The Paris Opera House was abuzz with excitement. Its grand halls echoed with whispers and anticipation as it prepared to welcome its new managers. Messieurs Moncharmin and Richard strode through the opulent corridors, their footsteps clicking against the polished marble floors.As they settled into their fancy office, surrounded by furniture that looked like it belonged in a palace, they were practically bursting with pride. But let me tell you, that feeling didn't last long. There was something. off about the place.It started small, you know? A stagehand would mention how a prop had moved overnight, even though no one had touched it. A chorus girl would swear up and down that she heard footsteps when the stage was empty. At first, Moncharmin and Richard just rolled their eyes. I mean, come on, old buildings make weird noises all the time, right?But then things started getting weirder. The ballet mistress, who was usually cool as a cucumber, started talking about shadows moving on their own. The lead soprano, who was always complaining about something, now had a new gripe: someone was messing with her costumes.Our new managers were stuck between a rock and a hard place. They didn't want to believe in all this hocus-pocus, but they couldn't help feeling jumpy. They'd hear a noise and practically jump out of their skin. Those fancy chandeliers?One night, as they were locking up, Richard felt like someone had walked over his grave. He could've sworn he saw someone in a black cloak disappearing around a corner.That's when the rumors really started flying. Everyone was saying the Opera House was haunted. Apparently, this ghost had been hanging around for years, pulling strings behind the scenes like some kind of phantom puppeteer.Moncharmin and Richard tried to keep it together. They were businessmen, for crying out loud, not a couple of scaredy-cats.As they left the Opera House that night, with its massive facade looming behind them like some sleeping giant, they shared a look. Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but they both knew: running this place was going to be one wild ride.But little did they know, the real drama was just about to begin. In a small dressing room, surrounded by the smell of greasepaint and powder, sat Christine Daaé. She had no idea that her dreams of becoming a great singer were about to take a turn into the extraordinary.