It isn't always easy, but you're perfecting the craft of making the audience swoon and cry.
"That's really interesting," Kit says. "I see why that helps an audience connect with what you write."
You're happy to continue basking in Kit's praise, even if it's a sort of playacting of its own, when suddenly she stops.
Her voice changes. "Get behind me."
The shadows on the alley wall are shifting, though there's no light behind you to cast them. They dance in the twisted shapes of feathered things and the grim skeletal lines of bones. At the base of the wall, some unfortunate animal lies dead, and all around it, the shadows writhe like snakes. They solidify as you watch, taking on the inky black forms of emaciated dogs. Then, as if catching a scent, they raise their heads toward you.
Kit steps forward and draws her sword. "Run," she says urgently. "Now."
As the dark forms bound toward you, there's certainly an attraction to the idea, but can you leave Kit to face this menace alone?