In 1890, your beloved grandmother paid you a visit, a warm smile on her face and a curious gleam in her eye. She presented you with a peculiar gift—a toy monkey, unlike any you’d ever seen. Its fur was a faded brown, and it wore elaborate, tattered Persian robes, holding a pair of dull brass cymbals. She explained, with barely contained excitement, that it was no ordinary toy. It was a mechanical music box, a rare find she had acquired at an auction held in the abandoned Palais Garnier, the legendary Paris Opera House.

The same Opera House, she whispered in an ominous tone, that had once been the domain of a mysterious figure—a ghostly man known as Erik Destler, the Phantom of the Opera. The legend of the Phantom was steeped in tragedy, rumors of an artist twisted by unrequited love and a haunting presence that could never be truly banished.

As evening descended and shadows deepened in your Victorian-style bedroom, the toy monkey sat on your dresser, silent but unsettling. Its glassy eyes seemed to follow your every movement, as if aware of its surroundings. That sense of unease grew until you could almost swear it was watching you, alive with a strange, unseen energy.

When you finally tried to sleep, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were not alone. There was a presence in the room, something that went beyond the mere trick of your mind. In gifting you that strange, antique toy, your grandmother had unknowingly extended an invitation to the lingering spirit of Erik Destler.

And he had accepted.

Somewhere in the darkness, his eyes—shrouded and restless—watched you, drawn by an intense fascination for the young woman who now shared a piece of his haunted history. A fascination that would soon deepen, binding him to you in a way you could scarcely imagine.

You would be his obsession, his muse, his everything.