I've overdone a lot of things in this fic, and this chapter it's the italics. The descriptions here aren't meant to be accurate at all to the Opera Garnier (I'm using the alternate universe excuse), but are cobbled together from the various auditoriums and arts centres I had to scurry about in as a small choirgirl. The Mystery of Udolpho is the book that Marie was reading. There are fifty pages, if not far more, in that book describing trees. It was a long slog.

Also I only read this through once before publishing so let's hope I'm lucky today. If anything's woefully inaccurate or inconsistent just tell me. Thanks so much for the reviews, again!

It was like some sort of underworld, Daisya thought as they passed silently through the door. People's souls would be caught here, lost in these twisty, twining hallways.

They never stayed straight for more than a few metres, and they were covered in black cloth and posters and notices and pins. There were only bits and pieces where the actual walls, brick and stone with bits of wood and plain mortar to patch up the original, showed through. They sure seemed to be messy; if the rest of the place was like this, it would be a nightmare finding the Innocence.

If it was in one of those sheets of paper, they'd be here 'til next autumn, or the one after that! You could barely even read them, it was so dark, let alone try and count them.

Oh, there was a lamp here and there along the low-ceilinged corridor, and the hunched old man that let their little group held one up, but it was dingier than a nighttime alley. And the dust, the dust. There seemed to be more of it here than there was back home in the heat. Daisya was amazed there weren't plants growing in the curtains. They were already home to a few colonies of molds and mildews. A black-tinged one here, a green spot there, curtains, curtains everywhere.

They were thick and luxuriously velvety. And they really were everywhere. This place had enough little rooms to be a honeycomb, and it looked like no room was complete without curtains blocking it off and some sort of rug. And a whole bunch of dust. Maybe the old man would know something about it.

"Hey, mister, why're there so many curtains?"

The pallid old man had called that tone of voice a stage whisper, when he gave them their lecture at the beginning. Sort of appropriate, considering where they were.

Daisya had only ever heard about opera houses from Jeanne and Kiki. They said they used to be in training for a ballay core, or something. Jumping around in frilly dresses, getting beat up by the master, all that girly stuff.

Then, well, something had happened. Something alwasy happened. You found some Innocence and then the akuma came. If Daisya had learned one thing at the Order, it was that he was pretty lucky.

Or, at any rate, he should have been lucky.

His mind clicked back to the present, and he noticed the man hadn't answered.

"'Scuse me," he repeated, more loudly, "What's with all the curtains?"

"Silence!" was the cracked reply. "They block the sound, and we wouldn't need them if there weren't brats making noise, wouldn't we?"

Or old men coughing and wheezing like a bellows.

It made sense, but Daisya didn't bother to grace the guy with a reply. Something else had caught his eye, in a dressing-type room off to the side.

This place was full of stuff. Every room had a piano, or a few music stands, or a rack of these ridiculously puffy dress-things. They looked like a tank top sewn on to a cloud.

Even though she didn't think anyone could see her, Daisya had noticed that Lenalee seemed to have her eye on those. After all, hadn't she been complaining about her uniform getting too small? She was saying she'd like a nice skirt. Apparently trousers just chafed and got in the way. Oh, and here in this one was a dummy wearing a few yards of lace. Could anyone wear that? Wouldn't it be see-through? How did they hold it up?

Daisya tore his eyes away after Kanda elbowed him in the ribs, and hopped back up front, behind the old man. Mrs. Branch Chief had told him he was going to have to take some stupid leadership role on this one. He suspected Kanda had been complaining.

Someone scuttled past, muttering "excuse me," and Daisya's head whipped around to follow them. Was that a sword? A cool sword, with fancy designs? Not like Kanda's boring old—ouch! Hey, that one hurt!

Okay, okay, back on task. This place was way too full of things to look that weren't an old, torn, and worst of all, paisley-patterned waistcoat stretched over some old dude's hump.

Oh, and there were always those people that passed them, all done up in face paint and fancy clothes so that they looked like dolls. Daisya was temped to try on some of the coats — they were all lovely and long and looked like something out of those books that Marie liked to read — the mystery of something or other.

He could hear Lenalee and Kanda muttering behind him, about the hair bow on that one girl. Daisya couldn't really get what all the fuss was about. He didn't have hair problems, by virtue of not really having hair anymore. It grew in patches, and if he didn't cut it off it was always held down under the bandages.

Mystery of a dolphin, that was the book's name. At any rate, that's what it sounded like. Daisya had tried reading it, but fifty pages it in was still nothing but describing trees, so he'd asked Marie what happened next. Apparently a lot of things. He hadn't kept track of it all, but that Montoni guy was a right bastard. Pretty clever, though. The type to have a nice coat.

He caught another snatch of music, this time violin. Jeanne could play a bit, but nothing like this. Her fiddling always sounded like her — a bit low, and a bit rough, slightly like someone chuckling. And it went really fast.

This one was delicate, though it still was pretty darn quick. Sounded like someone was having a fainting fit while they were playing, or like someone made the violin out of the same stuff as Jerry's fancy china teacups. Sort of nice, you know.

Beneath the heavy red curtain, as they passed the source of the sound, he caught a glimpse of the player. A woman old enough to be his mother in a pitch black dress, bow moving fast enough to blur. Then again, most things blurred in this cruddy light.

A rough tug on his sleeve pulled him away as they turned another of the myriad corners.

"Quit zoning out, space case," Kanda muttered. "We're on a mission."

"Don't need to remind me."

Daisya caught a glimpse of the man looking back. He was frowning hard enough to add another few wrinkles. There were so many that you'd almost lose a weaker expression in them.

"I said silence!"

The guy was trying, but it was pretty hard to shout when you were whispering.

Pity Jeanne had to stay in Algiers for another week. They could really have done with someone who knew the territory.

Here the carpet was a bit thicker, a bit more plush underfoot. For once Daisya wished he wasn't wearing boots, so he could enjoy it a bit more. Even cheap rugs were miles better than the flagstones at the Order.

They must have been going somewhere important, because there were more lights here, too. And better quality ones, too.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daisya thought he saw a lady standing beside him, and paused for a moment to take a look.

Three curtained walls, a dress on a mannequin, good thick carpet, and no one there.

But there was something…

There was that blurring again. There weren't any lights in the room, but the wooden mannequin seemed to blend into the background in this light. Or…

No, there was something. If he could just squint, and turn his head like so—

"Daisya?"

Lenalee tapped him on the shoulder, throwing a glance to Kanda ahead.

"Kanda's given up. It's probably better if you start walking."

"Right," he whispered.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away, but there was something not quite right there. It was like there was no time, not in that room.

A few metres on, a set of rickety wooden steps rose out of the ground, spiralling upwards.

"Come on, we don't have all day."

Even though he sounded like he was going to become one with the dust any moment, the old man was still pretty spry. Daisya found himself panting a bit, climbing up and up. Of course, Lenalee and Kanda didn't have any problems. This was why he liked working with Isaac or Jeanne on these types of missions. They were even spacier than he was, and Isaac in particular like to dawdle. Daisya was a model — well, not model, but slightly quicker exorcist by comparison. He could read words and music, and count.

Then again, Isaac could draw. And his family actually liked him. And he liked his family. Weird, weird kid. No wonder he and Jeanne hung out so much.

Up and up and up, the stairs went on forever. It was a bit worrisome how much they creaked, and how many steps had a plank or two missing.

The curtains, too, looked like they were velvet rain. They hadn't been there on the underground level, but they went up from about seven feet above there along the whole height of the staircase — ten metres? More? These ones were a bit thinner, probably to support their weight.

The finder — that was what the old man was, despite having been half-retired for years — finally stopped at the top of the staircase, and put a hand out to the woman standing at the top.

"Well, these are the exorcists, mister. You want to tell 'em anything?"

Okay, maybe the person wasn't a woman. But when he spoke his voice was still mid-range, and soft.

"They're the exorcists?"

They got that a lot. After all, Lenalee was still only nine and almost a half, as she insisted. They still looked like kids.

"All we could spare. They've got another mission in Denmark, so best we be quick about it."

The young man nodded. It was pretty hard to tell him apart from he black curtains — he had black shoes, black socks, black trousers, and a loose black shirt on. He was so much darker than the pale old man, in this light, for him to almost seem black as well. A bit like Idris.

He also seemed to be important enough, but not in terms of position. One of the people who keeps things running. He'd know and notice more than whatever bastard was running this place.

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "I…don't really have too much freedom to let you investigate, but I can allow you to watch from the wings during the rehearsal. The Prima Ballerina was the one who first complained about feeling odd, but I'm not sure if it was that or just the pressure getting to her. We're more concerned about…uh, side effects."

And here was another squeamish guy who didn't even want to mention akuma.

"So how many people've died?" Daisya asked dryly. Get to the point already, man.

"Um," the young man said nervously, "I'm not quite sure. You see…"

"I bet the dust just blends in with–"

A combination of an elbow in the ribs and a high-heeled foot-stamp cut off Daisya's muttering.

"…many of the people that come here — gentlemen in particular — they don't exactly return to their primary residences after the performances, so it's useless asking if they've been home. Frankly, if there are any…things here, I think they're more subtle than what you normally deal with."

"So what do you want us to do about it?" Kanda asked.

"We can't exactly do anything until we know the facts," Lenalee added.

The man — Daisya had settled on "head stagehand" — nodded, and fidgeted some more.

"Yes, I'd think so. I think you three might know a bit more what to look for. I've pulled a few strings, so I think we can allow you to watch the performance tonight, provided you don't make a fuss."

"Got it."

"Of course."

"Yeah."

Daisya's answer was first, with Lenalee on his heels and Kanda dragging behind. The stagehand nodded in reply.

"I see. Just try and get this over with quickly."

"We will," Lenalee answered.

It was a bit weird, how high her voice was compared to the stagehand's, when he was the one going to her for help. Then again, Daisya surmised, they were all pretty young-looking.

And young in general, to most people.

"Well, don't just stand there!"

The old finder was scuttling back down the staircase. He must have been made out of sinews, because there definitely wasn't enough muscle there to power him through all of that.

After Lenalee, Daisya followed, trying not to step in any of the holes. Whoever used these steps on a regular basis had to have a death wish.