Callie loved having her own dressing room. It was small, but neat. Her costumes and props fit tidily into the uncomplicated wooden closets along the wall. Her mirror was unadorned, but the workmanship was excellent, and she could see herself clearly in the smooth polished surface. The candles along the wall were good quality, if inexpensive wax, and there was hardly ever a breeze to distort her work light. A smart little brass plaque hung over the door with her full name, Calliope Winters. The only thing missing was a star, but she was beginning to think she might never see one of those over her door. Calliope Winters was an understudy. That was one of the curses of the theatre. There would only ever be one lead actress, and no matter how talented Callie was, it was Veronica Silversong.