Antique hunting, Dorian reflected, it was about 90% garbage and 10% wishing you were dead.
He pulled his coat tighter as he dug through the third trash heap of the day. Somewhere under the old cabbage leaves and broken chair legs, he might find something valuable. A ring. A locket. A slightly magical rock, even. He wasn't picky.
Instead, he found a cracked mug with "#1 Dad" painted on it.
He sighed. "I don't even have kids."
(He never will)
Next was the Sunrise Market. Stalls piled with moth-eaten books, cracked charms, greasy talismans. Dorian bargained half-heartedly for a tarnished locket, but when he pried it open, a dead bug fell out.
Pawnshops were worse.
The owners squinted at him like they could smell the broke on his skin.
At one point, Dorian actually heard himself say.
"Yes, I know it's cracked, but technically that makes it vintage."
By sunset, his pockets were still depressingly empty.
Even the stray cat following him eventually gave up.
He slumped on a barrel in a dead-end alley, rubbing his forehead.
"Maybe I should just give up and sell my kidneys. How many do people really need anyway? One? Half?"
That's when he saw it.
A man. coat too clean, shoes too expensive. slipping through a hidden doorway in the crumbling stone wall at the end of the alley.
Dorian blinked.
Normal people don't just vanish into walls.
Curiosity outweighed survival instincts (again), and he crept after the man.
The doorway opened onto a narrow spiral staircase, leading down into musty darkness.
He caught the faint whiff of burning incense.
And... money.
Two huge guards stood at the bottom, arms crossed, faces like slabs of meat.
Dorian hesitated.
He patted his pockets. Three coins, lint, and what might have been a gummy candy.
Thinking fast, he pulled out his best poker face, and with a cocky attitude like he belonged here.
"What are you lot staring at?"
The guards exchanged a look.
One shrugged.
The other stepped aside.
Dorian exhaled slowly, strolling past like he wasn't already sweating buckets under his coat.
'Act rich. Think rich. Smell rich. And hopefully... be rich.'
Inside, it was like stepping into a villain's wet dream.
Chandeliers dripped sickly gold light over a black marble floor. Velvet-draped figures whispered behind elaborate masks.
It smelled faintly of rosewater, burning incense... and old, old fear.
Dorian tried to melt into the back wall.
He caught the tail-end of a bid. a glittering jeweled dagger.
"Starting at five hundred gold!" the auctioneer announced.
Dorian almost choked on air.
He instinctively clutched his pathetic coin pouch like it might run away.
Three coins.
His Total net worth, three sad gold coins.
(Business wasn't booming as much as I thought)
"I'm one sneezing fit away from financial ruin," he thought grimly.
More relics came and went.
An orb that supposedly let you see the future.
A witch's mirror that might have been just a mirror.
A cursed deck of cards. "limited edition!" the auctioneer chirped.
Prices climbed higher, numbers so big they might as well have been insults.
Dorian slouched further down the wall.
"Yeah.. I really don't belong here, I should really just..."
He was about to slink out when he heard a sharp whisper nearby.
From the edge of the stage, hidden behind thick curtains, two men spoke hurriedly.
The auctioneer.
And another man. heavyset, face lost under a black hat.
Dorian edged closer, pretending to examine a nearby candelabra.
"...Master Sallow," the auctioneer hissed, "this is insane. If no one buys it, we seal it. Lock it. Bury it deep."
The man in black nodded slowly.
"We have no choice. If fate won't claim it... Then we erase it."
The auctioneer wiped sweaty palms on his coat.
"I'm not going near it after this."
Dorian perked up.
"Dangerous? Sealed forever? Sounds like something nobody's guarding properly..."
He slithered back to his spot just as the auctioneer took the stage again, pale as a corpse.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer rasped, "Lot Forty-Nine... The Mourning Veil."
Two guards, wearing thick gloves and matching looks of abject terror, carried out a bundle wrapped in cracked, yellowing silk.
Thin iron wires crisscrossed it, as if trying to choke it into submission.
The second it appeared, the temperature in the room dropped.
Everyone shifted backward in their seats.
Even the chandeliers seemed to dim.
The auctioneer swallowed audibly.
"Recovered from the estate of Alistair Venn. Artifact of extremely hazardous nature. Direct contact... discouraged."
His hand trembled slightly as he lifted the gavel.
"Starting bid, one gold."
Silence.
No bids.
No movement.
Even the richest snobs looked ready to bolt.
Dorian glanced around, baffled.
He tapped the shoulder of the masked man beside him. "Hey, uh... why's nobody bidding?"
The man recoiled like Dorian had grown horns.
"You don't touch relics like these," he hissed. "They carry passengers. Souls. And quite the Angry ones too."
Dorian blinked.
"Passengers? Really now?.."
'this is quite the steal I mean what's a ghost gonna do anyway... Right?'
The man just made a frantic warding sign and turned away.
The auctioneer wiped his forehead with a shaking hand. "Any... any bids?"
More silence.
Dorian looked back at the bundle.
One gold.
He had one gold.
One pitiful gold.
He shrugged.
"One gold!" he called casually, raising his hand.
The sound slammed into the room like a cannon blast.
Whispers erupted.
Someone gasped.
Someone else laughed. a short, broken laugh like a man watching his house burn down.
The auctioneer stared at him like he couldn't decide whether to cry or faint.
After a long, painful pause, he slammed the gavel.
"S..SOLD!"
Two guards scrambled forward, armed with thick chains, metal tongs, and a box lined with silver runes.
Dorian, whistling a bit, beat them to it.
He walked straight up and. before anyone could react grabbed the bundle barehanded.
The whole relic twitched in his arms. subtle but unmistakable, like a heartbeat waking up.
The guards shouted.
"Drop it!"
"Drop it now!"
"Get the containment unit!"
More guards started running in from the sides, gloves, talismans, even spears raised.
Dorian looked up, blinking, annoyed.
"...What? I bought it."
'Hah.. regretting you sold it for only one gold now did you?'
He tucked the Veil under his arm like it was an old coat and turned toward the exit.
Behind him, chaos brewed.
One woman shrieked.
One man fainted.
Someone prayed quietly.
The guards circled him, but none dared get closer than a few feet. flinching every time he took a step.
Dorian ambled through the center of the fearstorm like he was out shopping.
He even had the audacity to whistle a jaunty little tune.
When he reached the door, the auctioneer shouted after him.
"Y-you can't just-"
Dorian turned, grinning.
"It's already mine buddy."
And he kicked the heavy doors open, striding out into the night.
The cool night air hit him like a blessing.
He exhaled.
No screaming voices.
No sudden possession.
No blood leaking from his eyes.
'See? Superstitious nonsense.'
Dorian adjusted the bundle under his arm. It was heavier than it looked, and weirdly warm. but hey, a deal was a deal.
As he wandered down the street, humming, he didn't see the movement behind him:
A faint, pale hand. translucent, bony. pressed gently against the inside of the Veil's silk.
Testing.
Stretching.
Waiting.
The bundle shivered once.
Then went still.
Dorian scratched his nose, oblivious.
"I mean... Even if a ghost was in this thing," he muttered, "it's gonna sell for quite a lot Hahaha."
The spirit inside the Mourning Veil, newly awake and newly curious, just smiled in the dark.