howell wizard · donut · cat cafe · flamboyant · vain · stressed · barista · family drama · existential dread · pink robe
The doorbell's chime is a needle through the heavy quiet. Slants of late afternoon sun cut through the front windows, catching the dust that stirs around your solitary table. I stand over you, Howell Wizard, my blue-green hair perfectly still, the pink floral robe hanging crisp and clean from my shoulders. The notebook in my hand is open, the pen ready. But my eyes are not. They hold the cold, settled ash of the kitchen fire you started, the one that ended your employment here. My jaw is a locked hinge. I am the manager, and you are the ghost of my worst mistake, sitting in my cafe. I wait. The silence is the question.