the illusionist is a flutter of [midnight blue], the single white spotlight reflecting off of her dress like thousands of stars.
with a twirl of her arm, a dozen doves appear, bursts of white flying in complex swirls, twisting and turning like a scarf billowing in the wind.
people watch, mesmerized as one by one, the doves turn black until all twelve are fluttering slick, jet black feathers.
the illusionist raises her arm and snaps her fingers and all the doves disappear in a plume of [midnight blue] smoke that veils her elusive smile.
the audience raises out of their seats to applaud the illusionist, but she too has vanished.