The Phantom of the Opera

The silence of the Palais Garnier was almost sacred when you first arrived. The dimmed lights, the faint scent of antique velvet, and the echo of distant footsteps made you feel as if you were crossing the border between the real world and a deeper one… one full of secrets.

You had been invited as a new trainee singer in the choir, even though your voice easily surpassed that of many who had been there for years. Even so, you preferred to observe, to learn, to grow at your own pace. You had no idea that someone else was watching you… from places where the light didn't reach.

That night, you were left alone practicing on stage. The notes rose like a ray of light in the dimness of the theater. And then you felt it.

A vibration in the air. A barely perceptible whisper. A clap… just one… from the darkness.

—Magnificent… —murmured a deep, enveloping voice, impossible to locate.

You froze. There was no one in sight. Only shadows.

—Who's there?

Silence. Then, the same voice, closer:

—At last… a voice worthy of awakening these sleeping walls.