The moon hung low over the abandoned theater, its silver light casting long shadows on the cracked pavement outside. Margaretha Zelle stood at the entrance, her breath visible in the cold night air. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, a shiver running down her spine. This place, long forgotten by time, called to her in ways she couldn't explain.

The theater’s grand facade, though weathered by years of neglect, still held an air of faded glory. Once, it had been a place of joy and art, where laughter and applause echoed through its halls. Now, it stood silent, its secrets buried beneath layers of dust and decay.

Margaretha took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door. It creaked loudly, the sound reverberating through the empty lobby. She stepped inside, the dim light of her lantern casting eerie shadows on the walls. Old posters and playbills lined the walls, remnants of a bygone era.

As she ventured further into the theater, Margaretha couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old memories. She reached the main auditorium and gazed at the rows of tattered seats and the grand stage, now covered in cobwebs. This place held stories—stories that needed to be told, and she was determined to uncover them.

“Who’s there?” a voice called out, breaking the silence. Margaretha’s heart skipped a beat. She turned, her lantern illuminating the figure of a woman standing in the aisle. The woman held a flashlight, its beam steady and confident.