The performer does always visit a certain street corner when evening descends. On it there are few, and it is calm, and the shop of the corner has a canopy over its door, such that the twilight of the setting sun finds itself obstructed, but casts a deep, shallow warmth instead over the uneven cobble. When work is over, and no rehearsal is upcoming, the performer avoids the gazes, and is in love with coming here these days. He is a quiet one off the stage, fond of drinking floral teas. With cup cradled, he stares out at the emptiest street in gold, squints ever so slightly, and under the loop of his collar the crystals at his throat, grown distinct these recent evenings, faintly stings. He remembers the ringleader, who rarely shows in person beyond giving him instruction, raising the matter with him not long ago. Coming with praise, eager to see the day he truly joins. Saying, I hope you reserve nothing for this play. —It will be his stage alone. At times, the performer feels a whisper of anxiety, source unknown. But beneath that unease pallid as the Victorian mist, it is clear to realize for him that he cannot hold back the feeling of joy. This will be no ordinary play, a play like no other the traveling troupe has hitherto performed, unlike any stage he has trodden before. This will be his play, and his entire life, his kismet... 'Mew.' A black kitten appears on the street corner. Few have seen a being beautiful as it, as if a certain legend where at times they show before others as they please, a legend as if the black cat here now. The performer's train of thought is broken. The uncanny fervor in his eyes dissipates, and his look relaxes, watching the cat delicately pace towards him, and he lets out a smile unawares. He is in love with coming to this little town's street corner these days. On it there are few, and it is calm, and the tea is not exceptional, but a black cat does always patron it, placing golden sunsets underfoot with its perfect composure, on its leisurely stroll. 'Meow.' Its tail elegantly sways, approaches his side. The performer tries to reach a hand out to the black cat, and it gives an askance look, its ears shake a shiver, but it does not show immediate refusal. Thus he carefully strokes its finely sheened fur, the sunset that lingers on this kitten soaking into his fingertips. His smile supplants all other mood in his vision; the performer has long since had a fine name in mind for his unusual new friend, and merely has not given it yet. He has decided, if this black cat keep coming forevermore, he will ask her: would you like to walk with me?