That morning, outside Backlund Steam Train Station, Cyril stood at the end of a street crowded with pedestrians. Between his hands, a deck of Tarot Cards kept fluttering and flipping, yet never left his palms.
He wore a black tailcoat, a top hat, and a red bow tie beneath his neck. With cards dancing freely through his hands, he was the very image of an elegant Magician.
Quite a few Spectators had gathered around him. Some were migrant workers who had just gotten off the steam train, some were passersby, and some were nearby shop assistants, coachmen, newspaper boys, and thugs...
He gathered the Tarot Cards fluttering between his hands, then forcefully tossed them upward.
Snap!
Accompanied by a crisp snap of his fingers, the cards spinning through the air instantly turned into red flower petals, scattering among the watching crowd.
Someone reached out and caught a petal drifting before them, bringing it to their nose for a sniff. Upon discovering that the petals were real, they erupted into enthusiastic cheers.
Listening to the applause and cheers around him, Cyril removed his top hat, pressed it against his chest, and gave an elegant bow.
Then he tossed the hat high into the air, and several white doves flapped their wings as they flew out of it.
"Wow!"
"Beautiful!"
"Do another one!"
When the cheering crowd looked back toward the open space ahead, they discovered that the Magician had already vanished.
The crowd broke into another round of cheers.
At an inconspicuous corner beyond the crowd, Cyril raised a hand to adjust his top hat. Watching the crowd gradually disperse after their cheers, he curled his lips into a pleased smile.
At that moment, he heard the sound of something illusory shattering beside his ears, and countless illusory, dazzling stars