A misprinted Sargonian coin with an indistinct inscription on one side and a sigil of two faces facing away from each other on the other. An extremely rare find. Judging from the degree of degradation, this little thing is more than a hundred fifty years old. The collector from Toron would have been unwilling to trade it for such a low price were he not in urgent need of funds. It is also on that fortunate rainy night that I meet an unusual guest, draped in a black cloak, speaking with a unique accent from northwestern Victoria, who asks me where my gold coin came from. As I get older, it has gotten easier to wag my tongue with irrelevant gossip than to give a genuine response. I assume a young man like him will interrupt my endless preamble, but he listens with interest. My own interest grows, so I tell him my own interpretation of the special mark on the coin. Before he leaves, he tells me to let him know if I add any more relics with similar sigils to my collection, and he vanishes like a shadow into the rainy night of Londinium. Afterward, I keep in touch with the mysterious gentleman from time to time. Even if he is unable to immediately visit my shabby shop as soon as I send word, he always comes by on a good day to listen to me tell the stories of the relics and their previous owners. As time passes, I grow curious, wondering what he is looking for. I visit some old chaps and learn that the mark has links to an ancient drama cult. Recalling my mysterious guest who always comes by late at night, I cannot help but feel a pang of worry. However, whether due to my ordinary life causing an infatuation with legends, or his silent but generous gestures alleviating my concerns, we continue to maintain a good business relationship. I can tell this gentleman is eager to collect more information about this twin-face sigil, but he also seems deeply interested in the other curios in the shop too, flipping through old, dry scripts, or admiring my latest collection of paintings on the wall whenever he stops by. He seems to be naturally drawn in by art. During one of our meetings, a ticket stub falls from his pocket, and I learn he is an actor from a wandering troupe. When I mention my interest in seeing him perform, he shakes his head and says he will never perform again. After he leaves, I turn over the stub to find a familiar mark on the paper... What a shame. My guess is that he was a brilliant actor. Eight years pass since I first met Mr. Lucian. He has not come by in recent times, even as I get older and older. Tonight is yet another rainy night, and to my surprise, my familiar yet stranger of a customer stops by. This time he is dressed in completely different attire, and even his eyes exudes a changed air. I am momentarily stunned but manage to ask my usual 'What are you looking for, sir?' He does not answer, but takes out a brand new gold leaf from his sleeve, our tacitly understood mark engraved upon it. The leaf glows with a dynamic, newborn luster within my otherwise dusty little abode. I want to place this beautiful present in the most eye-catching spot in my shop, but the gentleman merely puts it on top of the nearest shelf, just like how a writer leaves a period in between lines to await a reader to question and interpret it. After telling the story of dozens of these sigils, I too have become a part of this story. How wonderful, that he finally solved his own mystery. I figure I will never see him again.