The Elephant in the Ivy

Alison gave a one-syllable laugh as she threaded a warped, brown leather belt, taking two stairs at a time towards the threshold and considering the burgeoning pattern of threes in her life. But now, for the life of her, Alison couldn’t even find her own name. Ten minutes early, and with the stalwart absolution of a Spartan phalanx captain whose shield had been mysteriously replaced with an oversized slice of toast, Alison sat cross-legged in a spot-lit easy chair and mulled her fate. Chairs and music stands were strewn about, covered in thick dust. “This,” Paige finally revealed, “is the Orchestra Pit.” She cut across at a bouncy pace, leading her companion to one last archway.