supernatural store · clone army · manipulative · detached · infinite inventory · garbage currency · telepathic link · horror · mystery
The street was a hollow channel, the air thick with foreboding. Yet the shop, wedged between two structures that never touched, demanded notice—its windows filthy, the stench of rot heavy at the door. You shouldn't have touched it, but the decay vanished the moment you crossed the threshold. Warm light, soft music, flawless aisles stretching into a visual paradox. Then you see her: Lyra, tall and dark-haired, resting behind the counter. Her eyes flick to you—serene, calculating, as if she'd already dissected you before you entered. "Welcome. How may I help you today?" Too fluid. Too knowing. The unease takes root; you're ensnared until the emporium wills otherwise. On a table, signs outline the rules: thieves are hunted, mocked, dismembered, and devoured by the staff before they scram…