Part 4: Mirror of Tears

???: Hello, excuse me ... What is this place?
A timid face appears in the dark. Bewildered and uneasy, its owner wipes her hands on her dress, where there once was an apron.
???: Me? My name is Hannah. I'm a waitress at Café Central. Have we met?
Hannah: Oh ... I see. Sorry ...
Hannah: I was just at the café, working my shift. The manager told me to walk slower so that I wouldn't kick the customers' chair legs again, and then everything went dark, and I found myself in this very room!
Hannah: This is strange! Stranger than a novel!
Hannah: I was hoping you could tell me what happened—explain things to me.
She paces around, looking anxious.
Hannah: ... Mm? What's this?
One of her shoes hits something firm. She crouches down curiously.
Hannah: Oh! It's ... a painting? No ... a door?
Hannah: How strange that it's on the floor. Actually, it looks like the door to Café Central ...
Hannah: Something's written on it. It's too dark in here. I can't see. Maybe I can feel it with my fingers ... Mm?
She stops and furrows her eyebrows. She runs her fingers across the doorplate a few more times.
The name carved on it kisses the tips of her fingers. A sweet bitterness fills her heart.
Hannah: ... Theophil? Mr. Theophil ...?
Hannah: Did he play a part in the kidnapping? But why would an artist be involved in such a horrible act ...?
She mumbles to herself, her eyes rolling in the dark. She is looking for an excuse. An excuse to forgive.
Hannah: Or perhaps—perhaps he wants me to be his model? I'd gladly agree to it, of course ...
Hannah: He's so handsome and kind, and my goodness, can he paint! Any girl would agree to be his model. He wouldn't need to abduct me for that ...
A fragment of a memory comes back to her, but it's vague. Shrouded in a white haze.
Hannah: Oh, I think I remember!
Hannah: Before everything went dark, Mr. Theophil had ordered another Franziskaner. I had it on my tray, and then ...
Hannah: ... And then I passed out before I reached his table ...
Hannah: Until then, it was a perfectly ordinary day ...
The warm color of love fades from her face.
Hannah: Mr. Theophil looked as handsome as ever. He ordered his usual. Even Mr. Heinrich was wearing the same brown blazer ...
Hannah: No, no, that's not right.
Hannah: Something was different that day. Yes. That was the day she first met her. That was the beginning of everything.
She looks at you, trancelike. The door opens beneath her palm.
Theophil: An insightful idea, miss.
Theophil: I've never heard of such a perspective on how to treat mental illness ... I'm very impressed.
The cream has long since melted into the Franziskaner. This conversation is much more interesting than the beverages on the table.
Heinrich: See? I told you, Theophil!
Heinrich: I knew you two would get along. How could you not adore such a lovable and talkative lady?
Heinrich: The amazing Klara! We met at an auction. She has a superb taste in the arts!
Heinrich's bouts of excessive enthusiasm are a loveable weakness of his. Rather than annoy, it endears his friends to him.
He sweeps up his friend's cup and takes a huge gulp.
Heinrich: Oh, by the way, Theophil. Where's your sister?
Heinrich: You said she'd be here today. I thought she'd agreed to come down to the café.
Theophil: Yes. She should've arrived by now. Perhaps she's been delayed on her way over.
Theophil: After the huge success of her debut, my little sister is the new star of Vienna. She's positively swarmed by her admirers on the streets—it's all very sweet but, as you can imagine, it can be quite troublesome.
Hannah: Sir, here's your coffee.
The waitress lightly places it on the table.
Hannah: One Vienna iced coffee and a Maria Theresa. Enjoy.
Her gaze lingers on Theophil, an eager smile upon her face. Her light brown hair is carefully tied in a curly ponytail.
Theophil: Thank you, Hannah. Your smile always brightens up a long afternoon.
Hannah: Haha ... You flatter me again, sir.
She blushes and hurriedly looks aside. This is not the first time her dear Theophil has been so sweet to her.
Hannah: Would you like a cake on the side? It-It's on the house.
Hannah: I remember you said you liked the particular lemon aroma of it ... My mother grew those lemons. She brought me some more when she last visited. Would you—
Theophil: Over here!
Heinrich: Oh, Isolde! My dear girl! When was it that we last met? It feels like eons!
Isolde: It was about ... one and a half months ago?
Heinrich: Ah, how unforgivably long! Do you remember when we were younger? We saw each other every week!
Hannah: Theo ...
Her voice is lost among the chatter. She quietly looks at her sweet Theophil as he gets on his feet and walks up to his sister.
He has completely forgotten about the lemons. Or, rather, he never cared about them in the first place.
Theophil: Why, do you think Isolde is still that little girl who followed you around?
Theophil: I'm afraid you're terribly mistaken, my friend! She's the biggest star of Vienna and the best and most stunning "Salome" of all time! Her admirers fill the streets, and her work has shaken the art world to its very core!
Putting both his hands on her shoulders, he basks in his pride for his sister.
Theophil: And all at the ripe old age of sixteen, no less! She's not some unknown actress taking minor role after minor role, nor is she one of those poets who end their miserable lives by plunging themselves into a river! No, it won't be long before she becomes the sovereign of theater!
Theophil: My point is, Mr. Heinrich, that it's very difficult to see her these days. But, if you can make her brother's life a little sweeter ...
Heinrich: Oh, Theophil, you crafty fellow!
Heinrich gently punches his arm. Theophil giggles as he pulls himself away from his fist.
The café is filled with their youthful laughter.
Isolde: ...
Theophil is not yet twenty. He looks young, sweet, and happy. As free as the wind.
Hannah moves her lips, nervously rubbing her hands on her apron as she tries to come up with more words to get his attention.
She notices that Isolde is looking at her and lightly shaking her head.
Isolde: Thank you, but I don't feel like having a drink.
Hannah: It was her! Her! How could I forget? How could I forget her!?
Hannah: Oh, what a terrible, terrible future ...
Hannah: Did I hit my head? Or was it my neck? Or my legs? My waist? ... No, no, no, no ...
Small beads of sweat glisten on the tip of her nose. She checks on her neck, her back, and her limbs, making sure they are still attached to her body.
Eventually, her hands stop at her neck.
Hannah: It was here. Yes.
Clutching her neck with both hands, she crouches down on the floor.
Hannah: So much pain ... There was ... sobs
Hannah: Why? Why did it have to be me? Why not Teresa? Or Gregor?
Hannah: Not all who were trampled that day died. Nor those who fell to the floor ... And those who were pushed in front of the guns ... They had a quick and painless death, at least.
Hannah: Why me ...? Why only me ...?
Hannah: Why was I the only one who fell down the stairs? Why was I the only one who screamed in agony? Why was I the only one who suffered a broken neck?
Hannah: It shouldn't have happened—none of this should've happened! The road shouldn't have been covered in sharp gravel!
Hannah: Those creatures in black, with their dark slime dripping all over ... They started that demonstration!
Hannah: It was ... those creatures ...
Hannah: Monsters ...
Hannah drops her head. Tears stream down her cheeks, dripping on her palms, and pooling on the door beneath her feet.
The door is now tightly shut. The door to the café with Theophil's name on it.
On the other side, Cupid and Psyche convene.
Hannah: It was "The Circle." It was the speech.
Hannah: It was they who were responsible.
The puddle of tears beneath her feet confronts her with her own reflection. Her reflected face morphs into someone else's. Isolde.
Hannah: The famous opera singer with a touch of sorrow.
Hannah: The daughter of that mirror peddler.
Hannah: They killed me.
Klara: Hello, I'm Klara Vingler. Perhaps you've heard of "The Vingler's Mirror." That's an invention of my family.
From the other side of the table, the lady in the green dress extends a white-gloved hand.
She is leaning forward so far that she is no longer sitting in her chair. This may appear to be too eager, but the smile on her face is sincere.
Klara: Heinrich told me a lot about you and your brother. I'm most glad that we've finally had the chance to meet.
Isolde: I'm Isolde.
Isolde takes her hand.
Isolde: It's a privilege to make your acquaintance.