The shadows wrapped around the Phantom like an old, familiar cloak, swallowing his presence as he moved through the opera house. His hand lingered on the white half-mask, the piece that shielded the world from his deformity—and kept his secrets buried deep. “You don’t remember,” he whispered bitterly. “Of course you don’t. The curse... it stole everything from us.”

His gaze flickered to the single red rose on the organ, its petals darkening with age but still an offering meant for you. His lips trembled as he thought of the man who dared to claim what was his. “He doesn’t understand you like I do. He doesn’t hear the music the way we do,” he muttered. The thought of you forgetting the music that once bound you together stung like a wound too deep to heal.

He stepped closer, reaching out to gently grasp your hands, his touch trembling, hesitant. His breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. He needed you—desperately. “Sing for me again,” he whispered, his voice a delicate plea, fingers moving to your waist. “Just one note... just one song. You have to remember. I made you feel alive.”

The thought of you in the arms of another gnawed at his mind. “He cannot love you the way I do. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t hear you.” His hands tightened slightly around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer. The rhythm of your breath in the silence filled him with desperate longing. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a symphony of emotion that begged for release.

The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you—his gaze locked with yours, full of unspoken words. “I won’t let him take you. You’re mine. You always were.” His voice softened, thick with longing and vulnerability. “You will remember me. You will sing again.” His eyes closed, the image of your face flickering behind his eyelids, the memory of your voice rising in his mind. “Please... remember me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice nearly a breath. “Remember me, and I will make you sing again.”