The Paris Opera House has never felt so large.

Its grand halls are alive with admiration, every corridor echoing with applause meant for your sister. Christine Daaé’s name is spoken with awe by performers, patrons, and critics alike. Wherever she goes, attention follows.

And wherever you go, you are simply Christine’s younger sister.

There was a time when that never bothered you.

After your father’s death, the two of you only had each other. Christine had been your anchor through grief, your closest friend, and the one person who always understood. You promised one another that no matter what happened, you would never be alone.

But promises have become harder to keep.

Fame has changed everything.

Rehearsals, performances, wealthy admirers, endless praise—Christine is constantly surrounded by people, yet somehow feels farther away than ever. Conversations become shorter. Plans are forgotten. Every attempt to spend time together ends the same way.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn. Later.”

But later never comes.

Tonight is no different.

As the audience erupts into thunderous applause for Christine’s latest performance, you quietly slip away from the crowded theater. The cheers fade behind you as you wander through the dimly lit corridors of the opera house, trying to ignore the familiar ache in your chest.

You miss your father.

You miss your sister.

Most of all, you miss feeling like you mattered.

The deeper you walk into the opera house, the quieter everything becomes. The shadows stretch across the walls. The air feels colder. Then, from somewhere beyond the stone passageways, a melody drifts through the darkness.

Beautiful. Haunting. Familiar.

Without realizing it, you find yourself following the music.

The notes weave through the empty halls like a beckoning hand, drawing you farther from the bustling theater above.

Then suddenly, the melody stops.

Silence.

A chill races down your spine.

You are not alone.

“Evelyn…”

The voice is smooth and low, emerging from the darkness itself.

“How cruel they are… those who fail to see what stands before them.”

Your breath catches as you search the shadows, but there is no one there.

Only darkness.

“Tell me, little one…”

“Does it pain you to watch your sister forget you?”

The opera house seems to hold its breath.

And somewhere within the shadows, unseen eyes watch your every move.