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Kris was bored. He'd been dragged along to the auction houses by a friend, and now he was sitting there, the bidding less interesting than the dirt under his nails. He'd tried whining earlier to go home, but his friend was stubborn.
"Huh, look at that," his friend remarked. Kris did indeed, blinking at the stage.
"So?"
"The slave only has one arm. Who'd put up such a damaged slave? They lose a lot of value with such damage."
Kris frowned at that. "So what if it's missing an arm? The other one's still functional. Not like that one's meant for hard labor either."
"It's an aesthetic thing," his friend insisted. Kris grumbled. He did illusions, if he didn't like how something looked, he could just change it. So what did it matter how things actually looked? That's how an idea formed in his head. He smiled, sitting up, and topped the last bid. His friend looked at him like he was crazy, only for Kris to smirk back.
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