Lumina! Aria yelled, but no sound came from her. Mom! she tried again. Where had her voice gone? She grabbed hold of the curtain and pulled with all her strength. It came loose with a lurch and began to spin, turning around her in a funnel, blowing her hair into her eyes and drawing closer with every second. She wouldn’t let herself be swallowed by it. Aria counted to three and dove into the whirling mass.

Instantly she appeared at center stage. Lumina sat in her usual seat in the front row. Why did she seem so far, like she was a mile away? What kind of Realm was this?

Mom? Aria still couldn’t hear her voice. Mom!

“I knew you’d come,” Lumina said, but her smile faded quickly. “Aria, is that another joke?”

A joke? Aria looked down. She was in camouflaged army clothes. Here, in the formal opera hall. No, Mom!

She wanted to tell Lumina what had happened. About Soren and Consul Hess and being thrown out with the Savage. But the words wouldn’t come. Tears of frustration blurred her vision. She looked down, not wanting her mother to see, and noticed a small book in her hands. A libretto. The lyrics of an opera. She didn’t know where she’d gotten it or when. Flowers drawn in ink scrolled across the faded parchment, twining together to form letters.

ARIA

Dread seeped through her. Was this her story? She opened the book and recognized the image inside instantly. A double-helix spiral turned on the page. DNA.

“It’s a gift, Aria.” Lumina smiled. “Aren’t you going to sing, Songbird? No Cannibal Candy this time, please. Though it was certainly amusing.”

Aria wanted to scream. She needed to tell her mother that she was sorry and that she was furious at her and where was she? Where was she? Aria tried again and again, but she couldn’t make a sound. She couldn’t even hear herself breathe.

“I see,” Lumina said. She rose and smoothed down her tailored black dress. “I’d hoped you’d changed your mind. I’ll be here when you’re ready,” she said, and vanished.

Aria blinked at the gilded hall. “Mom?” Her voice startled her. “Mom!” she yelled, but it was too late. For long moments, she stood on the stage, feeling the vastness of the hall, the emptiness of it, as a feeling built in her as if she might explode. She didn’t know when she started screaming. And then she didn’t know how to stop. The sound coming out of her grew louder and louder, like it would never end. The Grand Chandelier began to shake first and then the gilded columns and box seats. And then, at once, the walls and seats shattered, sending gold and plaster and crimson velvet everywhere.