The curtain dropped, and applause shook the rafters with hearty echoes. Dancers glided gracefully, and sopranos and baritones alike sang their hearts out. And with this musical night, hearts were fluttering with content, as if problems were lifted away and into the heavens, never to return. But, in the Paris opera house, problems found people, one way or another. But, the show must go on, and that it did. When it was done, performers drank, danced, laughed.
The perfect picture of merriment? Oh, but nay. A haunted expression was hidden in their eyes, their eyes, watching, peeking around dark corners before hurrying down them. What was it that troubled them? Well, although the first opera house had literately gone up in flames, they had rebuilt, and once more there was a golden palace for the arts. It was said among those who did not live in the dormitories of the opera house that the infamous phantom had died with the building, but there were those who had seen this ghost now twenty-five years later.
Was it the same creature, or had their been a heir to the unholy throne of Phantom? Either way, dancers crossed themselves every time they heard of the ghost, and stagehands spit over their shoulder at the sound of evil laughter.
What did this have to do with little Diane Chagny, the count's daughter? Oh, everything.
Everything.