Chapter 8 - Invisible Echoes of Enchantment

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Braids:

The invitation to Damian's piano concert had piqued my curiosity, but I wasn't one to venture into unknown territory without proper preparation. New environments and crowds tended to unnerve me, so I needed to ensure that I wouldn't be caught off guard.

I decided it was high time to gather more information about this Damian character.

"One ticket to the upcoming piano concert, please," I said, peering into the glossy window of the ticket booth. The ticket seller, dressed in a sharp red uniform, gave an exasperated sigh before quoting the price. "Ten pounds."

His impeccable red suit clashed significantly with his complete lack of charm as a theater ticket vendor. It was a puzzling choice for individuals in such uninspiring roles within the grand hierarchy of the theater. Perhaps it was an attempt to compensate for their otherwise dreary dispositions, providing a veneer of charm to the otherwise mundane task of ticket sales.

I handed over the ten pounds, accepting the ticket without much fanfare, and promptly stashed it in my pocket before distancing myself from the booth.

I navigated the grimy streets, avoiding the curious glances of my fellow citizens until I reached the bar where I met my spectral companions. I took a swig of my cinnamon shot, sauntered around the corner to the dimly lit section near the restrooms, and before long, I found myself upsidedown, feet on the ceiling.

I hung upside down from the ceiling of the dimly lit bar, my spectral form hovering above a table where my ghostly companions engaged in a timeless poker game. They were the only friends I had, the only ones who truly understood my peculiar predicament.

"Deal me in," I announced, sliding into the transparent chair amid their incorporeal forms.

The ghosts exchanged knowing glances as they shuffled the ethereal deck of cards. They tried to offer me insights into my ongoing situation with Damian and his persistent attempts to buy back the candelabra that rightfully belonged to me. It was mine, imbued with powerful magic, and I had no intention of parting with it. Keeping my secret safe was paramount, and I certainly didn't want Damian to discover my possession of the precious artifact.

As we played through the rounds of poker, they offered tips and advice, their wispy voices filled with concern. But in the end, their well-intentioned counsel proved to be of little use.

"Come on, Braids, you should just give it back," one of the ghosts urged, lacking the resolve to understand the importance of my connection to the candelabra.

I scowled and shook my head. "No way, it's mine, and he can't have it."

Another ghost chimed in, "But you could make a deal, get something in return..."

I interrupted, my voice tinged with irritation, "No deals. That candelabra is too precious to me."

The Gemool were well-meaning, but their advice was tinged with cowardice. I needed to protect my secrets, and I wouldn't let anyone, even Damian, jeopardize that.

So The Gemool were little help.

***

That night, I descended into the labyrinthine underground and made my way to the venue where Damian was set to perform. The dark and winding tunnels of the underground always put me on edge, but I endured the discomfort, knowing that I needed to see Damian's performance up close.

The crowd in the theater was bustling and adorned in fancy clothing that made me feel even more out of place. I settled into a seat in the third row, next to the grand piano, ensuring that nobody else occupied the first three rows. I preferred to keep my distance from the chattering masses.

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