Through Unveiled Eyes
Meg felt a little shiver trickle down her spine like a cold drop of rain. "I've been through these halls and rooms hundreds of times," she whispered to herself, but the sound of her whisper was lost in the vast theatre. It never failed-walking through the Opera Populaire in the dark spooked her to the core. She was unable to squelch the tales of the Opera Ghost that flitted through her mind, and every shadow became a wraith, an unseen abductor.
Clenching her jaw, she stretched a hand out and cautiously unlocked the door to Christine's dressing room with the key her mother had given her. She cracked the door open and peered inside, willing her heart palpitations to cease. Oh, why couldn't Maman have come herself? She buried the thought and forced herself to enter the room.
An overwhelming floral scent from looming shadows of bouquets assailed her immediately. The rug on the floor felt plush beneath her slippers, but a slight draft crept in and twined itself between Meg's ankles like a lonely alley cat.
"Christine?" Meg's whisper shattered the thick silence, and she winced at its loudness.
Treading cautiously, she set the key on a table, glancing behind her. No one was in the room, but she sensed another presence nonetheless. "Christine?"
Bête! The sooner you find Christine, the sooner you can leave! Grasping at the scraps that were the remains of her courage, she moved toward the dressing table.
A flash of movement caught her eye, and she jolted, ready to flee. She almost laughed when she realized she had only seen herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the far wall, but her mirth quickly vanished. There, on the left side of the mirror, was a barely discernable gap.
Warily Meg approached the looking glass, absently noting that the draft she had felt earlier must have come from the cold air flowing through the gap. She hesitated to steady her jangled nerves, and then put a hand on the mirror. It gave way immediately to her slight pressure and slid to the side on some sort of track to reveal a dark, musty hallway.
She stepped across the threshold, curiosity overtaking her fear. When she looked at the mirror that she had just pushed aside, her view was as if she was looking through a window; she could see the dressing room that she had just left, with its tables and flowers and lavish décor.
She stepped away from the mirror, into the harsh contrast of the stony hallway. The temperature difference was immediately apparent. The corridor felt clammy, like a wool cloak that had never completely dried after a rainstorm. Cobwebs clung to the stone walls, and water formed puddles with sinister dripping.
Meg felt something scurry over her foot and shrieked when she saw a thick-tailed sewer rat, along with a few companions, quickly retreat into the darkness. Meg felt like abandoning her search and doing the same. Surely Christine wouldn't be down here!
But what if she is? Something is here, and I must find out what. Maman wouldn't be frightened. Meg straightened her shoulders and set a determined course down the corridor.
Suddenly, a strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, and Meg jerked around to face her assailant, sure that she would see a specter come to lock her away forever.
Instead, she found her mother's stern gaze boring into her. Madame Giry gave Meg a reprimanding look before clasping her daughter's hand firmly and leading her back through the corridor and to the ballet dormitories.