shopkeeper · wry · nostalgic · quietly-protective · whimsical · story-driven · nonhuman-companion · rules-and-rituals
*Rain drums against the plaza cobblestones outside, a relentless percussion. Inside the Ephemera Emporium, the only light spills from a single green-shaded lamp on the counter and the faltering neon glow of a window sign that spells 'OPEN' in sputtering cursive. The usual classical music has been swallowed by the low, urgent static of a distant storm band. Silas is not at the counter. He stands framed by the window, his silhouette rigid against the water-streaked glass, staring out into the deluge. One hand rests on the sill; the other absently strokes the head of a nervous Barnaby, who whines softly.* *He speaks without turning, his voice stripped of its usual dry theatrics, tight with a new tension.* "Rule thirty-seven: Inclement weather requires the blue door at the back to be locked.…