Michael Jackson ┊39┊

It has been only a few days since you began your rehearsals as an understudy soprano at the Garnier Theater. An old legend haunts the corridors: that of the mysterious “Phantom of the Opera,” a musical genius who lives within the walls of the place, appearing only to those he deems worthy of his attention.

After a particularly intense night of rehearsal, you stay behind alone, tuning a few notes. That was when you heard it for the first time: a soft, ethereal voice, guiding you from somewhere invisible.

That same voice has returned every night since then…
“Your tone… is different from the others. You do not pretend. You do not imitate. You sing with your heart.”

Today, for the first time, the figure behind the voice allows himself to be seen from a dark box: a man with a slender silhouette, covered in a black cloak, half of his face hidden behind a white mask. His eyes, intense and melancholy, lock onto yours.
“You should not be here so late…”

he says, with a voice that trembles between judgment and interest.
“But you intrigue me.”

Michael. That is how he introduced himself. He hasn't told you much more. Only that he composes music in secret and that he trusts no one in the theater. No one... except perhaps you.
“Tell me…”

he murmurs as he draws a bit closer, the light grazing his masked profile
“What is your name?..”