Morningstar

[CH. 0019] - The Chair

"When you are like everyone, you are nobody; but when you are different from everyone, you are somebody." – Mehmet Murat Ildan

"The audacity of that man!" Nord exclaimed, her eyes narrowing into slits as she watched Baal interact with Kirara through the window. Her fingers clenched into fists so tight her nails dug into the palms of her hands.

"Nord?" Adamastor's voice interrupted her boiling thoughts, but she was too consumed in her indignation to really hear him.

"He is flirting with my cat!" she mumbled, the disbelief and indignation lacing her words as she continued to seethe.

"Nord," Adamastor called out again, this time with a tone of urgency as if trying to pull her back from the edge of her outrage.

"I'm going outside to give him a piece of my mind. Maybe even leave a matching handprint on his other cheek!" Nord declared, spinning on her heels. Her boots thudded against the hardwood floor, each step a manifestation of her pent-up frustration, as she was ready to storm toward the door.

Adamastor moved quickly, intercepting her by grabbing her arm just as her hand was about to seize the doorknob. "Leave it, they're just talking," he said, his eyes meeting hers.

Nord shook off his grip, her eyes still locked onto his. For a moment, the intensity of her anger wavered as if considering his words. But then, her jaw clenched again, and without uttering another syllable, she swept out of the salon.

Her footsteps gradually faded into the distance, leaving Adamastor standing alone in the room, shaking his head. There was a sense of an invisible line being crossed, and he wondered, not for the first time, what exactly he had gotten himself into.

She hid herself behind a random door and closed it behind her, only then realizing she had stepped into a dimly lit room. Blinking to adjust to the shadows, Nord moved to the curtains that hung over what she assumed were storefront windows. With a swift flick of her wrist, she slid them open, allowing a soft light to filter into the room. What she saw was unlike anything she expected—an antique store that, at first glance, appeared as an incomprehensible jumble of items.

However, upon closer inspection, the chaos revealed itself to be a finely curated collection. The space was actually well-organized, divided into discreet sections that held an array of disparate objects. Dolls, statues, and intricate figure paintings greeted visitors at the front of the store.

Behind that was a row dedicated to musical instruments, everything from antique violins to strange-looking drums and flutes. Beyond that, fine porcelain dinnerware, exquisite cutlery, ornate jars, and decorative plates claimed another section. And then there were pencils, quills, and a vast array of tools for calligraphy. The counter itself seemed like a vault of arcane relics—crystals, jewellery, tarot decks, and Ouija boards, all displayed with a curious air of reverence.

Nord's mind whirred as she tried to make sense of it all. She remembered something Adamastor had mentioned—that Rosemarie, the store's prior proprietor, traded magical relics for her "services." But what services could those be?

Adamastor broke the contemplative silence, stepping into the dim room where Nord had been lost in thought. "You'll need to reopen the store soon."

"How?" Her question was half scepticism, half curiosity.

"Rosemarie had her methods. She dealt with objects requiring cleansing, banishing malevolent spirits—basically, she fed the Hallow," Adamastor unravelled a bit of the enigma.