Theatre Royal Drury Lane

Darlene knew it was not appropriate for a girl of her breeding to dally with the theatre folk, actors and actresses were known as a particularly desperate breed, but with toss of her curls and a smile she strolled through the side entrance anyhow. She was intent to meet the star of Moliere's play Dom Juan, whose performance had prickled her skin into goosebumps that crept right up her neck and into her scalp.

People dressed as ghosts rushed about in a darkened hallway.

“Excuse me, where is Dom Juan?” Darlene had caught one by the sleeve to ask, and gained a pointed finger as reply. Her gaze followed the directional digit, then her feet carried her to the doorway with the faintest remains of a star upon it. To be honest, she was surprised to have made it this far, the post-performance industry was working in her favour.

Raising her hand to knock, she reconsidered, and instead softly opened the door.

Inside, in contrast to the hallway, was silent and still -- so she entered and fastened the latch.

What begun as a desire to meet and croon over, now transformed into an interest to snoop about and discover more about this unknown world. The bright mirror and makeup-filled table naturally caught her eye; but also there were racks with clothes, a shelf of faceless heads with wigs. Silently marveling, Darlene snooped around, looking though boxes, picking up letters and reading, smelling bouquets of flowers sent by admirers.

Then she suddenly realised she was being watched.

Near a screen was a half dressed Dom Juan, an eyebrow raised towards her, while his tone when he spoke was bemused. “How familiar you are with my possessions my lady, perchance have we met before?”

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