The king of sleight of hand

The King of Sleight of Hand

Youth and vigor. How does one regain youth? How do you slow, reverse, or stop the passage of time?

Witches accomplish this through children by whatever means they deem fit, but that is a messy affair that often ends in the witch's death. Rightfully so, of course, all things considered.

Then there is the Fountain of Youth, assuming you have the manpower, resources, ambition, imagination, and vigor to find it. And really, who checks all those boxes?

Maybe the key is to conquer death, like in the movie Death Becomes Her. But then, as the movie shows us, the maintenance is difficult, to say the least, and we don't all have a Bruce Willis doctor in our lives.

No, my friends. These methods are either useless or inefficient. But fret not. You have come to the right place if you wish to retain, regain, and restore everlasting youth.

You have to rob both Father Time and Death, so you need a skilled thief.

His name is not important. He traded it eons ago for his skills, but you may call him the King of Sleight of Hand, or Sleight for short.

Now, listen closely to the setup, because if you mess up the timing, you won't live to regret it.

You have to make a shrine of loss.

To get eternal youth, you must give up something eternal. If you want to give up beauty, leave a photograph, makeup, or an item that represents beauty. Do this for whatever you choose to lose.

You also need three lit candles arranged in a semicircle around your items.

At a quarter till midnight, or sooner, you must make your shrine. Remember, your candles must stay lit, so plan accordingly. Place your offerings and light the candles.

Pay absolute attention to those three flames. If even one or two of those candles flicker out early due to a draft, an uneven wick, or a sudden tremor of panic from your hands, the ritual is broken, and the consequences are entirely your own to bear. None of the candles can go out before he finishes his work. If you lose a single flame prematurely, you will find out exactly what happens when you waste his time.

Part two of this ritual requires you to set your most precious item right on the windowsill.

And I do mean your most precious item.

This item must be truly important to you, or you would have tried to cheat the King, and he will rob you of time instead.

Now, why the window?

Because he is a thief, my friends, and a thief requires an entry point that tests your trust.

Once your shrine is set, the true weight of the invitation begins to settle into the room. Between a quarter till and the strike of midnight, the air changes. The familiar dimensions of your bedroom will begin to feel foreign, as if the walls are drawing a deep breath and holding it. The shadows cast by your three candles will stretch longer than the objects creating them, leaning toward the glass like reaching fingers. You will feel an overwhelming urge to blow them out, to smash the windowsill, to slide the lock back into place.

That is the instinct of a mark who realizes they’ve caught the attention of a predator. Ignore it.

Sit perfectly still in the center of your room. Watch the hands of the clock. Do not look toward the glass yet. The silence will become so loud you will hear the internal mechanics of your own ears straining against the absolute quiet.

At exactly midnight, approach the glass. Do not hesitate. Open your window just a crack. Not wide open, just a sliver—enough for a hand to slip inside and pry the rest open.

I understand some of you may be deeply wary of this. Pushing open your window at the dead of night and leaving your most valuable earthly possession sitting on the sill for the taking is an open invitation. In the natural world, it is an encouragement to any ordinary, would-be thief who happens to be drifting through the dark looking for an easy score.

Because of this, it is entirely okay to keep a weapon in your hand as you wait.

If a human intruder tries to exploit your cracked window before the hour strikes, you have every right to defend yourself. But look closely at the design of the trap you have set: if a mortal thief tries to breach that room while the invitation is active, their life has been forfeit by their own greed anyway. By choosing to cross that line, they have unknowingly volunteered their own blood as a preliminary sacrifice to the King, perfectly cleansing the space for his true arrival.

But remember the law of the clock.

You may hold that weapon to guard against the flesh and blood of the outside world, but the very second your true guest arrives at 12:01, you must drop it immediately. If it is still in your grip when he steps through, he will not see a defensive mortal; he will view it as a threat to his sovereignty, and he will steal your life before you can even register the static in the air.

The minute between 12:00 and 12:01 is the longest sixty seconds you will ever endure.

The wind outside will die down to an unnatural, dead calm, yet the glass will begin to vibrate against the frame. You will hear the distinct, sickening sound of the window sliding upward by itself, inch by agonizing inch, as something on the other side accepts the invitation. The cool night air rushing through the gap won't smell like rain or autumn; it will carry the scent of dead leaves and centuries of damp earth.

Speak not a word, or he will steal your tongue.

Remain still and do not stare. Thieves hate to be watched.

Instead, look straight up at the ceiling.

Even looking up, you may catch his reflection or glimpse his shadow, and that alone will paralyze you.

He does not look human.

His limbs are impossibly long, like snapped kindling wrapped in a coat of pure, shifting static. His hands have too many joints, and his fingers elongate and twitch with a sickening, hyper-fluid speed that no living creature should possess.

His face is a featureless, smooth void of polished obsidian, save for a grin that isn't made of teeth, but of stolen glints of light.

After he is done collecting your items, the candles will go out.

Remember, these are candles. They can be extinguished by a draft, a careless movement, or the slightest disturbance in the air. But this will be different.

All three flames will be snuffed out at once, simultaneously and without warning. No flickering. No gradual dimming. No lingering trails of smoke before the darkness takes hold. One moment, the room is illuminated; the next, every trace of light is gone.

A thief knows the value of darkness. It conceals his movements, hides what he has taken, and gives him cover to leave without being seen.

The King is no different.

Total, pitch-black darkness.

Don't panic. Don't move. Don't shout.

For thirty seconds, you will be trapped in a darkness so absolute it feels heavy, pressing against your chest like cold water. The air will turn freezing, smelling of ancient dust and copper.

And then you will hear him.

Not walking, but the hyper-fast, insect-like clicking of his many-jointed fingers, mere inches from your face.

You will feel the static electricity of his presence raising every single hair on your body. The agonizing urge to scream will choke your throat while your heart batters against your ribs like a caged bird.

It will feel like thirty lifetimes.

But after thirty seconds, the candles will snap back on.

At that exact point, do not hesitate. Immediately slam and lock the window, or the King will come back and steal more than he has already taken.

If you chose wrong or offended him in any way, then trust me, you'll know.

If youth is that important to you to risk this encounter, then good luck.

Or goodbye.