Their lives crowded in, she saw everything. Where they worked, how they lived. She felt each and every thing that they did. The love they held for their families and friends she felt as her own.
Inside she was screaming, confused seeing everything that made them who they were. No! I had this under control! Her words were swept away as memories washed over her like a tide. Inside she was screaming. To everyone else, she was just someone from the street who didn't belong there. She sat in perfect stillness, the slightest tremor betraying her inner turmoil. Put it down to cold, fear at the attention she recieved from everyone, the autioneer who looked at her like she was nothing. It didn't change a thing; because inside, she was screaming.
The autioneer continued to speak, explaining the history of the piece. Even though she could sense that nearly everyone was bored shitless by his monologue, he carried on. She focused on him, his extreme sense of pride and self-rightousness. He loved history, true but it didn't change anything. He was an asshole with a puffed-up ego.
A sudden wave of fear consumed her before it was whisked away by the force of so many lives infringing on her own. She couldn't focus and her lack of control was beginning to grate. Something about the piece was doing this. But what the hell was in that box? It was brought forward and opened. As the lid was lifted her nose began to bleed from the overload. There was nothing. Nothing but that thing. It wasn't human, but then again, most days she wasn't sure that she was either. The psychic force from the box radiated towards her until there was no her anymore. Only it. It showed her everything; its history from the moment of its creation to here, to now.
From the moment of its creation it waited, a sentient being with no will of its own. It merely watched, recorded. This it showed to her now. All she could do was weep at the passing of time. But the memory was incomplete. After the crown was fractured, for that was what it was, there were only bits. Pieces of history, blurred as the crown lost strenth as the eons passed. Inside, she was screaming at all the deaths she witnessed, lost in a whirlwind of pain until the power to the building was lost. An eternity she had experienced in a moment. For the Crown was a sad thing indeed. She watched through a haze as people behind her panicked. Faceless they were nothing to her. All the memories she had lived faded, until she was but a blur in a painting of fear.
The autioneer continued to speak, will someone please shut him up?, as she sat in her seat staring at everything and nothing. "Lost? Not yet. Forgotten by you perhaps, but very, very much alive." The voice... she recognised it. It cut through her mindlessness and forced her to see. She saw him just in time. In time to see him swing a very familiar box from his shoulder to the ground. Where's the other? Even in such a situation of this she could...appriciate his pale beauty. The finest thing on two legs, she wasn't going anywhere. As he scanned the crowd, she ducked her head, pretending fear. Her attention briefly diverted to the blood coming from her nose she missed the demands of the auctioneer. She could feel him though, could feel him losing his cool.
Ha! "I am Prince Nuada, Silverlance. Son of King Balor," he turned to the crown piece, "and I am here Sir, to reclaim what is rightfully mine." He stepped in front of the box possessively. The calm arrogance coming from him washed over the crowd, adding disbelief to their growing fear. God damn! Prince huh? Nice ass on that one. She'd seen it when he'd turned to look into the box. The effort of leaning over to look had nearly tipped her into the lap of the man next to her. Totally worth it!
"Security! Call security!" The auctioneer was truly afraid, his confidence undermined by the authority and danger before him. A low growl rippled through the room. The warning as the doors burst inwards spilling the two security guards as they flew down the aisle. Shouts and crys sounded out from male and female alike as their fear became real to them. They who thought money was everything spoke out in anger as if their wealth would protect them from the injustice of the world.