Lorelei Aerondight and the Auction of Impossible Things

The invitations were written upon scraps of parchment that had never existed. Each recipient discovered theirs tucked into a favorite book, hidden beneath a pillow, or folded inside a coat pocket they had not worn in years. The message contained only a date, an address, and a warning: Bring no mirrors.

The auction was held beneath the old opera house, in a chamber lit by floating lanterns that shed no heat. Lorelei Aerondight presided from a velvet chair atop a small dais, dressed in black lace and roses. She spoke softly, yet every word carried effortlessly through the hall.

Upon the stage rested the evening's offerings: a compass that pointed toward one's greatest regret, a silver key recovered from the dreams of a mambo dancer, and a crystal goblet that sang Wagner when stroked with a fingertip.

The assembled nobles, sorcerers, and collectors bid in whispers, for none wished to draw the attention of the things from which the relics had been taken.