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The house lights come up, and take you completely by surprise. It seems like last call was only a moment ago. Well, you've had a great time tonight, and you've probably had enough to drink anyway. The room IS spinning a bit. As you say your goodbyes to your friends, they ask if you'd like a ride hime. You decline saying that the fresh air will do you good.

You grab your coat from the coat-check, and head for the door. As you step outside, and the first drops of rain hit your face, you think maybe walking home wasn't such a great idea after all. The usual crowd of people who stand and talk in front of the door have scattered to their cars, and you're all alone on the street.

Pulling up the collar of your duster, you set off toward home. The streetlights shine wierdly against the wet pavement, and the nighttime sounds are muted and indistinct. The sound of a car horn startles you, and you catch a glimpse of your friends faces in the window as they speed by.

As you head into the warehouse district, the rain tapers off into a light mist. The street is empty, and strangely quiet. You stagger slightly, and realize just how drunk you really are. As you walk along, looking at the lights in the puddles at your feet, you see a red light flicker on. Looking up, you're standing in front of a shop window, the neon "open" sign flickering red behind the darkened glass. A rusted metal sign creaks in the wind above the door. Written in peeling black paint are the words "Reflexion Gallery".

Wierd. You don't recall this place being here. And what the hell kind of gallery is open at three in the morning anyway? As you stand on the sidewalk, swaying slightly from the alcohol, you can hear faint music coming from inside. It sounds vaguely Middle Eastern. Dead Can Dance maybe? The sound is enchanting, and seems to echo through your head. Why not go in for a moment, you think. You're not in that much of a hurry to get home. You reach for the door handle, and push it open. A chorus of tiny bells jingle overhead as you enter and close the door behind you.

The gallery is small, and cluttered with art objects and antiques on shelves and tables. The walls are hung with ornate tapestries and paintings, and a thick Oriental carpet covers the floor. The beautiful music is louder now, and the smell of incense is thick in the air.

to be continued...