He surveyed his cluttered bedroom, strange items tumbling as he made his way around the room. He tilted his head to study a large poster, taking up much of his wall space. ‘The Great Gwyn Knight!’ The banner demanded complete attention from all the people who saw it. Featuring a quite slim figured individual with a flowing cape around their neck, their back turned from the photographer, hiding this person's face. This mysterious figure, as the poster went on to tell, was a great magician. Known for many tricks, but many came only to see their most daunting feat of sword swallowing, it was a world famous trick that only the most daring magicians would present in their shows. He chuckled to himself as he recognised the individual, himself that is.

Before he turned his attention to his cupboard. Gwyn shuffled through his drawer becoming more frantic as he couldn't locate what he was looking for. Each item of clothing he found wasn't a sock. He needed socks. 2 pairs, so he could create an odd pair.

He had a show that night, at 9:12pm. Magicians never presented at the same time as others. Other entertainers scheduled their shows at times like 5, or 6:30. Gwyn liked to begin his shows at random times of the hour, hence 9:12. But he couldn't show if he didn't have socks. He studied a Certificate in Magic and a Certificate in Deceiving to become the spectacle he is. He had learnt how lenient magic is, it can be altered very much to the individual. However the Ministry of Magician Kind had made one rule very clear. Never, and they mean never perform magic in matching socks.

He scampered out of his room, digging through his dirty clothes bin, and out on the line in hopes to find 2 pairs of socks. Unsuccessfully. Gwyn finally mustered his strength, knowing what he must do, he held no reservation towards magician kind for making him unavailable. He couldn’t bring himself to break the single rule of magic.

She wrapped her cloak tighter around her body, the air was cooler above the stage. A light tap on her shoulder averted her attention to her colleague beside her, he’d been calling out for her. “Abigail, the magician’s still not here! The host is freaking out!” he said in a yell-whisper. Abigail shook her head, pointing to the lights in front of her, as if saying, ‘that's not our issue’. They were light technicians after all, they weren't getting paid to fret about no shows.

She leant over the railing to adjust the angle of a lighting rig infront of her. She couldn’t quite reach so she extended her arm completely, splaying her fingers in a desperate attempt to grasp the lights. Her concentration was grabbed by another thought when the curtains opened to display an empty stage, the audience members making a mix of anticipated and confused murmurs. It all happened in a blur, one second she was above the stage among her fellow light techs and the next she was rudely slammed against the cool, wooden floor of the stage. Knocked back to her senses by an uproar of applause she stumbled upwards. Once on her feet she spun to meet the crowd, raising her hand to block the harsh light focussing on her. She finally connected the dots when she made eye contact with her friend up on the catwalk, he had both his thumbs up, as if wishing her luck. This couldn’t be happening…