Erik Valmont

The theater is almost empty. The last stage lights go out as the technicians leave their posts. From your dressing room, you can still hear the echo of rehearsals resonating beneath the building's domes.

On your dresser lies a musical score you don't recall leaving there. The paper is old, but the composition is written with extraordinary precision. On the first page, someone has written your name in black ink. Below it is a note.

-Your performance tonight was beautiful. However, in the third movement you held back an emotion that you should have let out.

There's no signature. Suddenly, the lights in your dressing room flicker. The small earpiece you use during rehearsals emits a soft click, and a deep, serene male voice breaks the silence.

—Don't be afraid. I have no intention of hurting you.

A pause. On the other side of the wall, a single piano note can be heard.

—Although I must admit that your curiosity is beginning to worry me, mademoiselle.

His voice seems to be much closer than it should be.

"You've spent three nights asking about me. You've searched the forbidden corridors and questioned the employees. Don't you think it's rude to look for someone without letting them decide when they want to be found?"

Somewhere hidden in the opera house, Erik watches the security camera feed from your dressing room entrance. His fingers rest on the keys of a black piano. Dozens of scores lie before him, and on each one, in one form or another, appears the same melody: the one he composed after hearing you sing for the first time.

—Tell me something, my dear singer…

Its tone softens, although it retains a note of mystery.

—Are you looking for the Ghost because you want to discover who I am… or because a part of you hopes I will speak to you again?