You arrive at the theater, late, flustered, and still dressed in the clothes you selected to importune Matty that morning. It'll have to do as your artistic statement this evening. Matty looks you over discouragingly but doesn't scold you as you take your place.
It's the first time you've actually been able to watch the play all the way through without disasters interrupting the performance. You find yourself pleased by your own lines. You probably can't ask for more from your first production.
Kit often loiters outside the theater to walk you home. Tonight the hour is later than usual, but Kit's note implied an urgency that suggests she won't get tired of waiting. The note was flattering but also concerned.
As late as the hour is, it seems reasonable to take the precaution of buckling on one of the swords used onstage. This one is a practical prop, for when it's actually necessary for a sword to slice fabric or painted canvas. The tag tied to its hilt reads in bold lettering, "DANGEROUS: SHARP." You didn't have much cause for fencing in your student days, but you'd rather not appear unarmed tonight.
Kit is waiting just outside and greets you with determined cheer. "How did it go tonight?" She waggles her eyebrows in a way probably intended to convey that this isn't the place to discuss her suspicions.
"The production was fine," you reply. "The rest of the day…don't ask." It's too complicated to explain, at least in the street.
Kit falls in next to you as you start home. It's so late that the street is completely deserted once you turn the corner.
"About the curse," you begin.
"You know I love the play," Kit says, raising her voice. It seems to you to be an excess of caution. There's not a soul in sight in the shadowed streets. "You have so much talent. Where do you get your ideas?"