DREAM AUCTION

The Auction House

The air shimmered with anticipation as Elara stepped through the gilded doors of the Dream Auction. The vaulted ceiling was painted with constellations that seemed to shift and swirl, each star winking like it held secrets of its own. Rows of velvet lined chairs stretched toward the stage, where Madame Lysandra, the auctioneer, presided over the evening’s offerings with a voice like silk and shadow.

Elara’s heart pounded as she clutched the last of her savings—a meager stack of credits tucked into her pocket. She had resisted coming for weeks, dismissing the auction as another indulgence for the wealthy. But desperation had a way of eroding principles. She hadn’t painted anything worthwhile in years, and she could feel the emptiness clawing at her insides. She needed inspiration, a spark, something to remind her why she had chosen this life.

And tonight, inspiration was for sale.

The First Dream

Lysandra’s fingers trailed along the edge of a crystal orb resting on a pedestal at the center of the stage. Inside, a swirl of golden light pulsed and shifted like liquid sunlight.

“Our first offering tonight,” Lysandra purred, “a dream of boundless joy. Imagine the warmth of a summer afternoon, the laughter of a child, the comfort of being loved without condition. Who will start the bidding at 5,000 credits?”

The room erupted into a frenzy of raised paddles. Elara watched, mesmerized, as the dream was sold to a graying man in a tailored suit. He held the orb in trembling hands as it was delivered to him, and when he pressed it to his temple, the golden light seeped into his skin. For a brief moment, his face lit up with a radiant smile, a look of pure contentment that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Elara shivered.

Elara’s Purchase

Hours passed, and Elara began to lose hope. The dreams being auctioned courage, serenity, forbidden love were far beyond her price range. Her fingers tightened around her bidding paddle, the edges digging into her palms.

Then, Lysandra presented the final lot of the night.

“Lot twenty-three,” she announced, gesturing to a smaller orb swirling with silver mist. “A fragment of a creator’s muse. Perfect for artists, writers, and dreamers. Starting bid: 500 credits.”

The room fell silent. Most of the elite bidders had already left, satisfied with their purchases. Elara’s pulse quickened. She raised her paddle.

“Five hundred,” Lysandra acknowledged.

“Six hundred,” someone else called.

Elara turned to see a woman in a sleek black dress watching her with an amused smile. Determined, Elara raised her paddle again.

“Seven hundred.”

The bidding war was short-lived. At 1,000 credits—nearly all she had—Elara claimed the dream. She clutched the orb as it was delivered to her, its surface cool and slick against her fingers.

The Dream

Back in her tiny apartment, Elara stared at the orb, her reflection distorted in its shimmering surface. She hesitated before pressing it to her temple

A surge of light and sensation engulfed her. She was floating, weightless, surrounded by colors that didn’t exist in the waking world. A melody played in the distance, a tune so achingly beautiful that tears rolled down her cheeks. Images flashed—paintings that seemed to come alive, worlds born of her imagination. Her mind buzzed with possibilities, her heart swelling with hope.

But beneath the beauty, she sensed something… off. A whisper she couldn’t quite hear. A shadow curling at the edges of the dream.

When she awoke, her sketchbook was full of frantic, half-formed ideas—lines and shapes she didn’t remember drawing. She should have been elated. Instead, unease gnawed at her.

The Conspiracy

Over the next week, Elara returned to the auction. She didn’t bid—she couldn’t afford to—but she watched, studying the other bidders and the dreams they purchased.

It was on the fourth night that she saw her. A woman sitting alone in the back row, her eyes vacant and glassy. Elara recognized her immediately—she had seen the woman’s face in the dream she had purchased.

Elara approached her cautiously. “Excuse me… do I know you?”

The woman blinked, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, she whispered, “They took it. They took my dreams.” Elara’s stomach dropped.

“What do you mean?” she pressed.

“They promised me money,” the woman murmured, her voice trembling. “But I… I can’t remember anything anymore. My dreams, my thoughts… they’re gone.”

The Truth Revealed

Elara’s investigation led her to Kai, a dream thief who operated in the black market. Through him, she uncovered the truth: the auction house wasn’t just buying dreams—they were stealing them. Vulnerable people were lured in with promises of money, only to have their minds harvested without consent. The dreams were then polished and sold for exorbitant prices.

Kai revealed that Madame Lysandra wasn’t human. She was something ancient, a creature that fed on the fragments of dreams left behind in the extraction process. The auction was a facade, a way to satiate her hunger while profiting off humanity’s desperation.

The Climax

Determined to stop the exploitation, Elara infiltrated the auction house with Kai’s help. They uncovered a hidden chamber beneath the stage where unconscious bodies lay hooked to extraction machines, their dreams siphoned into orbs.

Lysandra confronted them, her glamour fading to reveal her true form—a monstrous being with hollow eyes and a mouth that whispered like wind through cracked glass.

“You think you can stop this?” Lysandra hissed. “Dreams are the only currency that matters. Without them, humanity is nothing.”

Elara fought back, using one of the stolen dreams—a dream of courage—to resist Lysandra’s influence. She smashed the extraction machines, releasing the stolen dreams back to their rightful owners.

Resolution

The auction house was exposed, its operations dismantled. Elara’s art flourished, but she knew the scars of what she had seen would linger. She began painting the faces of those whose dreams had been stolen, determined to give them back some piece of what they had lost.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lysandra had survived, lurking in the shadows, waiting for humanity to grow desperate enough to dream again.

The End