The Tent of Mirrors grew with every step. As Lena walked through the entrance, light reflected in hundreds of panes, tugging her reflection in all directions. The circus only came to town once a year, always in late autumn. There were rumours among the people-that whoever saw the show once would never forget it. She was seventeen and still felt lost in the cruel precision of adulthood, which was catching her by the collar with each passing day. Inside the tent, she walked as if through a maze, and the crowd waited for the evening show to begin. Lena squeezed into an empty seat in the front row. She had a perfect view of the stage: her attention was particularly drawn to the artist on stilts, who stared at her with a wink, as if he wanted to say something only to her. The performances began with clowns balancing the ridiculous and the absurd. Then a juggler threw torches that seemed to leave streaks of blue light in their wake. A girl in a red cloak danced on a rope strung above the heads of the audience; silence hung around the tent and then a salvo of applause exploded. But the circus had a second layer. As the lights dimmed, Lena noticed surreptitious gestures from the performers, some directed directly at her. She sensed something was wrong - and yet her curiosity won out over her fear. After the main performance, as the audience began to disperse, Lena dared to stay longer. In the hallway of mirrors, she heard someone's footsteps. Before she could turn around, a stilt walker stood in front of her. All the lights of the night were reflected in his eyes. Without a word, he handed her a small silver key and then disappeared among the mirrors, which began to move as if they were breathing their own rhythm. Lena stood clutching the key, while around her the lights and reflections arranged themselves in increasingly disturbing shapes. A quiet call came from inside the tent. She had to decide whether to follow the voice or go outside into the safety of the night....