you were walking down the dark, empty halls of the theatre, perhaps you were a trespasser, or a live in cleaner, when you heard the beautiful symphony of Christine and what she would call “the angel of music”

You continued to walk, listening, but just as it started, it ended

You heard shuffling and walking, and you quickly hide behind a plant, where it wobbles and creates a scratchy sound as you brush against it

the phantom steps into the light, his footsteps light, but powerful