur finished, handing her a towel.

"Merci, Monsieur," A worried look crossed her face, and she reached for her bag. She felt around in it until she pulled out a rolled up piece of paper. "Good, it's still dry." She looked back to Francœur and unrolled the poster, looking from the picture to Francœur. "Do you… have you ever been to L'Oiseau Rare?"

His large eyes blinked, getting a good look at the girl for the first time. "Oui… Who are you?"

"My name's Frankie!"

"Do… do you know Lucille?"

"She's my mother."


"Lucille is my mother. Who are you?"

He made a funny little chirping noise, and Frankie gave him a weird look. Audrey rolled her eyes and elbowed his side. "His name is Francœur." Frankie looked at the other girl, seeing her without the mask. She blinked, a tad sorry for the blonde. She was pretty, or had been once. Her face was heavily scarred, covered in the shadows of cuts and slashes. Whatever had happened to her must have been terrible, but the girl was grinning at her as if unaware she should be unhappy. Her hair was frizzy and curly, pulled up into sloppy pigtails. Her eyes were green and smiling at her. "And I'm Audrey."

"Wait a second. You said his name was…?"



"Yes, why?"

Frankie dove for her bag again, searching around in it for a moment before pulling out another paper. This one was a letter that she promptly held out to Francœur. "This is for you."

He slowly took the envelope, which most have had three pages stuffed into it. "My mother wrote it."

"Lucille... wrote this?"

"Mm. I'm not sure how she intended to get it to you, but..."

He was staring at the letter in disbelief, gloved hands trembling slightly. Audrey was staring at him with a look of concern etched onto her face. "Papa…?"

"This isn't a joke?" he asked, looking her - Frankie - in the eye.


"Not a cruel prank?"


"Because if it is…"

"M. Francœur, I love my mother. In the sixteen - almost seventeen - years I've been alive, I have only seen her happy - honestly, truly happy - a total of six or seven times. I have spent ten years trying to fix that. Five weeks of that were spent trying to find you, to ask for any help you can offer. Do you honestly think I'm doing this for a laugh?"

"Papa, it wouldn't make any sense for her to-" BANG! Audrey jumped violently as the knocking continued. Slowly she put on her mask and stood, approaching the door. Opening it, but keeping the chain locked, she looked out. "May I... help you?"

"Is there a girl by the name of Marie in there?"

Frankie looked at Francœur in panic. "Hide me," she whispered.

"Marie? Marie quelle?"

"Marie Francis Prefet," he said as Frankie hid in the closet.

"Non, I have never heard that name before."

"Alright then." The officer left, and Frankie gave a loud sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"I thought your name was Frankie?"

"My legal name is Marie Francis. CALL me that and I will never forgive you. I hate that name, Marie. I hate being called that. It's just not me."

"Kay, then."

Francœur was staring at her again. "Did you say Prefet?"

"Oui, Monsieur. Why?"


Francœur stared at the envelope. It was midnight. Frankie was asleep on a bed from one of the sets, insisting she'd a place to stay nearby come daytime. It amazed him how independent she was - she had even tried to pay rent from the money she earned doing small jobs in all of the companies in her neighborhood! He'd turned it down, so she stayed overnight, but would find an inn the next day. So now it was just him and Lucille's letter.

He slowly opened it. The pages were covered in smudges and cross-outs, like the letter had been written in any small moment the author could spare. A small grin played at his lips as he read the letter.


I do not know where to begin. I have rewritten this letter so many times; I've probably gone through more paper in the span of these seventeen years than the rest of my life. I suppose I should start by saying I miss you. Not a day goes by where I don't miss hearing your voice or seeing your smile, or wonder where you are and what you've found. All I can hope is that you are safe and happy, and doing what you love.

I married Prefet. I had little choice, but I still deeply regret it. I have not sung for over ten years; my husband will not allow me to. He keeps threatening me that if I do he will throw me in jail or lock me in my room. I have considered leaving him often, but one thing holds me back - my daughter.

Her name is Francis. Her legal name is Marie Francis, due to my husband, but I have always called her Francis. As of today she is fifteen years and seven months old. She is so strong, so independent, and such a proud, brave girl- if not for the fact that I am her mother, I would never believe she was Prefet's daughter. Apparently, neither does she. She refuses to call him "Papa" and refers to him as Commissioner, and never does what he tells her too, and sometimes they will argue into the night and the next day. She loves singing as much as I do, but the Captain won't allow it. She keeps mentioning running away from home, and is constantly trying to "get even" with her father - when he told her respectable ladies wear their hair in a bun as opposed to a ponytail like she had, she took a pair of scissors and cut the whole thing off! I worry that one day she will get herself into real trouble.

What else… oh, yes, L'Oiseau Rare shut down after I left, and I have not heard from Emile or Raoul since. My daughter constantly delivers messages to me from other people, though. Where she finds the time and energy to get around Paris so fast I will never know.

There is so much else I wish to tell you - about these long years, about things I've discovered, all the things I never said when you were with me. But those I would rather say to you myself. I must conclude this letter where it stands, perhaps I will add more later. For now, though, it sounds from what I hear downstairs as though my daughter has once again brought a lit match to the Commissioner's coat tail.

Forever thinking of you,


He stared at the letter; he would be crying if he could. She remembered - after all these years, she remembered him. Francoeur left the room for his own, but stopped at the backstage, to see how Frankie was doing. She had pulled the bed up to a large window and was sitting, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, and she was gazing out the window, singing something under her breath. The poster, along with a lone portrait of Lucille, was taped onto the wall. Francoeur looked at her, listening and debating whether or not to walk over. She stopped singing the first song, and began a new one.

"Come out moon

Come out wishing star

Come out

Come out

Wherever you are

I'm alone here in the dark

All alone and wide awake

Come and find me

I'm empty and I'm cold

And my heart is about to break

Come and find me

A need you to come here and find me

Cause without you I'm totally lost

I've hung a wish on every star

It hasn't done much good so far

I can only dream of you

Wherever you are

I'll hear you laugh

I'll see you smile

I'll be with you just for a while

But when the morning comes

And the sun begins to rise

I'll lose you

Because it's just a dream

When I open up my eyes

I'll lose you

I use to believe in forever

But forever is too good to be true

I've hung a wish on every star

It hasn't done much good so far

I don't know what else to do

Except to try to dream of you

And wonder if you are dreaming to

Wherever you are

Wherever you are..."

Francœur watched her for a few moments before leaving her to her thoughts, heading to bed.