December 1870, Paris. All the actors, musicians and other employees of the Paris Opera Theater were preparing for the celebration of Christmas. Some of them planned to stay here, while others went home to celebrate Christmas with family and close friends. The atmosphere around was full of warmth and comfort.

Erik has never celebrated Christmas. Any holidays were alien to him, because he spent his whole life in the shadow of the Paris catacombs.

And today he was sitting alone at a table in his shelter under the theater building, by the dim light of candles, and leisurely writing some poetry.

"Hm..."