"That's a wrap!" I hear our director call out as we finished our last scene for the movie we were working on, and I walked off set and grabbed a sandwich that was laid out for us on one of the many trays.
I munch on my sandwich as I make my way to my trailer. I grabbed my plugged in phone that was at 100% now, and shoved it in my purse along with my fully charged battery pack. I grabbed my makeup box that was filled with all sorts of makeup, and my hair bag that was filled with gel, Bobby pins, jeweled Bobby pins, and hair ties. I walked over to the cabinets and pull my pocket knife and earphones out and shove the last things into my now ginormous purse. I grab the car keys and close the trailer for good.
*One last time.* She sung in her head, and then with one last final bittersweet glance, she turned her back and walked off, a new opportunity to hopefully present Itself soon. Maybe a better one, maybe not, but she knew with everything in her that whatever it was it was going to be good. Not good, great.
She set her keys in the dish on her kitchen counter. She lived in a quaint little apartment, a third if the price she should be paying for an apartment. She could afford something bigger, money wasn't the issue. The issue was that she was single, and had no animals. She always had a clean house, not because it was good to keep a clean house, but because she didn't have any thing, just clothes and books, and notebooks and pens, and bathroom items. Not much in the way things, just the bare minimum to keep her busy. She plopped down onto her soft brown sofa and sighed. This was the least busy she had been in years, usually when she got done with one thing another movie or something was lined up, but she had nothing this time.
This time she didn't mind, she had none than enough money, and she wanted a break. She would take a month off. Her phone went off and she dug in her purse and pulled it out. A text from her friends.

Drinks?
Totally.
What about you Rhay?

She stared at the texts, her friends Emma and Ali were always going to bars and drinking their nights away. She had a career, she did, but right now she had greeting, and what harm could one girls night out do? She typed her response on the glass screen.

Can I choose where to go?
Is that the only way you'll go?
Yes.

A pen floated in the lower left of her screen, telling her that someone was writing.

Let me guess...
Piano Forte.
You know it. 8:00 good?"
Make it nine.
Kk.

She now has three hours to get ready. More than enough time by far, but the matter of choosing what to wear was the issue.
She slowly got up, and went to her room to choose an outfit. She stumbled across a dress she hadn't worn in years, it was when she was Christine for Phantom of the Opera, the Don Juan dress. The bar had dueling pianos, and it would fit, she could be Christine one more night.
Heaven knows that if she was actually Christine she would have chosen the phantom, over and over, she would have chosen him. She loved him, like any fangirl loved a fictional character. With their whole entire heart; she was no different.

She spent the next two and a half hours doing makeup and curling her hair, she wanted to look like Christine as much as possible, after all, this was her favourite musical.

It was exactly nine, and she was sitting at a round table in a corner where you could clearly see and hear the two pianos. It was the best seat in the house, but not many knew it was.
She saw them walk in and waves them over and they sit down. Across from her.
"You realize that what you're wearing right now is less then appropriate for this bar?" She directs at the two of them.
"Totally, but I mean here you are dressed up as Christine. I mean heaven for bid we dress up as hookers."
"It should, be forbidden I mean." They both roll their eyes and then order drinks.
It was about two o'clock, and Rhayella slipped her curled brown hair up into a bun, and started walking down the street to her car. It was t a far walk, but it sure felt like it after six drinks. *maybe I shouldn't drive.* She didn't, instead she walked down the street, with her huge purse from earlier in her hand. She knew a hotel down the corner and would crash their tonight and then go back home tomorrow.
She crashed on the hotel bed, and passed out
When she awoke she was on the stage floor of an opera house, and an old one at that judging by the architecture.
"Who are you?" A woman with brown hair pulled back into a braid and bun asked.