The dressing room was a little bare, holding only two chairs, a bed, and a vanity, all of which were covered in gloomy white sheets. One whole wall to the right of the door was covered in a sheet as well, although Christine couldn't guess as to why. The floorboards were gray with a thick layer of dust, and when she set down her bag, a small plume of dust burst into the air and then settled quietly on top of her shoes. She hardly wanted to move, fearing if she brushed even slightly against any surface that the dust might cling to the edges of her skirt and attract the cold, judgemental eyes of the ballet girls. Christine imagined herself covered in patches of dirt, very out of place in such a beautiful building. At least it was an isolated hall. There were no other dressing rooms in this part of the opera house, and Christine was far away from any ballet girls that might whisper about the state of her dress. She stepped further into the room.
There were no windows, and Christine already missed the natural light found in the busier areas of the opera house. She swept her fingers along the wall, pulling down cobwebs and rolling the dust into dust bunnies. She clapped her hands to shake it off. For a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed. This was her home, for the time being. She imagined Mama waiting for her back at the house, the windows open and the clean, sheer curtains fluttering. There was no breeze here, but it was cold. Christine supposed she would have to get used to it.
Christine rolled up her sleeves. She gripped the edges of a white sheet and pulled it briskly off the vanity. She rolled it up and dropped it, then moved onto the next sheet and repeated the process. Finally she came to the sheet pinned to the wall. It was a different color than the other sheets. This one was a dingy, dark color, and of a thicker material. Christine gripped it at the bottom, pondered the feel of it against her fingers, then pulled it taut and ripped. She heard the pins pop out of place at the top of the sheet. One by one, the pins came loose, and the curtain came down in sections. Halfway through, Christine readjusted her grip and began again. A few more pins popped. They clattered on the floor and rolled to her feet. The rest of the sheet fell and swung from Christine's hands. She did not roll it up.
Behind the curtain was a clouded mirror the length and height of the entire wall. Christine felt almost personally offended that such a beautiful mirror had been allowed to fall into such disrepair. She tugged her sleeve over her hand and used it to wipe the mirror's surface. It smudged the mirror more than it cleared it. Her own reflection was nearly disfigured in the muddy mirror. Christine observed it for quite a while.
"I think it's cozy," Came a voice.
Christine jumped and dropped the sheet. In the doorway was a bony young woman with dark skin. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, but she did not smile.
"Oh," Christine said. "Hello. Forgive me; I didn't see you standing there."
"I scared you, didn't I?" The girl said. Christine noticed she was wearing ballet slippers.
"A little. My name is Christine Daae."
"I know. I saw you come in. The whole troupe saw you."
"Yes, I suppose they did."
"It'll eat you up," the girl said. "If you let it."
"I'm sorry; I don't think I understand exactly what you mean."
The girl leaned in with a hushed whisper. "The opera house. It lives and breathes like anything else. You're frightened of the ballet girls. But it isn't us you ought to be afraid of."
Christine frowned. "You are being rather frightening."
The girl laughed. "Don't be frightened. My name is Meg."
Christine smiled at her uncertainly and shook her hand. "It's a pleasure, Meg. I hope your room is nearby."
"Oh, it isn't. You're very alone out here, Christine." Meg glanced at the long mirror on the wall. "But I wonder…"
"Wonder?"
"Oh nothing." Meg turned and floated toward the door.
"But what were you wondering?" Christine asked. She looked at the mirror as if she might see what Meg had seen. "Meg, what did you wonder?"
Meg stopped in the door and turned her eyes toward Christine. "I wonder," she said, "If we really are alone."
They each stood for a moment, thinking. Then Meg smiled, stepped outside, and closed the door.
Christine rubbed her ear thoughtfully. She faced the long mirror on the wall and peered more closely at her muddy reflection.
What a strange girl. Christine was beginning to feel less and less at home. There had been an undeniable unfriendly air when she first met the other members of the chorus and ballet, and the cold, dirty quarters had not been any more welcoming. Christine had hoped she might make some friends, but meeting Meg had put that idea far out of her head. She'd never been filled with so much anxiety over things she couldn't understand! What had she meant that the opera house lived? What had she been wondering? Her empty, far away eyes were chilling.
From the moment Christine had entered the opera house, it seemed to have been nothing but one bizarre experience after another, and she had only entered earlier this evening.
Christine shook her head. She took a long look at her reflection.
She went for her bag. She laid it on the bed and opened it. Item by item, she began to unpack. She did not let her mind wander. Cleaning was a good way to distract oneself. Daydreaming always lead Christine to dark places. So she concentrated on selecting an item and placing it about the room in its designated spot. She pulled out two dresses. They looked disturbingly cheery against the dreary backdrop of the dressing room, and she quickly tucked them away in the closet.
Returning to her work, she reached into the bag and tried to pull out a scarf. It was caught on something and she yanked on the end. The scarf came out, but it pulled a small purse with it. The purse fell hard on the floor and spew coins in every direction. They rolled loudly on the floorboards, and Christine immediately dropped to scoop them all up. She counted them out as she replaced them. One short.
Christine squinted around her. Her glasses were folded up neatly in a side pocket of the bag. She didn't like to wear them in public, but she quickly put them on and looked about.
Resting on its side, the coin was lying just by the wall with the mirror. Christine stood and, bringing the purse, walked to where it lay. She stooped to pick it up and paused.
Was that a breeze? She ran her hand along the bottom of the mirror where the coin was. Cold air was being sucked in where the mirror met the floor.
Christine looked at the door. Still closed. She ran her hands along the edges of the mirror. Was there some kind of hole behind it? Perhaps it was another room. After a few minutes of searching, her fingers slipped into a crevice she hadn't noticed-a little dip behind the mirror. She gripped it, adjusted her footing, and pulled. It did not budge.
Suddenly Christine remembered something unbidden from her childhood: an attic door with a rusted bolt. She remembered trying to force her small fingers to slide the mechanism and never succeeding. She remembered every ounce of frustration that she had long forgotten. She wanted to open that door.
Christine pulled on the mirror again and, to her surprise, it rocked as if it were on some kind of track. She pulled again. A section of the mirror slide back, but not with ease. She pushed on it, rocked it, wiggled it, and the mirror slid back even further to reveal a crack.
Where Christine had assumed there should be a wall, there was nothing but black space and a rush of cold air. She stepped back. The crack was barely wide enough to stick her arm through, and already Christine's hands hurt from wrestling with the mirror. Her curiosity appeased, she suddenly felt a rush of anxiety.
Christine knew that no matter what she discovered behind the mirror, she would not be able to sleep easily in the dressing room. She almost wanted to shut the mirror again. She wished she had never opened it.
The cold air from behind the mirror made a slight whistling against the mirror's edge. It fluttered Christine's skirt. Christine stretched out the muscles in her shoulders and resumed her position at the mirror. She began pushing.