Mirelle Norigno couldn't figure out who was inside the looking glass. It seemed like she herself, in some way, stood in the way. So she began to imagine how the world would smell without Mirelle Norigno in the middle of it. The music looked like an onion, drowned in red wine, spinning through her in grotesque spirals. Although this was only a rehearsal, and she was as usual a little late to it. She wished her voice could have gotten flamingo wings, but the piano just stood there like an elephant, empty of every fantasy. The onion lost seven layers after another, until time stopped rolling. From an impossible angle Man no. Nine is seen. Mirelle Norigno sees him repeating his prelude, even though she knowns he is sitting in a completely other room of the theatre. She hears him humming far far away, and yet Man no. Nine plays right there in the looking glass. From what she often heard him perform, Mirelle Norigno always thought him to look more like a walrus with a mystic moustasche. But this raccoon has got his mystery in an incredibly other place.
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