Milly took a deep breath, stepping up the small set of steps leading to the box. As she moved, she became acutely aware of how effortlessly her body responded—each step smooth, poised, almost feline in its grace. It was as if she had done this a thousand times before, a strange, innate choreography, though she knew she hadn’t. Her golden heels clicked softly against the platform as she approached the open box. A flutter of excitement, sharp and exhilarating, twisted in her stomach, but it wasn’t fear. It was… anticipation? The thought made her grin, a wide, genuine smile that refused to fade even as she lay down inside the confining space.

The box was snug, but not uncomfortably so. The polished wood felt cool and smooth beneath her back, a stark contrast to the warm glow that the golden lights above cast over her face. She turned her head slightly, catching sight of the five magicians standing at the front, each watching intently, their individual expressions a fascinating study. Victor’s gaze was sharp, dissecting; Alistair’s, contemplative; Felix's, openly thrilled; and Maximillian, coolly assessing. Stephanie, standing just off to the side, gave her a small, reassuring nod, a silent anchor in the whirlwind of sensation.

Claude, meanwhile, adjusted the lid of the box, his movements fluid and deliberate, almost caressing the wood. "Comfortable, ma chérie?" he asked, his fingers tracing along the edges of the box as if preparing it, or her, for the impossible to come.

Milly wet her lips, her grin still stubbornly in place. "As comfortable as someone about to be sawed in half can be," she quipped, her voice carrying a nervous but undeniable edge of excitement.

A low chuckle rippled through the audience. Even Claude’s lips twitched in amusement, a brief crack in his professional facade. "Ah, an assistant with spirit," he mused, his eyes dancing as he reached for the first latch. "Let us see if you still smile when we reach the finale, hmm?"

The room hushed, the collective breath of the audience drawn in. Tension, thick and palpable, settled over the stage. The first sawing was truly about to begin.

Claude knelt gracefully beside the box, his fingers brushing along its edge as he studied Milly with a calculating eye. Then, without warning, he reached down and slipped off one of her golden heels, followed swiftly by the other. “Ah, much better,” Claude murmured, holding her shoes aloft as if they were precious, cumbersome artifacts. “We cannot have these getting in the way, now can we?”

Milly’s bare toes twitched instinctively, catching the warm glow of the stage lights, suddenly feeling exposed yet playfully vulnerable. Claude’s amused smile, however, put her at ease.

“Wiggle those toes, ma chérie,” Claude instructed softly, tilting his head as if admiring a piece of living art. Milly complied, flexing her feet and giving a little wiggle of her toes, earning a soft ripple of chuckles from the audience.

"Look at that," Felix whispered, nudging Alistair. "Already making them laugh. That's Claude's touch."

Alistair nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Engaging the audience from the outset. Classic showmanship."

Victor, however, scoffed faintly. "Charming, yes. But hardly a feat of true magic. Let's see if those wiggles continue when the blade descends."

“Perfect,” Claude murmured, his gaze lingering for just a moment before he leaned over the box, looking down at her with a critical eye. “Now,” he said thoughtfully, “let’s make sure you are… precisely calibrated.”

With a flick of his wrist, Claude adjusted Milly’s position, guiding her slightly to the left, then to the right, before gently lifting her hips and shifting her downward just an inch. His hands were gentle but deliberate, as though he was lining up a masterpiece, seeking absolute precision. “Hmm,” he muttered, squinting slightly as if mentally marking where the blade would pass. “Oui… I believe we are nearly there…”

“Claude!” Stephanie’s sharp voice echoed from the side of the stage. She stood with her arms crossed, one brow arched high in mild annoyance. "Get on with it," she said, her tone playful but with just enough authority to make Claude straighten, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

A low murmur of laughter rippled through the audience, but the other magicians weren’t going to let him off so easily.

“Oh, come now, Claude,” Victor called from the front row, his voice dripping with mock impatience. "Are you going to saw her or propose to her?" A dark chuckle followed.

Felix chimed in, "Maybe he's just nervous he'll miss! All that 'perfection' talk..." He winked at Alistair.

“Perhaps he’s trying to measure her for a coffin,” Maximillian quipped with a dry smirk, his comment eliciting a few more chuckles through the audience.

Claude stood upright, placing a hand theatrically over his heart, feigning offense. “Ah, but gentlemen,” he said with a mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling, “perfection takes time, no?" He turned back to Milly, giving her a quick, conspiratorial wink. "And for our dear assistant, only perfection will do.”

Milly bit her lip, suppressing a giggle as she lay back, her toes still twitching slightly, enjoying the playful banter.

“Very well,” Claude declared, his playful grin fading as he adopted a more serious, focused demeanour. "Let us begin."

The room grew quiet once again, all eyes locked on the stage as Claude reached for the saw, its metal glinting ominously. The anticipation was palpable, and Milly could feel her heartbeat quicken, a rapid thrum against her ribs.

“Hold on tight, ma chérie,” Claude whispered with a final wink, just for her. “This is where the fun begins.”

Claude’s grin widened as he gently lowered the lid of the box, sealing Milly inside its polished depths. The soft snick of the latch echoed in the silent room, sending a subtle shiver down Milly’s spine—a shiver of exhilaration, not fear.

“Now,” Claude murmured, almost to himself, as he reached for the neck stock. It was an elegant piece of polished wood with intricate carvings, designed to hold Milly’s head firmly in place. “Just a precaution,” he said smoothly, locking it into position around her neck, securing her head firmly while still allowing her to look out at the audience. Milly blinked up at the crowd, feeling a little vulnerable but keeping her composure, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Claude moved with graceful efficiency to the other end of the box, kneeling by her feet. He positioned the matching ankle stock, sliding it gently around her ankles and securing it with a crisp snap. “Et voilà,” he said, standing back to admire his work. “Safe and secure, no?”

Milly twitched her toes again, a small, playful gesture that earned a few warm chuckles from the audience.

“Now, mesdames et messieurs,” Claude continued, his voice taking on a more theatrical, booming tone as he turned to the crowd. “For those unfamiliar with the intricacies of this particular illusion…” With a dramatic flourish, he pulled open the panels on either side of the box, revealing Milly’s body within. “Behold!” Claude gestured with both hands, stepping aside to give the audience a clear view. Milly’s body was stretched out, her head and feet visible at either end of the box, while the open panels on the side showed her glittering golden leotard-clad form, impeccably placed within the confines.

“As you can all see,” Claude announced confidently, his voice ringing with conviction, “our lovely assistant remains exactly where she should be.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate, conspiratorial tone as he addressed Milly directly. "Milly, my dear… have you moved a single inch since I closed the lid?”

Milly blinked, her lips curling slightly as she gave a little shake of her head. “No… I haven’t moved at all,” she replied, her voice laced with genuine curiosity. And she hadn’t. She was still lying perfectly still, her arms at her sides, her body unmoved. Yet, a flicker of uncertainty danced in her mind. How exactly was this supposed to work?

Claude’s smile grew, his eyes twinkling with that same mischievous charm. “Ah, très bien,” he purred, turning back to the audience. “You see, ladies and gentlemen… the magic is already at work.”

Milly’s brow furrowed slightly as she stared up at Claude. The magic?

Claude caught her confused look and gave her a reassuring wink. “Do not worry, ma chérie,” he murmured softly, just for her. “The magic will take care of everything.”

Milly’s mind raced. How could the magic make this work? She’d seen plenty of sawing tricks before, but this felt different. She was in the box, feeling every inch of the wooden surface beneath her. There were no obvious hidden compartments. No way for her to slip out or move unseen. Yet, Claude spoke with such utter confidence that Milly couldn’t help but trust him, a bizarre leap of faith.

“Relax,” Claude whispered softly, his hand brushing lightly against the box. “Let the magic do its work.”

Milly took a slow, deep breath, her heart pounding with a rising tide of anticipation.

“Ready, mes amis?” Claude’s voice rang out, addressing the eager audience once more. “Because now… the real magic begins.”

Claude moved with practiced elegance, stepping around the box to the side where Milly, with her head firmly held in the wooden stock, couldn’t see. Her gaze remained directed straight ahead toward the audience, but her ears were keenly attuned. She could hear him now: the soft, distinct creak of a cabinet door opening, followed by a quiet clink of metal as Claude surveyed his options.

“Ahhh,” Claude purred, drawing out the sound like a true showman. “But of course, dear audience, a performance such as this requires the perfect tool…” Milly’s heart skipped a beat. The perfect tool? “Now, let’s see…” Though she couldn’t see what he was doing, Milly imagined him standing before a gleaming array of saws, each one polished and ready for action.

“Do we start with something… simple?” Claude’s voice carried a teasing edge as he lifted what sounded like a standard carpenter’s saw. A ripple of polite applause echoed through the room. “Hmm… non, non.” Claude dismissed the idea almost immediately, setting it back down with a definitive clink. “Perhaps something… a little more daring?” This time, the distinct schling of metal sliding against metal echoed through the air, sending a shiver down Milly’s spine—a thrilling tremor. “Or…” Claude paused dramatically, the silence hanging heavy in the air. “Do we go big?”

With a sudden flourish, he produced a massive, two-handed wood-cutting saw. The audible woosh of displaced air as he lifted it drew sharp gasps from the audience. “Ahhh… I see some of you know this one,” Claude said with a wicked grin in his voice, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Felix let out an excited whoop from the front row. "Now that's the spirit, Claude! Go big or go home!"

Victor merely grunted, a cynical smirk playing on his lips. "Bluster and brute force. Let's see if his technique matches his showmanship."

Alistair chuckled softly. "Always playing to the crowd, our Claude. One must admire the theatrical commitment."

Milly’s eyes widened as the crowd erupted into cheers and thunderous applause. Even without seeing, she felt the energy in the room shift—excitement crackling in the air like static electricity, a tangible hum.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Claude called out, his voice booming over the joyous din. “Do we use the standard saw?” A mild smattering of claps followed, barely audible. “Or do we go all in with the giant saw?”

The response was deafening—a crescendo of cheers, applause, and whistles filled the room, a unanimous roar.

“The people have spoken!” Claude declared, his tone dripping with triumphant satisfaction. “The big one it is!”

Milly’s pulse quickened, her mind racing. The big one? She imagined the massive, serrated blade glinting under the lights as Claude brandished it for the crowd. Claude returned to Milly’s side, his steps measured and deliberate. Though she couldn’t see the saw, she could feel its imposing presence, a palpable weight in the air.

“Fear not, ma chérie,” he murmured softly, just for her, his voice a comforting balm. “This is where the magic truly begins.”