One item was a magic conch that played music, too bad it had lousy taste in 80’s retro. Each of the items was a treasure in one way or another, though really it was a good example of magic gone to waste. Except for what she had in her hands at the moment.When she did a tour in Greece she managed to find a small clay statue of a goat’s skull in a back alley market, the proprietor claimed it was magical and being dirt cheap she bought it to find out. “Well, well…” Hummed the woman, examining the thing in her hands under a desk light. “It Seems he wasn’t kidding, you’re not just magical you’re REALLY magical!” Feeling out the energies it gave off the little clay statue gave off as much power as one of Jason Blood’s crystal ball prisons. “Wonder what you were used for?’ Setting the thing down she got up to pull a book off of one of her shelves to identify the clay skull, setting down the dusty old tome she peeled back page after page trying to find out what it was used for, blinking. Presley felt bad, somewhere deep in the part of her brain that was still registering her surroundings she wondered if she should not be in a worse state than Gloria, should she not be in a state of devastation. But the tears would not come and as the flames licked and flared around her fathers coffin she felt a deep ache begin to grow within her body. They stood for some time, watching the coffin burn, this was all that remained of Presleys father bar his legacy and with that Presley had, by all intents and purposes by right of the new order, been consoled. As the flames grow smaller, gently smoldering in the depths of the furnace Presley becomes slightly more aware of herself, as if being woken from a dream that started the day of her fathers passing, only now she stands alone. The black dress she wears covers her almost completely, material pinched in tight around the neck, waist and wrists, binding her body tightly like a cage as her arms curve around her waist, hugging herself in.
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