Mila was eleven years old and knew the circus inside out. Her dad used to set up the lights at the Aurora Circus, so she used to frequent the backstage area. That afternoon it smelled of cotton candy and sawdust under the dome. The chairs waited, the drums were silent and the red carpet glittered. Mila wriggled in the stands and counted the yellow bulbs. Today a mystery number was to debut: the Mirror Lantern. Mr Bartek, the master of ceremonies, waved his hat at her. 'Mila, you'll come in handy today because the key to the prop trunk is missing. Without it, the Lantern won't work, and the rehearsal starts in a moment. Mila walked down the narrow steps to the storage room under the arena. Against the wall stood a trunk with a brass eye instead of a lock. The eye tinkled as she touched the handle, and something clattered quietly. Tiny stars twinkled in the darkness, as if locked inside. 'Don't bite, darling,' she whispered into the trunk, a little for courage. Overhead, a snare drum rumbled and the lights went crimson. The audience was already entering, laughter and the rustling of tickets could be heard. Mila, you've got the torch, I'm counting on you! - he called out from above. At the side of the warehouse, she noticed a gap that wasn't there yesterday. A cool breeze was pushing through there and it smelled of wet paint. A heavy curtain brushed her shoulder, as if someone was inviting her in. Behind the curtain shone a lantern-shaped mirror as tall as the Mile. Stars were streaming on its surface, though no one was turning the crank. Mila touched the glass; it was warm, like the skin of a dormant lion. Then from inside came a quiet whisper that only she knew. 'Mouse, don't be late for a number,' said her mother's voice. A shadow flashed across the glass and the trunk twitched like an awakening dog. The arena locks rang, the lights went out for a split second. And as Mila lifted the lantern, the mirror unexpectedly began to draw her in.