After working tirelessly day and night, you finally put the polishing touches on the new script just before formal rehearsals begin.
Today, you're scheduled to rehearse a pivotal emotional scene with Bianca, so you arrive at the theater early to prepare. Pushing open the main doors to what should be an empty building, you stop short. You are not alone.
Good morning. Did you rest well?
Hearing your footsteps, Bianca looks up from the stage and greets you with a gentle smile.
I only wished to prepare a little more, to properly cherish every moment I have to perform alongside you.
But tell me, did you rest properly last night? Even when chasing inspiration, you must be kind to yourself. Please don't push yourself as hard as you did before.
As she speaks, the memory seems to dawn on her as well, softening her voice into a near-whisper. You know precisely what she recalls—that night she promised to "keep watch," only to be overtaken by sleep herself.
You jolt awake, the real world still shrouded in darkness outside your window. Bianca lies beside you, undisturbed. Clinging to the last shreds of your dream before they can dissolve, you slip out of bed, spread blank pages across your desk, and begin to write feverishly.
The night, the dreamscapes, the phantom lurking in the shadows, and an undying love... it all pours from your pen in an endless stream.
Time loses all meaning. You write in a trance, unaware of the passing hours until a sliver of dawn light pierces the window and glides across your manuscript.
Then, a soft murmur from behind breaks the spell.
It's all right... you can sleep a little longer.
Shifting in the bed, Bianca hovers in the space between dreams and waking, her watchful instinct persisting even in slumber.
Bianca's eyes flutter open to the morning light. Realizing she'd been soundly asleep for the whole night, she hastily rises and straightens her clothes, her face flushing with embarrassment.
I'm so sorry... How could I have fallen asleep like that? I promised I would watch over you.
Your joke lands lightly in the room, but it doesn't settle. Bianca's smile is a fleeting, fragile thing. When she speaks, her voice is laced with a concern far heavier than your jest could lift.
I... I just worry that strange "phantom" might appear and harm you.
And that I won't be able to stop it... or rather, that I won't be able to stop myself.
Bianca stands with her back to the window, the morning sunlight filtering through to frame her silhouette in a dance of light and shadow. Her expression is unreadable.
You step forward and take her hand in yours, hoping the gesture will ease the trouble in her mind.
Sometimes, it feels as though I am becoming someone else, a self I no longer recognize. The things this "other me" might do... they fill me with dread.
I've grown afraid of sleep, afraid of being pulled into the world of this "other self" that lives in my dreams.
Maestro, I know these fears lack any credible proof. You must think me childish for being so troubled by them, but I...
Bianca's tension eases, her expression softening like a sigh. She turns to the window, her attention captured by the rising sun.
Gentle light filters through the lattice, washing over her face, and in its brilliance, she seems to settle into a "reality" meant solely for the waking. A private, quiet smile touches her lips.
But if someday... if I truly become lost in those dreamlike "shadows"... Please, you must come for me. Guide me back to the light.
Come into my dreams, and tell me yourself...
The promise you have made to each other that day gently dissolves into the soft light of dawn.
The soft whisper of footsteps draws you back from the past. You look up, and the stage is empty; Bianca is now standing before you.
The memory of her solemn expression in that moment merges with the face before you now.
Come, wanderer of this realm. Take my hand, and let us step into my dream together.
Noticing your distraction, she smiles and breathes a line from the play—an incantation that dissolves the world around you.
The stage lights die, leaving only a ghostly wash. A path unspools before you, weaving into an elaborate maze as a low mist curls around your ankles, its cool touch raising goosebumps on your skin.
Bianca moves ahead, a lantern held aloft, its flame a solitary, flickering heart in the swallowing dark. The dancing light traces her slender silhouette, a guide in this manufactured wilderness.
In this scene, she is the "Phantom", luring you toward her secret labyrinth.
But watching her now, you feel a new and unsettling power radiating from her form, a gravity that wasn't in the script.
Do not let this exquisite night go to waste. Heed my call... and return to my side.
Her voice cuts through the mist, its resonance unlike anything you've ever heard from her.
It is a catalyst. In the darkness, a dormant power stirs within Bianca, unfurling like invisible vines until it saturates the very air of the theater.
You feel its delicate tendrils brush against you, then coil, silent and sure, around your limbs and through your core.
Your feet still move to her rhythm, but you realize, with a distant shock, that your steps have grown heavy. You are no longer walking with her; you are sinking, guided by her will, into the depths of a layered and intricate dream.
From this moment on, our souls shall be entwined as one.
The firefly-glow of Bianca's lantern has vanished, swallowed by the mist without warning.
The realization strikes you cold: you are alone. The fog clings to your skin, a damp shroud, and its chill seeps deeper, clouding your very thoughts.
I am.
As she answers softly, her warm breath caresses the back of your neck, raising a trail of fine shivers across your skin.
Before you can, her arms slide around your shoulders, drawing you back. Her voice drops to a sweet whisper in your ear, even more enchanting than moments ago.
Your soul will become one with mine... but that is merely the beginning. For I am so very greedy.
So, surrender all that you are to me, "Gray Raven"...
A wave of her warm breath, then the soft press of her lips against your earlobe.
Her fingertips find you from behind—a slow, deliberate path along your jaw, a caress against your cheek, then a final, gentle descent over your eyes. The world vanishes into a deep, sudden dark.
An unfamiliar pressure settles as she secures a mask in place. Her breath ghosts your skin once more, her voice a whisper meant for you alone.
Come. Allow me to guide you to the true finale.
Enveloped in an impenetrable darkness, your vision is utterly useless, but your other senses sharpen to a razor's edge. The only anchor is the stairs beneath your feet and the subtle pressure of Bianca's hand, guiding you step by step toward the stage.
The empty theater is a cavern of silence, your footsteps the only sound echoing in its vastness.
Then, the floor becomes flat. A faint, amber glow bleeds around the edges of the mask, and you feel the phantom warmth of the spotlight. You have arrived at the center stage.
Now, we shall play the nocturne that belongs to us alone.
Her fingertips brush your cheek once more as the mask is lifted. The sudden, brutal glare of the light makes your consciousness swim, a dizzying ascent from a deep dream.
Your vision sharpens to reveal Bianca, standing before you in full costume, dazzling under the stage lights.
Yet, she is transformed. The "Phantom" mask she now wears obscures her gaze, rendering her inscrutable.
You are in the labyrinth of mirrors, the Phantom's domain from the play. All around you, ghostly reflections shimmer on the glass, a legion of illusions encircling her.
The line between the real Bianca and her countless echoes blurs, making it nearly impossible to tell which is truly her.
You, who have always dwelled in the light... why do you turn away from the love I offer from the shadows? This passion burns within me, fiercer than the most blinding sun.
A single word from you would be enough to shatter these chains of shadow. We could compose our symphony together.
Just one word... or perhaps... a single kiss.
Her voice echoes through the empty theater, a mesmerizing force that seems to emanate from the very walls, much like the Phantom in your play.
With an enigmatic smile gracing her lips, she closes the distance between you.
Do you not wish... to be the one who saves me from this eternal solitude?
I ask for nothing more than a single kiss.
She is so close you can feel her breath mingling with yours. Then, an unfamiliar coolness presses against your skin. It's the smooth surface of her mask.
Your fingers barely graze the mask when her hand snaps up, an unyielding grip locking around your wrist. In an attempt to avoid your gaze, her other hand rises to gently guide your face, a silent command to close your eyes and accept her kiss.
This Bianca radiates an aura utterly alien to her usual self. Your suspicions scream in warning, and a primal instinct makes you resist, pulling back from the spell she's trying to cast.
In the dizzying shift, your gaze flicks to the mirrors. You can't be sure it's real, but in the glass, Bianca's countless reflections turn their heads in unison—a legion of faces with countless eyes now fixed upon you.
That gaze is possessive, hungry. It is a look you have never seen in her eyes before, as if it belongs to an entirely different being.
The memory of your first meeting's abrupt end, the shared dance where you found her unfamiliar, her sleep-talking in the rainy night... it all collapses into this single moment, weaving a web of doubt that ensnares you both.
She stops, her smile both gentle and irresistibly commanding.
In the final act... the Phantom's beloved chooses the darkness, to stay by her side for eternity.
Her beloved sealed their vow with a kiss, a promise to never part... just as we are now.
All I want... is for you to be mine. Forever.
Your heart offers no resistance, only unconditional compassion, and in this silence, you feel a consciousness stirring in the darkness.
It's her desperate, unspoken wish growing wild in the shadows, enveloping the once-tranquil soul.
Yet, from the edges of this dream, that pure white soul cries out, yearning to return to your side.
You step forward and take her hand, reaching for the familiar spirit slumbering within this layered dreamscape.
The memory of your dawn promise surfaces, clear and vivid.
But if someday... if I truly become lost in those dreamlike "shadows"... Please, you must come for me. Guide me back to the light.
Come into my dreams, and tell me yourself...
Holding fast to that promise, you speak, each word firm and deliberate.
The promised words work like a spell, breaking a curse. The figure before you hesitates, a tremor of awakening in her once-slumbering heart.
She stands motionless, as if slowly surfacing from a deep trance. Though she offers no reply, the silence itself shifts, charged with the fragile, nascent thing now stirring within her.
...
Her expression remains a secret behind the mask. After a silence that stretches into eternity, her hand finds yours—a tentative, weightless touch, trusting you to lead her to the true path.
A flicker of reassurance allows you to lower the guard you've held so tightly. Your fingers close around hers as you begin to pull her from the clinging layers of illusion that hold her mind captive.
Taking the candle from her hand, you lead her back into the labyrinth's narrow throat. The single flame beats back the oppressive mist, a tiny beacon guiding you both through the treacherous, shifting maze.
The ever-lasting walk is a delirium; time and perception warp until you can no longer distinguish the winding paths of the maze from the veil of dreams.
Finally, the exit comes into view, not far ahead.
But suddenly, a void opens in your grasp. The pressure of Bianca's hand, a constant until this moment, vanishes.
Puzzled, you turn to find her standing rigid, her steps arrested. She is no longer following.
She offers no answer. The shadows cast by her veil shroud her face, obscuring any emotion in her eyes.
A dizzying realization dawns: you are still trapped within the maze of countless illusory mirrors. This is not its exit, but the very heart.
And finally, she smiles.
But I do not wish to wake... nor do I wish for you to wake.
Have you ever wondered... when does one first realize they are dreaming? And how can you be certain you are not in one now?
You hesitate... because you do not see the truth. You are already in the dream. My dream.
You thought yourself the lucid savior, guiding me back to reality... when all the while, I was using your own dream as a passage into the heart of mine.
You never truly awoke. And what is so wrong with remaining in a dream?
Why endure the hollow ache of reality when what we have now can last forever?
Stay. This is a beautiful, eternal dream that belongs only to us... Stay with me in this moment, sharing this never-ending dreamscape.
I want you to know my true heart...
...I love you.
She draws you into an embrace, her lips brushing your ear once more. A bone-deep cold follows the touch, seeping into your very core.
Within her arms, you are falling, tumbling with her towards the edge of an endless, labyrinthine dream. The surging shadows coil around you, a glacial tide that numbs your limbs and stills your thoughts.
Your vision blurs, the world dissolving into a thick fog that descends like a final curtain.
At the periphery of the formless dream, reality itself succumbs; shapes twist, corroded by the inner darkness, melting away into the void.
This is the only thought that surfaces in your mind before your consciousness is drawn into the borderlands of the dream.
