Chapter 6 unexpected mail

New York, February 1873 The man known as the magic master Prospero received a lot of mail through the theater office, but it was the first time he received a letter like this with a suicide note attached, and it was also the first time that a letter was carefully sandwiched in a box. A five-year-old girl delivered on the coat. Despite repeated requests from the theater manager, the lawyer who escorted her to the theater refused to explain anything, shrugged her shoulders, nodded her hat, and left her in a hurry to leave. The theater manager didn't have to read the recipient's name to know whom to take the girl to.Those bright eyes peeking at him from under the tousled brown curly hair are like a replica of the window of the master's soul, only smaller and open.

He took her hand, and her little fingers hung limply in his.It was quite warm in the theater, but she just wouldn't take off her coat.When he asked her why, she just shook her head stubbornly. The manager didn't know what to do with her, so he took her to his office.She sat quietly in an uncomfortable chair, above her head was a row of framed promotional posters of old shows, surrounded by boxes full of theater tickets and receipts.The manager brought her a cup of hot tea with an extra sugar cube, but the cup was left on the table and cooled, so she didn't take a sip. The girl sat quietly, without restlessness.She folded her hands on her knees and did not move.Her gaze was downcast, fixed on her two boots that didn't touch the ground.One of the boots had a small scratch on the toe, but the laces were tied securely.

The sealed letter hung on the second button of her coat until Prospero arrived. She heard it before the door opened.His footsteps in the corridor were heavy and echoing, unlike the manager who had been in and out several times, as quiet as a cat. Another package for you, master.The manager opened the door, ushered him into the crowded office, and slipped off to attend to other chores in the theater, with no intention of knowing what the outcome of the meeting would be. The magician glanced around the office, a stack of letters in one hand, a black velvet cloak lined with strikingly white satin pouring down his back; he expected to see a paper-wrapped box or wooden box.It wasn't until the little girl looked up at him with eyes that resembled his that he understood what the theater manager meant.

The reaction of Prospero, the master of magic, upon seeing his daughter for the first time was a small exclamation: Alas, death. The girl looked down at the boots instead. The magician closed the door, looked at the girl, and threw the letter beside the teacup on the desk. He tore the letters off the girl's coat, the pins still stuck to the buttons. Although the envelope bore his stage name and theater address, the letter inside was addressed by his real name, Hector.Bowen. He skimmed through the contents of the letter, and the emotional impact the writer craved was unfortunately completely missed.He lingered only on one fact that he considered relevant: the girl whose custody fell into his hands was clearly his own daughter, and her name was Celia.

She should have named you Miranda, the man known as Prospero the Magician said to the girl with a giggle: I don't think she's smart enough to think of that. The girl looked up at him again, her dark eyes narrowed into thin lines under the curls. The teacup on the table began to vibrate, the calm surface of the cup fluctuated, countless cracks spread on the glaze, and the flower bowl porcelain cup shattered into pieces.The cold tea soup flowed into the disk and dripped down the floor, leaving sticky trails along the smooth board. The magician's smile faded away, and he frowned angrily at the table.The tea juice spilled on the ground began to flow back a little bit, and the cracked and disintegrated fragments gathered around the soup juice and restored it to its original shape.The cup stood there perfectly again, and wisps of steam floated into the air.

The girl stared at the teacup, her eyes wide open. Hector.Bowen cupped his daughter's face in his gloved hands, studied her expression carefully for a moment before releasing her, his fingers leaving long red marks on her cheeks. You may be very interesting kid.He said. The girl didn't answer. He tried to give her another name several times in the next few weeks, but she only responded to the name Celia. Months later, as soon as the magician judged that she was ready, he wrote a letter.He didn't write the recipient's address, but the letter still reached its destination across the sea.