The Untolds

The Prologue

He was standing by the window, gazing out of the small dust-coloured panes. He was alone in the room. Except he wasn't – he was surrounded by people all over, chatting, mumbling, laughing, drinking, crawled out on the sofas, the chairs, occupying every inch of the Persian carpet – obnoxiously, loudly, their sound crawling in from his ears, infesting his mind, the visuals making his eyes vomit and a little hammer in his head bang against his skull again, again, again, again-

Quiet.

"Care for some Advil?"

"Thanks, Ophelia."

After a moment of stillness which felt like forever: "You know the playthrough is about to start, right?"

"Why? Are you trying to make our lives less dull by orchestrating an empty shell for us with each of your new plays?"

"Why not? Isn't that the only thing why you're still here?"

A cold laugh from the young man.

"Right."

***

The leaves crunching like stale chips with each step – why was snow always so late to come? The smell of rotting leaves and dying plants filling his nostrils with each inhale – well, November was lovely nevertheless. They walked on. A little more of the forest trail and there it was – an abandoned opera house, its former glory chipping away with the old paint, weather-washed windows looking into its endless black insides.

"Tell me, how did you even find this place?"

"Really, who for the love of the ancient Greeks would build an opera house in the middle of some woods and then leave it to crumble away without any care of who or what might go about vandalizing the place?" 

"I went hiking some time ago and came upon this spot. Just seems to have been empty for a while, no idea about the rest," shrugged Ophelia.

They stood before the great doors and with a flick of something silver Ophelia got to picking the brass lock. Only, the moment she touched the door it simply – gave way and opened with a rusty creak of the hinges.