Chapter Two
Though Annette was wretchedly cold and exhausted by the time she reached town she was not completely out of luck. Her Aunt took her in the very instant that she came knocking on her door. Like an old friend she was ushered to sit and warm herself by the fire while she explained the events that had unraveled her life since her mothers demise. Her Aunt did not ask very many questions although she seemed rather impressed by the idea of Annette working under the roof of Lord Derrick. “Interesting histories lead to interesting lives.” She explained to the girl with a knowing smile. “And since you are here we might as well settle you into a new job. You're not going to get anywhere in life by hiding inside my house after all.”
She nodded in reply, tucking her hands under her elbows in a futile effort to warm them up. “Any job that you can find for me will be perfect.”
“Well...” The older woman pondered for a moment as she strummed one bony hand against her chin. “Your mother always used to write to me about how graceful you were at dancing. Perhaps you might be able to serve the troop in some way.”
That was how she came to work at the theatre. Without warning her life was swept up and she found herself pushed in the direction of dance once again. Even without having so much as taken a class in almost three years her Aunt's uncanny position and reputation helped her wrangle a position for Annette within the troupe, though it was not without some suffering. While she was thrust back into the gruelling life of constant practices and relearning how to dance she earned her wages by helping keep the theatre clean.
She lived in the attic where there was limited space but an ideal view of the rest of the city. Her aunt allowed her to adorn the space however she wanted. To comfort herself Annette draped the entire room with hues of soft pink and cream. Those were the colours she liked the most. They reminded her of a child's nursery; a place meant to be safe and free from harm. Though a chill was constantly sweeping through a crack in one of the windows and the floor was splinted and groaned with every footstep it became “home” surprisingly quickly. Even having another gruelling job didn't seem so terrible to her when she looked out and saw the sunset hovering over the city's horizon.
Being in a theatre wasn't so bad. The troupe that worked there proved to be a great improvement from her former employer at least. Though they were stern with her and were often very demanding, they never openly insulted her the way that Lord Derrick had. In fact as time progressed many of them seemed to develop an indifference towards Annette. They treated her as if she were a mouse, ignoring her presence unless she got underfoot, and rewarding her on the occasional time that a job was done well. Being a maid to a finicky Lord had made her very keen on details. No window went unchecked for film or dust. No doorway was permitted to have dirt collecting in front of it. So long as she had the time she made sure that everything was absolutely spick and span.
There was always something exciting happening. On an average day the backstage was bustling with life as actors and dancers rustled about. Some of them dressed in brightly coloured costumes, others wore regular clothes, but there was always a constant aura of excitement wherever you stepped. Over the months and the weeks Annette attached herself to the building itself, submerging in a world of glitter and dazzle and song. Late at night she would sometimes sneak a peek at a performance. During the dance she would deliberately clean the plus velvet chairs of the theatre just to have a chance to watch everyone practicing on stage. Even in rehearsal they were astounding. It made her smile with delight to hear and see all those fantastic stories. As an observer she was more than delighted to be there. But when the time came to get back into the mode of dancing she lost some of the magic.
For three long years Annette lived this way. Day in and day out she did her best to serve both her Aunt and the theatre; cleaning up after the troupe while slowly repressing the memories of Blackthorn manner while trying her best to keep everyone around her content. Though unenthusiastic about it as she seemed, her Aunt insisted that she keep on taking dance lessons. “Perhaps some day you will become a permanent member of the dance trope.” She persisted. Annette only barely tolerated such a fate, struggling at times to even seem content with the idea of prancing about on blistered and bruised feet.
It was painful. It was tedious. And it consumed more of her life than she cared to admit. In fact her entire work schedule was deliberately sorted out so that she would have free time to take lessons every single day. Much to Annette's dismay they brought back painful memories of a time when she twirled across a room freely knowing her mother would be there when the practice was over. Somehow that had made the dancing all worth it in the end. But at the end of every class now there was nobody to greet her. There was only the other ballerinas to keep her company. They were daughters of the other actors. Aspiring young ladies whom pretended to adore one another while vying to secure a place in the publics eye. Competition was so fierce you could cut through it with a knife. Even more frightening was that the directors seemed to encourage this backstage maliciousness.
Annette dodged the dramatic fights and screaming matches only out of sheer luck. Nothing else could have explained it. She narrowly faced confrontation a few times but when it became obvious to the rest of the dancers that she was not the ambitious sort they let their guards down around her. The fighting went on. But she was always just a bystander from then on; another face in the crowd who nobody noticed or really cared about.
Eventually she became skilled enough to earn a position as a full time member of the troupe. Her Aunt proudly displayed her as the “daughter that she never had”, delighting in the fact that Annette had progressed so quickly. News of her former job as Lord Derrick's maid and servant made her famous among the performers that she worked alongside, but the Elites who came to watch the performances gave Annette very little attention. Always in the background of almost every dance number, she felt relaxed when she performed before a crowd. So long as she did not stumble or tear down a piece of the scenery she was nothing more than a moving prop. Their eyes were never on her, only the girls in the front of the stage. The “beauties” as the director had once referred to them as.
Life could have gone on this way forever as she would have been perfectly content. But then one girl hurt her ankle and another was fired for not showing up for rehearsals. Three more left on their own accord to pursue other interests and two more dancers simply stopped putting effort into what they did. By the time the next production was being cast there were very few 'experienced' dancers left to choose from. Most of the ones the troupe had now were young and fresh to the life of performing. They had not ripened into their positions and would not be ready for at least a few years. That was how the prospect of a solo act was dumped into Annette's lap one day by the director.
He needed someone to buy up more time during the first part of the performance so that the rest of the troupe could get ready backstage and Annette was simply the only experienced dancer that had nothing better to do with herself after the curtains were drawn for the shows only ballet performance. The other ballerina's doubled as chorus girls and background characters throughout the performance in order to appease their desires of fame but she had never mustered up the nerve to work as an actress on the side. Thus the solo was given to her, and it became her curse.
Annette danced alone that night before the crowd. A lonely figure silently moving across the stage without uttering a word. The image of the 'good' ballerina, one who was capable of dancing of blistered feet and lifting her legs high above her head without screaming. To keep from fainting she focused only on the sound of the music. The instruments harmonized to her movement, flowing perfectly with her steps and never once did a musician hit a sour note. She saw them all huddled together near the edge of the stage, their eyes glossing over the sheets of music placed before them and never once glancing towards the woman on stage. The song ended as the curtains were closing and she scarcely had time to draw herself into a bow before the plush velvet blanketed the front of the stage, masking her from view of the applauding crowd. The stage was cleared, the audience left to have a breath of fresh air before the next act, and a trembling Annette relieved herself by seeking sheltered in one of the empty dressing rooms.
In some vain form of hope she convinced herself that everything would stay the same still even though she was no longer cowering near one of the back of every dance performance. Annette talked it over with herself quietly in the backstage area while everyone else was busy getting ready for their own performances. She reasoned. She bargained. Or at times she prayed. Until she had herself convinced that all would be well. Some might have called her crazy then, but she was wise enough to know not to share her thoughts with another trope member. The ideas were sealed in her thoughts where they brewed constantly and gradually put her mind at ease.
In her heart she truly believed by that point that nobody would remember her once the show drew to a close. By then there had been dozens of other people on stage all acting and dancing and singing their hearts out. Surely one of them would steal the show and leave her to her humble obscurity. Especially the troupes resident “Diva's” whom were forever on stage and vying for the audiences attention. Annette remained hidden, nestled safely in that little dressing room where the only articles of furniture were the chipped vanity table and a small cushioned chair for her to sit on while she comb through her tangled and matted hair. She gazed at her own reflection in shock, unable to comprehend what was going on and whether it should have delighted or terrified her.
Her Aunt was the only one who came in to see her initially. When she opened the door and saw Annette sitting there trying to pick a knot from her hair she giddily clasped her hands together. “Ohhh my dear!” The older woman smiled brightly as she looked at Annette in the mirrors reflection. “You looked so much like your mother tonight!” She cried as she embraced Annette with a warm hug. “She would have been so proud to see you out there tonight. You were absolutely marvellous!”
That one minuscule room failed to protect her in the weeks that followed. While she continued to receive more and more significant roles the dressing room became a shrine to the attention that it had brought her. Every evening without fail it was filled with with tokens of admiration from people that she scarcely knew, most of them men. It started with only a few flowers which she shrugged her shoulders at with indifference but then the started to flow like a river. They trickled in nightly after that; reminding her of everything that was happening and what she was destined for.
There were notes expressing fondness or admiration, lush flower arrangements that seemed to flood every free space left in the room with sweet fragrance, expensive sweets from shops she used to feel unworthy of even walking by, and of course there were the admirers themselves. They were not a large or deeply important crowd initially. Only a few middle class gentlemen and fickle young boys, but they were enough to make her feel completely overwhelmed as the weeks passed and she found herself needing to lock the door to keep them away. In they own way they were all as sinister and malicious as devils. They told her things that she did not believe. Stories of adoration, of wanting her affection, of loving her. Managing them became a frustrating chore. Turning them down was even more excruciating. Luckily for Annette that most of them still had their senses about them and understood the significant meaning of “no” when they heard her say it. Still the flowers still kept on coming and though she admired most of them greatly for their beauty she found herself giving most of them away to other dancers.
Her Aunt told her that she should embrace it for what it was worth. As the niece of a famous ballerina it was expected that she would have a few people convinced that she was some sort of romanticized figure from a child's bedtime story. “They love you because of what you signify my dear. How can they help themselves?” She told her one day as they were enjoying a quiet moment in the back of the theatre. “A ballet dancers job is to represent grace and beauty. We are strange creatures to those who are not involved in our world. They view us as muses to inspire feeling and thought. If you plan on lasting very long you must learn to take everything with stride. Most of these people could care less about you are a person; it's the dancer that they want to reach out to.”
It appeared one day on top of her vanity table. Folded gingerly over the wooden surface it struck a bad chord in the girl that she hadn't felt before. She had to touch it just to be certain that is was real and she was not imagining things. How could it still exist when she had lost it so long ago? That shawl was soft and warm in her hands as she lifted it up. A note was tucked between the folds of fabric with only the initials “L.D” scrawled across them to provide her the evidence she needed to confirm her suspicion. This was the shawl she had lost right before she left Blackthorn. The very same shawl that had been sent to her now by Lord Derrick. “He must think he is clever by doing this to me.” She bitterly remarked to her Aunt as she dropped the offending article onto the floor and rested against a nearby wall. “One last cruel joke at my expense I'll bet. Unless it was someone else who found it and sent it here under his name.”
“It might have simply been lost all this time my dear. You know how washers can be sometimes. After all your mother was one. Every now and then something gets dropped on the floor and forgotten about for months. Don't work yourself up into a frenzy over nothing.” The older woman said with a cheerful laughter. “Surely Lord Derrick has better things to occupy his time with than teasing a former maid.”
“While I was working for him it sometimes felt like he had nothing else to do other than torment me.” Annette sighed as she wove a ribbon into her hair. “Back then he would run into me all the time and would stop at nothing to make me feel as uncomfortable as humanly possible. The whole reason that I left that wretched place is because he told me that I was worthless.”
“That does not sound like something a man of his rank would say my dear. Perhaps you very just over exaggerating his words.” Her Aunt paused, gazing over at Annette for a long time with a smile playing in the corners of her lips. “Though if he did drive you away from Blackthorn I suppose your admirers owe him a 'thank you'. If it had not been for his actions you would have never ended up where you are now.”
“I had no other choice but to leave. I could not stand to live there anymore. Say what you will about him that man was a devil. He and every other person of his rank. They think they are gods simply because they were born with a fancy word in front of their name.” Annette spoke without thinking, realizing the error of her mistake only after her Aunt had given her a scornful look.
“Those people that you scorn are some of our greatest patrons Annette! Before you complain about them please remind yourself that they are the primary reason that you and I still have a place to work. If it wasn't for people like Lord Derrick giving generous donations every month this theatre would fall apart at the seams. Now get ready, it is time to go home.”
Later on the men who were in charge of watching over the seat boxes near the upper part of the theatre told Annette stories of the Lord whom she once worked for. Through the threads of gossip and mindless chatter she learned all that there was to know about the wealthier visitors of the theatre. She learned about Lord Derrick being there on that night when she had first performed by herself, and also that he frequently returned time and time again. Backstage the other performers spoke of him laughing alongside a male aristocrat that he had recently befriended. They giggled amongst one another, discussing his looks as if they were lovestruck children. Annette remained quiet though a tad shaken by the return of her shawl. After she could no longer stand it she gave the item away to another girl, hoping to rid herself of the nagging thoughts so that there would be no distraction from her dancing.
She saw him once during a rehearsal. He stood out in the front corridor speaking to the theatres owners and her Aunt. It was not hard to miss someone like Lord Derrick; dressed all in red the same way he had been when she last saw him. The only thing different about him was the way that he smiled charmingly as he spoke to them. Mindful to avoid being seen, she snuck past the group on her way to the stage under the guise of a very tightly bound cloak with the hood drawn firmly over her head. She did not linger slowly enough to hear what they were saying although she imagined it was something important. Pursing her lips she imagined that it had something to do with him becoming one of the theatres patrons. It made sense. If the other elites like to fund the arts then why shouldn't he? After all there was a certain level of expectation that came with being so wealthy; that is that you attempted to make it seem like you were concerned with the world outside your own social bubble.
The older woman spoke of his kindness later during the day while Annette was resting in one of the chairs of the theatre. Here she was able to watch the other dancers practice without feeling like she was getting in anyones way. Her Aunt confronted her with a brilliant smile. She said that he seemed friendly enough when they were talking. Nothing about him crossed her as critical or harsh. Annette refused to listen, denying any claims that her memories of the man were mere figments of a wild imagination. “I did not dream up the way that he treated me. I tell you he is rotten- rotten to the very core!”
“You will have a terrible time dealing with men like him if you behave this way my dear. The upper classes do not take kindly when a commoner holds a grudge against them. Besides; Lord Derrick was nothing but polite to me when we spoke. He is quite the gentleman, just like his father was. Perhaps you caught him on a few off day's when he was in a foul mood back when you were working fo him. Give him a chance!”
“I do not care how 'kind' he pretends to be. That is not what he's really like! He awful and mean. He hurt me more than any other person on this earth and I cannot forgive him for it.” She answered, trembling with rage. “I left Blackthorn hoping to never lay eyes on him again. If I had known he would attend this theatre I would have never become a dancer.” With that Annette loudly huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in stubborn refusal.
She expected that to be the end of it. Her mind had been made up and that was all there was to it. Some part of her felt empowered to be somehow managing to survive his cruel pranks with endurance. As far as she could recall no other items belonging to her existed at Blackthorn now. The shawl was the last and final thread that connected her to that wretched place. After giving it away she moved on with her life and carried on as if nothing had ever happened. Things seemed perfectly normal besides the occasional rumour.
Then one night just as she was entering her dressing room she was taken aback by a bouquet of red and white roses that had been left in the middle of her vanity table. They were the same fragrant roses she had once admired during her days at Blackthorn, left deliberately so that she would have to acknowledge them, and when she lifted them to her nose and inhaled the sweet aroma a large knot gathered in the back of her throat. These were Blackthorn's roses; flowers from the personal garden of Lord Derrick. The exact same flowers that he had forbade anyone from picking. A card gingerly tucked beneath them with the same cursive initials “L.D” confirmed these suspicions.
“They're so beautiful Annette.” Sighed Charlotte; one of the younger ballerina's of the theatre, as she quietly slipped through the opened door. Her expression was somewhat dreamy, filling Annette with anger and resentment as she frowned at the arrangement. “It must have been made especially for you. Lord Derrick himself gave them to me just before the beginning of Act 3. He insisted that they be placed somewhere where you would be sure to notice them so I put them there on the table for you. Don't they smell wonderful? I wish I could receive flowers from a man like Lord Derrick. He's so handsome!” The more she talked about him the more delighted Charlotte sounded. It vaguely reminded Annette of the way some girls would fawn over a particular boy when she was very small. That childish infatuation never left females. They were always inclined to admire a lovely face.
“Did he mention exactly why he was giving them to me?” Annette questioned her a she firmly set the flowers back down. Her firmness seemed to shock the other girl, who gasped quietly with surprise at her brash demands. When she glanced down she was dismayed to discover that one of the thorns from the rose arrangement had pricked her hand and caused it to bleed.
“Erm no.” Charlotte replied as she timidly shrugged her shoulders. “I never asked him what the reason was. I just assumed it was because he admires your dancing...”
Annette stared at the roses for a moment, admiring the sheer beauty of how they looked under the rooms soft lighting. There was no questioning the loveliness they possessed. Even the most jaded woman could have told her they looked marvelous. After all, Blackthorn manner was said to have some of the most beautiful flowers in the world blooming in it's gardens. It was the only rumour that she actually believed, simply because Annette had seen them herself. The only fond memory that she had was of those gardens she used to stroll through during her breaks. These roses did not disappoint. Their loveliness made everything else in the room pale in comparison. But the fact that they were a gift from <i>him</i> made her reject their presence. Hastily she snatched them up and thrust them into Charlottes arms. “I want you to have these sent back to him please.” She said in her sternest tone ignoring the surprise in the other girls face as she swept the top of her vanity where they had been laid out. God forbid she find a thorn or a leaf left over from the incident.
“But why?!” Charlotte asked curiously as she stood clutching the flowers against her chest. Her face was twisted with horror. She knew what the expression meant even though she'd never seen it before. It was an expected reaction. After all; how could she refuse such a desirable gift. Lifting her chin, Charlotte watched as the other girl paced angrily to the opposite side of the room. “Don't you like them Annette?”
“No...and in some ways yes.” She frowned, unable to decide for herself which answer she preferred more. “I do like them, but I can't keep them. It is too difficult for me to explain right now. Please just do this for me!” She exclaimed, feeling a tad flustered as she rummaged through her drawers for a brush. “And if he tries to give you anything to bring to me in the future please tell him 'no'. I do not want any gifts from the Lord of Blackthorn.” Charlotte did as she was asked but no without shooting Annette a look of horror and dismay. She claimed to have said nothing about the flowers to any of the other dancers but they must have noticed her carrying them around. The next day Annette found herself greeted by a trope of dancers glaring daggers at her. Practice had never been so agonizing.
The roses were a first in a series of items that showed up in her dressing room from then on. The next thing she found was box containing a regal looking gown in her exact size. It appeared almost two weeks after the roses. Carefully examining it laying there in it's velvet lined box she sighed. Knowing that there was someone who had allowed such personal information such as the measurements of her body to fall into the hands of Lord Derrick made her even more flustered than the roses had. Once again she sent it back, much to the dismay of several other dancers who were there to see it. They believed her to be mad, or too foolish to realize how significant the gifts were. They looked down their noses at her; snubbing her as an idiot. Annette simply allowed this assumption to become an unspoken truth. She had no time to explain her reasons to all of them.
Then it was a necklace. It appeared just like all the other gifts; perched on her vanity in a decorative box. When she opened it she had to pinch herself to recover from the shock. It was unlike anything Annette had ever seen. A gaudy choker made out of sparkling gold, garnets, and onyx. He tied it gingerly with a red ribbon that for some reason made her shiver. There was another letter was placed neatly on top of it and though it peaked her curiosity Annette could not bring herself to break the wax seal and reveal what he had written her. “It's not worth it.” She told herself with a heavy sigh.
Once again she had the “offering” sent away. Charlotte reported to her that Derrick had become very furious when she sought him out to return it. He was about to leave for the evening when he was confronted by her. Charlotte had not given him a chance to converse with her over the matter and had promptly left after thrusting it into his hands. Embarrassed, he'd become exceptionally miserable. Those around him claimed that it was something else that caused his bout of anger but Annette knew better. “This is what happens when you are so spoiled that you never learn the word “no”.” She said to Charlotte and together they laughed about it.
Turning away offerings from him soon became a weekly occurrence, one that Annette did not care for in the least. It was a burden if anything. An obnoxious 'chore' that she would have given anything to be rid of. Although she did her very best, after hearing of his anger over having the necklace returned, to have the various items sent back in more subtle and “kinder” ways it was still getting harder for her to manage. The more creative she became with her rejections the more conniving he was about sending them. She imagined that it had become less about receiving her approval and more like a game of chess to him now. Any move that she made he had to counter, for no other reason than the fact that he couldn't handle loosing.
Meanwhile the rumours about her stubborn refusal leaked into the rest of the theatre. Behind her back she found herself scorned by those that she worked with. The other ballerinas were exceptionally vicious. As young women of poor upbringing nothing seemed to enrage them more than her antics. The most open about their dislike were three girls who happened to be the same age as Annette. Most notable among them was Julia; a ravenous young woman that had once pushed another girl off the edge of the stage during rehearsal. She was everything that Annette was not; slender, ambitious, and willing to fight for her goals.
“So now you are the subject of Lord Derricks attention as well as a garish stage hog.” she hissed one evening as they were unwinding backstage in the dressing area that most of the troupe used to get themselves ready. Annette had just completed her last act for the night and was slowly unbraiding her hair as she admired the vibrant costumes that were slumped over mirrors and chairs by careless performers. Shocked, she looked over at the other woman, coiling a little when she noticed the hostile look in Julia's green eyes.
“I really don't know what you're talking about.” She answered with a low sigh. “You really shouldn't listen to all the nasty rumours your hear around here Julia. You know they aren't true.”
“Of course you would say that when most of them are focused around you.” The young woman answer as she ran her fingers through her long blonde curls. “Rumour has it that you have quite the history with his Lordship.”
Annette felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck tingle. “What are you talking about?” She murmured, suspecting that although they appeared to be alone at the moment there were several curious ears listening nearby.
Julia chuckled, smiling coyly as she admired herself in a nearby mirror. “Well for starters they say that three years ago you ran away from Blackthorn because you were jilted by his Lordship. They say that you were lovers, and that you only came here to escape the shame of being the play toy of an elite. Of course your rise to fame is being contributed to this as many of the other dancers can see you are unfit for the role you have obtained. The only thing we have concluded is that you must have used your body to coax elite and the directors into keeping you around. And of course there are the rumours that say that Lord Derrick pursues you know only because you are...experienced.”
There was malice in her tone that made Annette shiver with fear. “You think that I have prostituted myself?” She whispered, unable to suppress the horror that she felt. What a vile thing for others to think about her. And it wasn't anywhere close to the truth. Even at her age, when most girls were marrying or finding suitors, Annette had never allowed herself to become close to a man. Intimacy had always been a fleeting idea. She thought about it only when it was brought up by others and would often suppress it when the conversation was over. Needless to say she found the rumours very difficult to overlook at this point. When another girl muttered 'whore' under her breath one evening it took a great deal of effort to keep herself composed. In the meantime she still denied the Lord as furiously as she had before. Only now she was referred to as a silly little girl by the rest of the trope when she had normally been ignored or jealously scorned.
Even her Aunt, who was often indifferent to the ideal chatter that when on in the theatre, scolded Annette for her stubbornness. “Do you realize that you are risking the entire theatres future with your childishness?” She exclaimed one evening when she caught Annette trying to send back another one of Derricks letters. “Being admired by an elite is a rare and valuable opportunity. They provide things that men of lower status simply cannot. But they do not like to be toyed with, especially not by women of lesser rank. Did it never occur to you that Lord Derrick has the potential to encourage the other patrons to stop funding us if he feels insulted by your behaviour!” Her voice was haggard and filled with a kind of rage that Annette had never seen in her Aunt before. She cowered away from her initially, opening her mouth to explain herself but found that the older woman simply cut her off. “I will not hear anymore of your wild stories. I'm telling you now for yours own good; stop this nonsense at once!”
The nightmare came to a full circle one evening when she stayed late in the theatre. It was a windy Autumn night and even in the middle of the building she could still hear the wind whistling loudly outside. Somewhere in between dance rehearsal and helping one of the stagehands figure out where he had left an important prop she had forgotten about her coat. It had disappeared from the wooden chair in the backstage area that she had draped it over and although she asked everyone who had been there during the day none of them seemed to know where it had gone. “Have you tried your dressing room?' Charlotte suggested after observing Annette frantically searching for it for over an hour. “Someone might have recognized it as something of yours and moved it there to keep it safe. It happens all the time.” She smiled cheerfully, indifferent to Annette's obvious frustration. "Would you like me to come with you? It's really dark in that part of the building right now."
“Thank you Charlotte, but I think I'll be fine.” She whispered before taking off in the direction of the room.
On her way she passed Julia who appeared to be just about ready to leave herself. She was decked out in a long black coat that both overwhelmed her and gave her a sinister look. Smirking, she eyed Annette very carefully and for just a split second her eyes flickered with some sort of deeply bedded rage. "Have a good night." She said with a scoff as they passed each other, whisking across the polished floor in such a way that it reminded Annette of an angry child. It was strange seeing her so aggravated. Usually Julia was conniving about her feelings towards the people she disliked. She would have never behaved so immaturely on a normal day. That was simply not in her nature. And it cause Annette to stop dead in her tracks and watch as she disappeared around a corner.
Eventually she found her way to her dressing room. By then darkness had consumed the entire building and it was nearly impossible for her to see. The only light came from a few measly candles that were placed along the hallways to help guide those who had lost their way. She fumbled to get the door open when at last she found the door she was looking for. In her haste she snatched one of the half-melted candles from off it's stand, cradling it gingerly in one hand as she stepped into the darkened room. Her missing coat was there alright. Someone had folded it neatly and place it over the stool near her vanity. Sighing with relief she stepped towards it, scooping the heavy woolen garment into her arms like a small child and pressing it firmly against her chest. The delight of having found it made her more careless than she usually was. When she finally opened her eyes again she finally noticed the room had undergone dramatic changes since she had last entered it. Along the shelves were dozens and dozens of lit candles. They dripped melted wax and gave the room an eerie glow that caused her to feel uneasy suddenly. That was when she glanced into the mirror and saw him.
