A/N: Woah, sorry for disappearing off of the face of the Earth for a while... I'm back though, and hopefully I'll start updating more frequently, but no promises. Enjoy!

The warm sun was setting over Paris, letting the cold shadows consume the shop corners and alleyways. Unfortunately for me, I was stuck leaning against a rough brick wall in one of those shadows. I had situated myself between the bookshop and the shoemaker, finding it to be one of the "warmer" alleyways.

In the remaining presence of sunlight, I dragged my sketchbook from my bag, and settled it on my knees which were brought to my chest. I must have looked like a crazed woman trying to hide a silly book from the not-very-curious eyes of the public. I had to flip back and forth through the pages in order to find the one yellowing page I truly desired. On it, a rough charcoal sketch lay perfectly motionless, yet all so real. It was only the other night that I had snuck into a strange man's "home" to draw this picture. I tried to finish the drawing as soon as I left the opera house, not wanting the fresh image of the masked man to leave my mind, though I ended up hardly touching his face, afraid I'd make a mistake.

Who was that man though? Why was he beneath the opera house? So many questions filled my head, and I itched to run back to that wonderful opera house and to find the answers to my questions. I paused for a moment, lingering on that thought. Perhaps I could just stop by, and take another look at that mirror. It couldn't hurt, could it? I mean, there was a possibility that that man could have killed me, but I was quick, and I could take care of myself. So, the decision was made: I was going to the Opera House.

It hardly took me a minute to collect my things into my bag, having only taken out my sketchbook and a small, hand-woven, blanket.

The Opera House was only two or three streets away from my location, so I could make it there before the sun completely set behind the horizon.

On the bench in front of the Opera, I observed the guards standing tall at the entrance, prepared to swing open the heavy doors for any audience member, and ready to fight off any unwanted intruders: me. I then noticed a smaller, less grand door to the side of the opera house. A string of drunken-looking actors stumbled from the dimly lit door, all of them singing together in mismatched voices.

Waiting for them to trip their way further down the street, I decided to take action.

By holding myself with a higher posture, and putting more confidence into my steps, I passed off as an actress who was walking back into the opera house for some unimportant reason. I let out a sigh of relief when I reached the door and it was unlocked and unattended.

It took me a few minutes and a few wrong turns to re-orientate myself in the building, and I soon knew where I was going.

As it turned out, it was faster to find the pink room from the side entrance than it was from the main entrance. I made a mental note before swinging the door open, relieved to find it empty once more.

Practically skipping, I made my way towards the mirror, and pressed my hands firmly to the glass, getting ready to push it to the side. Though, when I did push it, nothing happened. I tried again, this time in the opposite direction, but found no movement. This was strange. Perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. Perhaps this masked man was not in fact real and did not live underneath the Paris Opera House. I let out a stressed huff, putting my hands on my hips, and staring at the mirror in frustration. He sealed it didn't he? What an asshole.

Don't get me wrong, if someone found a way into my secret home, I would panic too, and make sure all the entrances were completely sealed. He could have at least left some sort of note, though, asking for me not to come back, or at least something. That made another thought come to mind: there had to be more than one entrance. Why would he seal himself in completely?

I froze when I heard footsteps echoing in the hallway outside of the room. I quickly pulled out my sketchbook, and frantically flipped through the pages, finding the sketch of the masked man in record time. I had to take a deep breath before I was able to rip the page out. This was strange for me, as I had never before torn out a page from my sketchbook; I usually kept my drawings to myself, though something told me that the masked man might want this for some odd reason.

I folded the page, being careful not to smudge the charcoal, and tucked the small square in the small gap between the glass of the mirror and the corner of its frame, hoping that he would find it there.

I then lunged myself behind a fainting couch as soon as the mahogany doors swung open, a round head poking through.

"Mademoiselle? Are you in here?" The head swung on its neck a few times to search the room, but when it saw it was empty, it disappeared back into the hallway, the footsteps vanishing with it. Letting out a sigh of relief, I jumped up from behind the couch, made sure my bag was fastened on my shoulder and ran to the door. Before pulling it open, I took one last look back at the mirror. I squinted, looking at the bottom corner of the frame where my drawing had been, but saw that it was already gone.

A/N: Ohhh, mysterious... So what did you guys think? Thoughts on the chapter/the story in general? Hopes for the story? Likes, dislikes, favourites, least favourites? i know there's not many chapters to give you the idea of the story, but i LOVE hearing from you guys! Just let me know in the reviews, and don't forget to favourite and follow! Thanks for reading guys, and I'll see you in the next chapter!3