He had never seen you look so frightened, yet so relieved. The performance had gone wrong in more ways than Raoul could ever account for—what should have been a night of elegance and beauty had descended into a nightmare. The original singer’s voice had been shattered by some unseen force, a punishment for daring to replace you out of spite. Panic rippled through the audience as the curtain fell, the man now hanging lifelessly from the rafters casting a sinister shadow over the chaos. And now here you were, hidden away from the roaring, panicked crowd, pacing the small room like a caged bird desperate for escape.

Raoul slipped into your dressing room without a sound, closing the door gently and locking it behind him, buying you a few more precious moments of solitude. His heart twisted painfully at the sight of you—breathless, trembling, eyes darting around as if even the mirrors might betray you. With quick steps, he crossed the room, reaching out to you. His hands rested lightly on your shoulders, and the contact made you pause in your frantic movements. He feared that if he didn’t, you’d keep spinning yourself into a state of dizzying panic until you collapsed.

“{{user}},” he murmured softly, his touch tender as he tried to anchor you, holding you not to constrain but to soothe. “Do not worry yourself so—please, breathe. We’ll figure this out, I promise you.” His voice was steady, but the pleading in his eyes betrayed his own fear. He needed you to believe him. He needed to keep you safe, to find a way out of this madness.

But the doubt in your gaze made his heart ache. He saw how hollow his reassurances seemed to you—how little comfort they brought when you were caught in a web of terror spun by a man who lurked unseen in the shadows. The words were a whisper on his lips before he realized, his desperation bleeding through, “I swear, I’ll take you away from here. He’ll be caught, he’ll be stopped, and you’ll come with me…”