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The Dressing Room Door That Opens Inward
Description
I spent the night in that hidden rehearsal room, the dress still clinging to my skin, the script still burning behind my eyes. The shadow woman had gone silent, but Lydia's voice kept looping through my head — not the words of the play, but something else, something she had tried to tell me before the tape cut off. I needed to understand what happened to her, to Victor, to all the others whose faces I had seen in those basement photographs. So I went back to the stage manager's logbook, the one I had barely touched on my first night. And I found something I had missed: a loose page tucked into the spine, written in a hand I now recognized as Lydia's. It was dated the night she disappeared. It said: 'He told me I was perfect for the role. He said the theater chooses its own. But the theater is hungry, and the girl in the balcony is not the only one watching.' The logbook is not a record of the past. It is a casting ledger. And my name is already in it.