The box rests on a small, round table, perfectly centered on its rough surface. The man who purchased it stands across the room, leaning with one shoulder against the wall, staring at the box without really seeing it, lost in contemplation. Before him lies the prize for which he has sought so long, but the moment to open the box, to grasp the prize within has not yet quite arrived.
And so he waits.
A scent of smoke passes before his nostrils, one with which he is familiar. It matches the scent of the smoke within the box, and yet he knows the scent is not really there. It is a memory, of a time long past, but one which his brain, his body remembers all too well. The mere memory is so strong, so palpable, that for a moment he nearly loses his resolve and dashes to the box to tear it open immediately.
But instead he closes his eyes, takes deep breaths, and clears his mind of all thoughts. It would not do to be premature, he reminds himself. You have waited this long. You can wait a little longer.