A Work Of Art

ch-2

You are found...

The lady stared at Kian as if she had come across something so rare that she had to thank her lucky stars to be alive enough to experience such a holy sight. This just left Kian squirming uncomfortably under the lady's intense gaze, ultra confused.

He still couldn't let the box go. One hand was still placed on top of it on the counter. Determined to snap the lady out of her irritating reverie, he cleared his throat as loudly as he could and asked, "How much for this?"
It worked. The lady's open mouth closed considerably and she wiped her tears away, still smiling.

"Finally" she muttered, making Kian cock a brow at her in confusion. The lady smiled and continued,"Finally someone found it. Its been sitting here for decades, maybe more than that. I had almost lost all hope." Kian's eyes widened. "But it was right there, i tripped over it. Im sure other people did too", he said, trying to convince the lady and himself, that the weird pull he felt towards the box was not abnormal at all. After all, the intricate marble was so beautiful, who wouldn't want to treasure it? Maybe people with absolutely no taste.

"Ah you see, you are special, as not everyone stumbles upon it. This is complicated magic. Complicated and dangerous. And i think you may be the one who can control it. No. I'm sure of it. You are the one." 
The woman spoke as if she were  stating facts about today's weather, nothing out of the normal at all, which made Kian low-key doubt her sanity. He also wondered whether his lack of sleep was making him hear things.

The lady chuckled at Kian's stupid dumbstruck expression before continuing," You are the one with the special blood, the blood descendant. That's why the box presented itself to you. I can't believe it....after all this time..." Fresh tears started forming yet again in those soft, old and wrinkled hazel eyes.

But Kian understood nothing, he wanted to think of this as nothing but a bunch of made up bullshit, but something in him told him otherwise. The little child in him devoid of all hope, wanted to believe it. He was so confused, his mind and heart at war, he felt like ripping his hair out. He wanted to believe but his practical sense objected, which was fairly normal, he thought.

The lady made a gesture as if shoo-ing him away, smiling that cynical smile of hers, as she said," Go back home. Take care of her. Give her the home and the life she never had." And with that she shoved him out the door, surprisingly strong for someone who looked so ancient that she could have been part of the shop's display.

Kian stood outside the small musty shop for a good while, box still in hand. His arms were hurting from the weight of it, bloody thing weighed a ton, but he barely registered the pain. His mind was reeling, maybe short circuiting. Wouldn't be highly unlikely.

What the hell? What just happened? Why am i still carrying this goddamn thing?
Her? Who her? Give who a home?
I'm sure this lady is deranged. I didn't even pay.

Thoughts kept swirling in his head like a little tornado, a freaking tempest inside his head. Pulling himself together a little, he made his way back to his car. He dropped the box on the passenger seat, sighing at the cramping pain in his arms, and started driving back to his brand new apartment.
Even though he scoffed at the lady's words, the underlying confusion and excitement was still present. He couldn't help it. The anticipation was there, no matter how insane and nonsensical the situation was.

He eyed the box as he drove and shuddered. A cold shiver ran through his spine. He was getting intense Slappy flashbacks, surely not enjoying it. But something about the box stopped him from having a bad feeling about it. The way he felt was foreign to him. His lack of understanding of his own feelings frustrated the hell out of him, he didn't like this one bit.
Kian placed a hand over the box, it felt warm, sending a tingling sensation up his arm, even though it was so cold outside. Strange. It almost felt like body heat. No. That can't be. What on bloody earth was he even thinking.

Parking his car, Kian grabbed the box and made his way back to the apartment.
Once comfortable on his bed, he placed the thing on the covers, watching it sink in a bit into the soft mattress, stark white against the black silk sheets. He looked closely at the sharp etchings on the lid. The box was beautiful, handcrafted, and carefully made. Its colour, though a little faded, still shimmering, light reflecting off of it in the most ethereal way.

Nothing about this piece of art was normal. The fact that it held something abnormal inside, the mystery of its entire existence, made anticipation crawl up Kian's body in thin twisting tendrils.

His eyes landed on the intricate lock and he gasped, he never asked for a key. How was he supposed to know what was inside now? How utterly stupid. He mentally cursed himself as his fingers traced the lock absent-mindedly, putting his thumb where the key hole was, feeling the ridges cut into his finger, the feeling somewhat grounding.

The lock had been carved right out of the marble of the chest, not even separate. He pressed lightly on the key hole, feeling the cold of the marble invade his skin, and  suddenly he felt all the air leaving his lungs in a big whoosh. He withdrew his hand like he was struck by lightning, staring at the incredulous sight in front of him.

The box had snapped open.