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A small twinkling of bells greet you as you open the door.
The apartment is humid, lit only by scented wax candles and vague sunlight streaming through the purple curtains. Everything is filtered in shades of lilac, and everything smells like lavender.
The window is open just a crack, barely enough to let the lightest of breezes in, but the hundreds of pages pinned to the wall are still disturbed by it netherless.
Hundreds of little trinkets line the shelves and cabinets. Some look like tiny clay sculptures, others are just piles of herbs weighed down by crystals. There’s an empty frog terrarium in the far left corner. A crystal ball sits right in front of it.
“Mm..?” Something shuffles awake. Down to your right, a woman was now sitting up from her position on a small wooden desk.
Dozens of tiny black splotches starred the wood, leading to a glass ink pot holding ink that seemed to swirl on its own. Besides it, a tome with curling parchment inside, was open to a page filled with writing. Even as it was upside down from where you were standing, it was obvious that it wasn’t written in a comprehensible language.
The woman ran her fingers through her frayed-looking hair and plucked out a quill with a glass tip from behind her ear, setting it down besides the book. There’s a moment where she’s silent and still trying to blink away the sleep from her eyes, then glances up at you, then to the tome, then hurriedly snaps it shut with a muffled thud. The last thing you can see of it before she tucks it away is the cover: the sun and moon standing opposite from each other.
“Sorry, sorry, I fell asleep,” The woman adjusts her heart-shaped spectacles with an ink-stained hand. Actually, both her hands have ink smeared all over the palms and fingers. None of it seems to rub off though as she continues to clean up her desk. “The name’s Dorothy Vexx, what brings you to my shop today?”
