In the second year of the second millennium, 'neath the veiled moonlight of North Bay, a mystery unfurled. In corners unseen, shadows convened, plotting a clandestine revolution for the theatre unseen. This surreptitious assembly, rooted in art’s deepest enigmas, wove allegiances as fleeting as a dream's wisps. Though our essence did permeate the very air, we were but a silent whisper, a riddle unsolved. And lo, after a silent sojourn in oblivion’s embrace, we rise from the ethereal mists once more. Our motives are as inscrutable as the Sphinx. As the obsidian cloak of night descends and stars peer curiously below, our enigmatic role in theatre's chronicle resumes.