There was once a magician who could not perform a single trick.

It wasn't as if he did not know any magic. No, he knew all the spells by heart and would repeat them to himself under his breath just before he nodded off to sleep. He even had selves upon selves of the best magic books out there, pages scribbled on and torn to show how hard the magician studied their content.

It was merely the fact that he was completely incapable of preforming a single ounce of believe magic.

The magician did try, oh, he did. He tried every waking hour of the day, well into the night before he fell atop his old and creaking bed in a heap of exhaustion. Not matter what he attempted; the magician could not get his magic to work.

He once visited a doctor when he had nowhere else to go, and spilled out all his problems in a rush of jumbled words and exaggerated hand movements once the doctor appeared. But as good as the doctor was perceived to be, he too could not help the magician in any way.

"Perhaps you do not have magic after all, sir."

Was all the man said, and stepped out the door to diagnose his next patient, leaving the magician alone in the extensively white room.

He spent the next hour alone, head in his hands while he cried for the first time in years.

The magician was at a loss, a loss that could not be given any easy solution, and he wanted to find the root of his problem. Once that root was found, maybe, just maybe would the magician be granted hold of his magic.

He set out on a journey. A journey that would take many years to complete, a journey that would alter the course of his life forever if he preformed everything he was supposed to do. A journey that would give the magician the magic he never once possessed.

For years and years the magician was gone off on his journey. His home near the woods had long since be infested with overgrown ivy, the green covering up the windows and doors until they were no longer recognizable. The people within the town had moved away long ago, and the buildings crumpled from lack of attention, and the town became just another desolate section of the growing woods.

Eventually, the magician returned. And, what he became was no longer the same as his past self. He grew into a new skin over the course of the years of his journey, finally figured out just who he was exactly.

The magician had all sorts of tricks up his sleeves now, ranging from pulling rabbits from hats flawlessly to granting even the most complex of tricks.

But when the magician returned to his home, he found how lonely and empty it had become. He saw the sorry state of the buildings, the green overgrowth upon his home, and something inside of him fell apart into many, tiny pieces.

The magician he soon realised he had lost the very vital piece he needed the most.

His audience.