The hallway behind the stage wasn't supposed to exist.
Mikael had visited the Dollhouse before—once, years ago on a school trip. Back then, the building was condemned, the stage boarded shut. But now, guided by Elise's cold hand, he followed her through a narrow passageway hidden behind the velvet curtains.
The floor sloped downward.
Everything smelled faintly of iron and old wood.
"Elise," he said, "where are we going?"
She glanced back, expression unreadable. "Backstage. But not the kind you're thinking of."
The lights overhead flickered, casting broken shadows across the corridor. Strange old posters lined the walls—shows that never existed, names that didn't appear in any record Mikael knew. One poster depicted a girl in chains, smiling as the curtain fell. Another showed a man made of clock parts, bleeding gears onto a silent audience.
"Elise... what is this place really?"
"A memory," she said. "A wound. A play that keeps being rewritten."
Mikael stopped walking. "I need real answers."
She turned to face him. "Then be ready for real consequences."
A distant clang echoed behind them. Elise stiffened.
"They followed us."
"Who?"
Elise didn't explain. She simply pressed her palm to a door at the end of the corridor. It didn't have a knob—just a black handle shaped like a keyhole, bleeding a faint crimson light.
"You said I forgot things," Mikael whispered. "Who made me forget?"
She looked up at him. "You did."
Then the door opened.
Behind it was not a room, but a void—deep, shifting, filled with floating fragments of color and sound. A mirror drifted by, showing a version of Mikael with red eyes and a stitched mouth. A music box spun soundlessly in the air. Somewhere, someone sobbed a lullaby.
The moment Mikael stepped in, it all rushed back.
A stage. A spotlight. A girl's voice.
"Do you promise to forget me?"
"Yes."
The memory cracked like glass.
He gasped.
"Elise, I—"
But she caught him as he fell to his knees, overwhelmed. "Not yet. The truth will come in pieces. If you take it all at once, your mind will shatter."
"Why does it feel like I broke a promise?"
"Because you did," she said softly. "To me."
Behind them, the sound of footsteps grew louder.
Elise stood, eyes glowing faintly. "They're called the Rehearsed. They want to make sure the play ends the same way every time."
Mikael looked up, trembling. "And what if I want to change the ending?"
A smile curled on her lips. "Then we give them a performance they'll never forget."