Chapter Two: The Magicians

Stephanie took to the stage and greeted the audience, explaining the contest. The five greatest illusionists have decided to each perform their variation of the sawing in half illusion to see who can saw a woman in half the most accurately. They will be judged on length, mass and performance. Milly stood at the curtain like she had been told. And then Milly noticed the box on stage.

The box was impossible to miss. It gleamed under the stage lights, polished to perfection, its deep mahogany panels framed with gleaming brass accents. The top half of the box had a sleek, curved cutout—just the right shape for someone to lie inside—while the lower half rested on a sturdy platform. A set of large, gleaming silver blades sat ominously nearby, their edges catching the light. Milly swallowed. This is it.

Stephanie continued, her voice smooth and practiced as she gestured toward the illusion apparatus. "Each magician has brought their own method, their own twist on the classic illusion. Milly here—our lovely assistant for the evening—will experience each of their techniques firsthand."

The crowd murmured in anticipation. Milly glanced down at her shimmering golden leotard, at the way the tights hugged her legs, at the heels that made her stance just a little more poised, a little more dramatic. It was showtime.

"Now then," Stephanie continued, her voice clear and resonant, "allow me to introduce our first magician of the evening—the master of illusion, Claude Leclair!"

A flourish of dramatic, almost theatrical music swelled, echoing through the grand hall. One of the empty front-row seats, previously a silent sentinel, was suddenly vacated. A figure, silhouetted for a moment against the stage lights, rose and stepped onto the polished platform with a sweeping, flamboyant bow. Claude was, as always, a vision of theatrical panache. He was impeccably dressed in a midnight-blue tailcoat, its lapels intricately adorned with shimmering silver embroidery that caught the light with every move. His dark hair, slicked back with effortless style, framed a face already alight with anticipation. His pristine white gloves gleamed under the spotlights as he spread his arms wide, a gesture that encompassed the entire room.

"Ah, what a privilege to be first!" Claude’s voice, a smooth tenor, carried a rich French accent that rolled off his tongue like silk. "And what a vision we have tonight!" His eyes, twinkling with a knowing mirth, swept directly toward Milly, who stood poised by the box. A charming, almost mischievous smile curved his lips. "Mademoiselle, if you would join me?"

Stephanie, with a subtle, encouraging gesture, prompted Milly forward. Milly took a deep, steadying breath, a tremor of excitement, not fear, fluttering in her stomach. Her heels clicked lightly against the stage, a soft, rhythmic cadence accompanying her elegant movement toward the charismatic magician, toward the waiting, polished box. The air crackled with anticipation; the first sawing was about to begin.

Stephanie turned back to the hushed crowd, her voice carrying over the barely perceptible murmurs of anticipation. "But of course, Claude is not alone in this competition! Joining him are four more masters of illusion, each ready to demonstrate their own unique approach to this timeless trick!"

As she spoke, the remaining four magicians emerged from the centre aisle of the audience, moving with a deliberate, almost choreographed purpose toward the stage. Their distinct styles were immediately apparent, even in their approach.

First came Victor Blackwood, a tall and imposing figure in his deep crimson coat with black velvet lapels. His very presence seemed to draw the air from the room, his piercing gaze sweeping over the audience with an almost predatory intensity. He offered Claude a curt nod, accompanied by a subtle, almost contemptuous smirk. Known for his precision and theatrical intensity, Victor's illusions were always laced with an air of dark mystery.

Following him was Alistair Graves, effortlessly sophisticated in a sleek charcoal-grey suit, his silver tie gleaming under the stage lights. Alistair exuded an aura of refined elegance; the kind of magician who could make even the simplest movement look impossibly graceful. He offered a practiced, almost imperceptible bow to the crowd, his gloved hands moving with the fluidity of someone who had truly mastered the art of sleight of hand.

Then, with a burst of colour, came Felix Moreau, the undeniable wildcard of the group. Dressed flamboyantly in a shimmering emerald vest over a black silk shirt, Felix had a perpetual, almost mischievous grin that made him look both charming and just a little dangerous. He played directly to the audience, throwing them a dramatic wink before theatrically flipping his cape with a flourish as he stepped onto the stage, already basking in the crowd's energy.

Finally, bringing up the rear, was Maximillian Holt, the most modern of the five. Clad in an impeccably tailored navy-blue ensemble, he eschewed the dramatic flair of the others for a crisp, minimalist style. Yet there was no denying his powerful presence—he exuded an effortless cool, a magician who commanded attention without a single wasted motion, his movements economical and precise.

The audience responded with a surge of applause, the energy in the room growing palpable as the five formidable magicians now stood together on the stage. Their rivalry, though unspoken, crackled in the air, yet it was undeniably respectful, a shared understanding of their extraordinary craft.

Stephanie smiled, encompassing them all. "And so, our contest begins! Five magicians, five sawing illusions, and one brave assistant!"

She turned toward Milly, who still stood by the box, feeling the collective weight of a hundred eager eyes upon her, a thrilling pressure. Claude stepped forward once more, extending a gloved hand toward Milly. "Shall we begin, mademoiselle?"

The first sawing was poised to commence. Claude extended his hand toward the elegant wooden box, its polished mahogany surface gleaming under the stage lights like liquid amber. With a practiced, almost tender motion, he lifted the lid, revealing the smooth, unblemished interior. “Mademoiselle, if you would,” he gestured, his voice rich with theatrical charm, inviting her into the heart of his illusion.