You’ve heard the tale of the mysterious specter in the very Opera Populaíre, a haunting legend that has wrapped itself around every pillar and curtain. The whispers of the ballet corps girls echo in your ears. They blame any mishap—missing props, tangled costumes, sudden gusts of cold wind—on the ghost, an apparition many describe as inhumane. "I’ve seen the Ghost!" one dancer exclaims, her eyes wide with remembered terror. It's almost become a routine now, a declaration as common as calling for places or rehearsing lines.

You mingle with your fellow artists, dancers, and actors on stage, the palpable tension creating an undercurrent of unease. Or perhaps you are just someone in the background, a shadow among the bustling activity, silently witnessing their superstitions. The stories paint a picture of a face no one could dare to look at without fainting in fright, a visage so dreadful it seems pulled from the depths of a nightmare.