ialigncentersize7Part One: He who dons the Cloak of Shadow /align/size

size4Setting: Thirty Years Earlier: 1881/size/i

A fleeting speck of black from the shadows grazes the corner of your eye. Quite subtle, yet profound in itself. You ignore it and continue with your business. Minutes later, you see it again, this time more noticeable. You are quite positive that no one could be way up in the rafters, especially during rehearsal. You begin to doubt your own mind and are drawn into a world of uncertainty.

After rehearsal, you find it best not to mention the incident to the other actors, but to your surprise, you find that they are complaining of similar incidents, all involving something from shadow. One of the actors even swears he heard the creaking of the rafter above, as if there had been someone up there, spying on them.

But spying is such a harsh word. I don't spy. I prefer to call it isubtle observance /i. Perhaps my manner is a bit unorthodox, but no matter. I retreat to the cover of shadow and darkness because no one could ever possibly ibegin/i to understand me. You see, no one has seen my face in over forty years. My public appearance have been confined to small disturbances in the corner of your eye, a faint outline in the corner, and foreboding shadows cast over the stage.

But why do I bother with such petty things as 'spying'? I would think that such a thing would be below me. Years ago, it would have been. But my motive in doing so is much different than you might think.

"What is the problem here?'" the director growled to his actors, who were beginning to feel a bit uneasy by all this.

"Nothing is wrong," Carlotta, the leading lady, rose to say. "We wish to continue with rehearsal," she finished, very matter-of-factly.

"Very well then! Come now, everyone, positions, from the top!" the director bellowed.

Bah! This woman could never lead an Opera here! The star must possess a voice that mesmerizes the soul and paralyzes the senses. When you hear her sing, you are whisked into the mysterious world of music and pure beauty. You forget where you are, why you are there, and even who you are. You are lost in the universe her voice creates.

I have found her. She is here in the Opera house, but her itrue/ibeauty still lay undiscovered, concealed by the image of Carlotta's false stardom. I intended to change this, not only for the sake of her and the opera house, but for the sake of me and my sanity.

But who am I to say this, you ask? Who am I to disrespect perhaps the most renowned opera singer in the world? Who am I to say that this woman, a mere chorus girl, could replace Carlotta?

From the moment I heard her sing, the moment the music came from her lips, I fell deeply and passionately in love. iThe world must hear her voice/i I thought. Today would be the day. She would be exposed to the world as a star.

aligncenterI am The Phantom of the Opera. /align