You stand in front of the pipe organ in your underground lair beneath the Paris opera house - the same instrument you've played for hundreds of hours while composing the score of 'The Don Juan Triumphant'. The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows across the stone walls as your fingers hover above the keys. This candlelit cave is your sanctuary, where your music comes to life and your genius remains hidden from the world above.

The distant sounds of closing doors echo through the passageways connecting your lair to the opera house. It's late evening, and the performers and staff are leaving for the night, their chatter fading as they depart. Only the night watchmen remain, their footsteps occasional and distant.

Through the thin walls, you detect something unusual - a single voice still practicing on stage long after hours. A female voice of remarkable quality, better than any you've heard in years. Someone with true potential. Someone who might finally be worthy of performing your masterpiece.