Before the bell cut the morning, Lena entered the old wing of the school. The mist from the playground pressed in through the hatches, smelling of wet dust and metal. In her backpack she carried a notebook in which she jotted down emotions like the weather of the day. Next to the date of 12 October she wrote: 'anxiety: moderate; hope: possible clearances'. There was a rumour about a locked room, unused for years, called the Cabinet of Silence, where they teach you to listen to your feelings. At break time, the usher, Ms Natalia, handed Lena a heavy key with the number '13' on it. - 'Open the storeroom in the old wing, a package has arrived. Just be careful," she muttered. Lena feigned calm, although her fingers trembled like strings on a violin. The corridor was dark and narrow, the lamps buzzed like mosquitoes, the soles whispered echoes. The lock gave way with a metallic sigh and the key vibrated in her hand. Behind the door stood shelves full of glass jars with hand-written labels. On one read: 'Joy - One Hundred Metre Run'; on others: 'Shame - Loud Tripping'. Each jar trembled slightly, as if breathing, and the light inside rippled. Lena found her signature: 'Lena - Pre-performance jitters', written in her grandmother's handwriting. Her heart began to pound, but curiosity was louder than the fear of her own name. - 'Don't touch,' whispered something, although no one was there. Lena withdrew her hand, but a jar labelled 'Jealousy - Class 2B' trembled right next to her. The shelf groaned, the glass beeped, and the jar began to slip; Lena reached out reflexively. She grabbed it at the last moment, but the second one shattered into flakes with a clatter. A green streak emerged from the shattered bottom, cool and swift as a shadow. It hovered over Lena, touched her brow like ice, and flashed to the door. At the same moment, someone with a torch stood in the threshold. - If you let it out, you must follow it - it rang out like a promise and a challenge. The blur swirled and slipped into the crack of the door where someone had written her name. The torchlight followed the streak and Lena took the first step into the darkness.