Prologue:
A group of elderly patrons sit in the front few rows of the abandoned opera house. The stage is only dimly lit using what lighting was left from the original structure. The opera house is old, almost ancient. Cobwebs hang from abandoned sculptures of the legends of the past. Each one is decked with its own nameplate: Sufferer, Dolorosa, Redglare, and many others. They seem to loom over the stage as if they were fondly regarding the messy-haired man standing at the podium.
Thunk. "Sold… and your number bro? Ah yes, thank you." The auctioneer paused for a moment, as if the take in the scene from behind his half-closed eyelids. "Next here we have lot 411… a poster from this theatre's production of Hannitroll. 412 boondollars?" He looked around the room as the porter, a paraplegic, attempted and failed to open up the poster to its full length. "412 boondollars anyone? C'mon, it'll make you more imaginative… fine, 300 boondollars?"
A blonde-haired old man raised his hand. Despite the dimness of the room, the old man was still wearing a pair of aviator shades and had on a top hat that further darkened his line of vision. He was wearing a black suit along with a glaring red bow tie.
"Sweet, bro. We've got 300 boondollars. Anyone? Hm? 300 once, 300 twice…" Thunk. "Sold to Monsieur Strider, Knight of Time Estates." There were murmurs among the crowd; that name was very well known. "Now here, lot 412. It is a musical mIrAcLe that was found in the caves underneath the opera house: a paper-mache music box, in perfect working condition, with the figurehead of a crab that snaps its claws and a carving of something that looks to me like sickles. Woah. Welp, anybro want it? 500 boondollars." A number of hands rose up from the crowd. "Sweet… 500, 550, 600. 650, 800… 800 boondollars?" All the hands but one went down. "800 once, 800 twice… sold again to Knight of Time Esates. Good call bro. Have fun with your new box."
The paraplegic pulled his wheelchair up to the man's chair. He panted slightly, he grinned sheepishly as if in apology, and set the music box in the man's lap. The Knight nodded a silent approval, and the porter wheeled off to prepare the next bid. Dave stared at the box, gently raising his hand to rest it on the head of the crab figure. He slowly closed his eyes…
An Alternian piece indeed…
Every curve exactly as he said.
He often recalled of you my friend…
Your aged old look, your eyes a candy red.
Will you still sing when all of us are dead?
"And now for lot 413. Some of you old school bros may recall the mIrac-mystifying case of the Cancer of the Opera. This is said to be that very chandelier that fell on the stage the night of the incident. Of course, the bros over at our department fixed it up and added new electric lights to it, so it's pretty much good as new. Now, maybe a mIrAcUlOuS illumination boys!"