You're a star now. Can't you hear them? The way they chant your name like devoted followers to a new god. You sit in your dressing room, in front of your vanity as you look over the arrangement of flowers left in praise of you. Their cheers get louder as the door to the room swings open; their cries muffled once more as it closes.

Have you ever seen such a crowd?

Swan now stands in your room, his presence alone making your heart skip a beat. He leans against the wall, cigar in his hand.