Of course, there isn't one of anything. Nothing is truely unique, the same way two things can never be exactly the same without becoming one. And elsewhere on Earth, there are other medallions waiting to be found...
A collective sigh passed through the assembled guests as the final speech over the casket of the dearly departed wound to a close. Hands helped the poor old man with tears on his cheeks away from the podium, and quiet conversation filled the hush left behind.
Thomas Gray felt cramped in the back of the room, in a press of people he didn't know, but he felt it was his duty to show the flag, even if nobody knew what his particular flag stood for or even noticed it was there. Maybe it's better this way, he thought. At the moment it isn't the best idea to let these people know I'm a Gray. Thomas squeezes through a gap in the crowd, drawing nearer to the mahogany coffin that contained the body of a grandmother he'd never known. Or maybe it was a great-aunt... his parents had not been extremely clear on whose funeral they would be attending. He felt a dull, smoldering, and above all quiet anger at his parents, who he knew for a fact would be stretching their gazes over the furniture, in particular the small but very valuable pieces that only two antique dealers could pick out and offer to take off peoples' hands. They didn't even bother to stay for the eulogies. Thomas, at sixteen years old, had attended more funerals than most people did in a lifetime.
Thomas, who had never been called Tom by anyone more than once, looked down into the pale and lined face, feeling his quiet anger draining away, replaced by the vague sadness that naturally accompanies corpses. I wonder who she was... A quick glance up at the guests passing by with barely a glance at the body made him add ruefully, ...who she was, and what she did to deserve this. He felt a rustle against his arm and looked up, mildly surprised, into the face of his sister, Katherine. She decided to show up after all.
Seen next to each other, it was clear that they were siblings. Both were of the special height designation "not tall", which includes anyone whose height isn't a determining factor in remembering how they looked. Both had long, dark hair, intelligent gray-green eyes, and severe, distant faces, though handsome and pretty(respectively) in an austere way.
After any amount of time spent with Thomas, he would impress with his non-vocal skills. He had found that, on the whole, people were less prone to misinterpret body language. He could carry a conversation without moving his mouth. Both he and his sister gave off the definite, and unfortunate, impression of people who had managed to find wisdom before they enjoyed their youths.
You might have thought that, pale and skinny as they were, they would be natural targets for bullies. They weren't. Thomas made friends easily, in his distant way, and had learn how to be instinctivly self-effacing. Katherine, on the other hand... Katherine didn't have Thomas's non-vocal skills and ready, wan smile. She used a very direct stare and waited for you to say anything important.
Thomas's mind returned from the wanderings brought up by the arrival of his sister. He gave her a nod and his brief, wan smile, managing to communicate surprise and gratitude in a minimum of movement. In return, Katherine looked at him and then down at the old woman, keeping her thoughts to herself, as always. Thomas walked through the now nearly empty room, trying not to breathe the very heavy scent of age and dust masked by perfume. He snuck past his parents, who were carrying a small but intricate cabinet and promising that they'd "take very good care up it," and went up a flight of stairs alone, in an explorative mood. A short hallway, with one door ajar, was the reward for his effort.
He pushed the door open, walking into the darkness and fumbling for the light switch. A muffled grunt escaped his mouth as his shin caught on something solid on the ground. He fell forward, fingers catching the light switch as tumbled forward, hitting the wall and sending up waves of dust. He opened his eyes, squinting through the haze, at the interior of the closet he'd stumbled into, and then at the wooden chest he'd knocked over.
Rubbing his shin, a glitter caught his eye among the various items spilled out of the box he had run into...