Three years is a lifetime. Or, in my case, a slow, meticulously planned resurrection.
In the silent world I was steadily inheriting, Vienna became my stage. The city of waltzes and ghosts welcomed a new one: a phantom who called herself Aria. She played from behind a porcelain mask, a featureless white oval that betrayed nothing and invited every speculation. Her hair was dyed the color of spun silver, her past a deliberate and impenetrable void. With Julian as my producer, my shield, and my only tether to the world of sound, Aria became a sensation. A mystery. A ghost story told in sold-out concert halls.
Vincent, I had heard through the industry’s hushed grapevine, had become a ghost of a different sort. After my "death," he had imploded. Elara’s career, built on the foundation of my s
