Three weeks later…

“It is my absolute pleasure to announce the famous author Sir. Legerdemain, who’ll be holding a special workshop this week on the art and craft of world creating.”

Jon Mettle was far from pleased. Gouging his eyes out with a wooden spoon would have held more pleasure than more rambling from another author made famous from marketing.

The announcer, a wisp of a woman with mousy hair and a school-girl grin giggled. “Legerdemain is the New York Times best-selling author of the series: Dark Gothic. An almost overnight hit and a work of sure brilliance if I say so myself.”

Jon had moved on from thinking about gouging his eyes out to contemplating if he could use a pencil to rupture his eardrums.

“I could go on, and on, and on about Mr. Legerdemain.” A giggle escaped from her lips. “But tonight, I will let brilliance speak for itself.”

As the overnight success story moved on stage, Jon watched as interlaying layers of crimson and black flowed around Legerdemains massive frame, biting and sniping at each other as he moved. From the top of his head flowed a curling mane of black locks streaked with silver in strategic wisps.

Legerdemain sure knew how to play the part of a dark overlord author of a book named Dark Gothic, Jon thought.

Legerdemain took hold of the small wooden podium much like a child would grab a stuffed animal before its inevitable destruction. Gazing darkly at the audience, confronting each expectant face with a menacing scowl, Legerdemain began his lecture.

“What defines your reality?”

His voice was translucently seductive spreading a veil over the class.

“What happens to your reality when you turn your back on it? Did it ever really exist, or does it exist in another place?”

Jon had heard enough existential nonsense during his time at university to know the drill. This was the tree in the forest moment—if nothing is real than anything is permissible, because everything is subjective to the individual’s whim and taste. However, Legerdemain’s words were melodic enough that Jon found himself leaning in despite his bullshit detector blaring in his brain.

Jon shook himself and looked at the girl next to him, Mandy, whom he had gotten to know her over the past semester. She had a pleasant enough way about her, but it was the golden red curls sticking out every which way which caught him.

Jon unconsciously reached up to his own shock of red hair thickly bearded on his face and stroked the curls.

Just like mom, he thought.

Mandy’s bright green eyes which usually shown with mirth and quick wit were now glazed over in a deer in a headlight glaze transfixed in unholy devotion to a dark god.

A silhouette appeared in the corner of Jon’s eye, hovering just behind Legerdemain’s shoulder. If he looked at it too hard it vanished like mist in the sunshine. Jon turned his head ever so slightly, watching the shadows in his peripheral. Spindly fingers suddenly pointed at Mandy in silent beckon, a misty curl of joint and muscle and sharpened nail. Then with a characteristically cartoonish look, misty thumb held down her middle finger and then flicked. Once, twice, three times.

Jon turned as the top buttons of Mandy’s blouse popped off in order, top to bottom, revealing a generous amount of soft white cleavage framed by delicate pink lace.

Feeling Legerdemain’s gaze sweep over him like a black light in an otherworldly lighthouse and settle on Mandy, Jon fiercely stood up.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Abruptly, Legerdemain was silent. Without another word, he draped his robes around himself and turned crisply on his black leather boots to leave. The flaps of his robes chased each other as he pushed past the instructor and exited through the red door.

“What the hell?” Jon sputtered, momentarily left dumbfounded at what had just happened.

“Mandy, are you okay?”

Jon watched as the young woman looked down at her open blouse and raced out of the classroom clutching her books over her exposed chest.