“What, this li'l thing? Oh, you know how pickpocketing goes; a bit of clothing lint or spare change here, a rare jewel or costly necklace there, the pulsing locus of an esoteric magical ritual over there. Luck of the draw, really.”
(#00884-B153)
Still dunno everything this one does… I twiddled with the locket around my neck. When it’s open, it glows enough and shows up all the genuine tosh. Gives it that little extra sparkle. Gives me an edge.
Don’t really want to take it off. Even though I can’t.
Most
o’ them nobs, they have fakes for wear and tear. The special stuff, the
real stuff? That, they hide away. This little light of mine has them
shining through the hidies. Just for me.
Gave me a leg-up it did.
You’d be shocked how much tosh turns out to be tarnies under it’s lovely
little glow. Flog the rubbish to the less discerning and sell the real
tosh to the right people… hire the right people with the Glim… Built
me an empire.
Could do without the dreams, though.
This
locket. It’s the only thing I killed for. Turns out the last touch who
held it had to kill to own it, too. Gotta shed blood for the right to
wear it.
And every night… every damn night… I dream their deaths. Starting with the moment it was made.
You got any idea what it’s like to dream thousands and thousands of deaths?
There’s
this one bloke who died of natural causes. Got buried with it. At least
it’s a few hours’ darkness until the next touch robs that poor
bastards’ grave.
There’s some other power, too. Another right bastard. Longevity.
Yeah, I know. You’re young. You reckon living forever with a magic locket’s gotta be a doddle.
Say that after you’ve watched your grandchildren grow old and die.
And you don’t keep your youth, either. You age. Just… slower.
Imagine being sixty for twenty years. That ain’t anybody’s idea of fun.
Well, I’m dying. It’s taking ages, of course. Worse than painful. I’ve had enough.
You? You still have your youth. Reckon you’d have a century or so to enjoy it.
You can have the bloody thing. Pass me that bottle off the top shelf. Yeah. The one with the skull on the label. Cheers.
It tastes sweet. I knew it would. One last series of death dreams before I sigh into my own.
And
then I meet all the others who died for possession of this little gem.
And discover yet another downside to wearing it. No eternal rest.
I
want to tell you to chuck it into a volcano. Sear it with dragon fire.
Anything… anything but wear it. But all I can show you is my own
death. Among all the many others.
For centuries to come…
[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
