We enter different shops, though I’m sure the interiors are the same. I push the purple curtain of a promising store aside, and step in. The room is small, and crammed with strange articles. The stale air smells of must, and something familiar I cannot place. A tiny man with a long beard hurries from a back room, the entrance to which I can’t see in the dim light of the shop.

“Ah, hello.” His voice crackles pleasantly, like a campfire, “How may I help you, my lady?” he bows quickly, and I realize I am still wearing the golden curtain as a veil. I pull it aside and reveal my face.

“Please, sir, I need to sell many of my things.” I avoid his eyes as I move toward his shabby desk, a worn plank supported by two vases of mismatched size. My bag, covered in jewels and woven of fine fabric, plunks like a canvas sack as I drop it unceremoniously onto the wood surface. He quickly moves around the desk, examining my things as I pull them out of my bag.

I can’t read his expression, so I quickly avert my eyes.