Doors

[At sunrise, The Paris Opera house disappears, leaving the decrepit old grace of Passages Behind. The candles return to their dark flickering through age-scaled windows, and the hallways go quiet once more. Across every journal, the following is cryptically printed:]

It's a funhouse where the mirrors all reflect what's real
And reality's as twisted as the mirrors reveal
And the fun is finding out what the mirrors show

Reality - as perceived, as dreamed, or as one truly is.

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade
Masquerade!
Hide your face so the world will never find you