Prologue: The Shadows Of The Past (2)

The young lady strode closer to the old crone. Stepping near a 'wall' of paintings, she picked up a small painting frame and flipped it over as if she were searching for something.

Finally, the young lady broke the silence.

"Madam, the paintings in this bookstore… were they all painted by the same artist?" From her tone, the old crone could not discern any motive or ill feelings other than genuine curiosity.

Yet, she could not help but feel an ominous sense of foreboding. Despite the wave of unease in her heart, the beldame nodded in response.

"How amazing!" The lass praised, paying no mind to the old crone's expression as she quickened her pace. Her eyes were glued to the paintings and the many art pieces that decorated the bookstore.

Peering behind a curtain, the young lady gasped.

"Oh! That sculpture!" She remarked, "That massive painting in the back… and that sculpture! How astonishing! It's quite life-like, though-"

The crone snapped, letting out a low guttural noise in replacement for the foul words she would've said if she had the vocal cords to do so.

'Damned brat.'

Then, she slammed down her cane that rested by the couch.

Doddering past the many books she gave the young lass a dirty look, ignoring the unease in her heart mere minutes ago as she tugged the curtain back in place.

"That's… I thought the painting looked nice, and the sculpture looked a bit familiar, that's all," the young lady spluttered.

Hesitantly, she then looked at the beldame, waiting for something, perhaps a reaction or her dismissal—to get the hell out.

Yet, the hag showed no other reaction. Sliding her cane back to where it previously rested, she sat back down, her face no longer taut.

For several minutes, silence filled the bookstore.

Once in a while, the young lady would quietly exclaim for herself, muttering short-sporadic sentences. As for the old crone, she remained statue-still, never moving an inch from where she sat.

Whether it was the silence, the exhaustion, or the presence of the young lady, after an unknown period of time- perhaps half an hour- the old crone finally stood up.

How long was that damn child going to stay in her bookstore? She hadn't bought anything either, just merely aimlessly strolled around and stared at the paintings on her walls.

Plus, it was nearly midnight and she could feel the fatigue creeping in her bones.

At that very moment, as if the young lady had finally found what she had been looking for, she loudly exclaimed, "Madam! I'd like to purchase this book!"

Waving around a dark emerald hard-cover book, the young lass quickly strode forward as if she did not notice the ugly expression the beldame wore.

The old crone sneered, waving for the lass to come closer without even bothering to look at whatever the lass had chosen.

Whatever it was that she wanted, she could take it—that is, as long as she could pay the price.

It wasn't like any of the books in this bookstore held any real significance anyway, a pile of junk. An old hag like her held no affection towards rubbish like that, wasn't like she could feed herself piles of paper.

Plus, she didn't exactly adore the dust that had piled up over the decades.

"Madam! Madam! How much for this book?" The young lady repeated, stepping closer. "I'll buy this regardless of the price, you have quite the interesting books—oh madam, are any of the art pieces in here for sal-?

'Fifty-five,' the old hag interrupted, her joints cracking and warping in sound to the quick movements she made. She then tapped her finger and raised her hand, bringing her silver ring into the light.

"...Fifty-five silvers," The lass winced, "I see, are there any discounts?"

The beldame frowned in reponse, and the young lass wilted.

As if debating whether or not she still wanted the book, the lass shook her purse.

Hearing the silver coins clinking against one another and feeling the texture of the copper banknotes rubbing against her palm, the young lady nearly doubled over and put the book back where she had found it.

Holding half of her weekly allowance in her left hand, her purse already felt so much lighter.

"No? Oh, dear merciful heavens..." The young lady sighed, handing the old crone exactly fifty-five silvers.

Snatching the money from the lass, the hag quickly tucked it away into the depths of the couch.

Finally, she turned her attention back to the young lady as if she were an afterthought; motioning her hands as if to say, 'Get out of here,' she let out a dreadful yawn revealing her cavities and decayed teeth in all their glory.

Perhaps if the young lass had genuinely walked into the bookstore with no purpose in mind but to look around or to find a nice book to read, she would have hesitated and put the book back.

Fifty-five silvers was quite a large number even for those in the middle class, that amount of money could feed a lower-class family of four for an entire week and possibly longer.

"I'll take my leave now, have a good night, madam!" The young lady said, bolting out of the bookstore.

Unlike the wishy-washy attitude she had shown earlier, this time the young lady ran as if a demon hound was chasing after her tail.

Compared to how distraught she had appeared seconds ago, perhaps due to spending fifty-five silvers in one go on a mere book; the young lady seemed far too eager to leave- to run off with that book she found, the beldame frowned in thought.

Standing up, the hag closed the bookstore for the day.

Closing the blinds, she flipped over the sign that hung on the front before tottering back inside, locking the door behind her as she went.

Yet another business-less day, the crone thought, brushing away the shadows that seemed to sweep over her arm like a young damsel trying to link arms with their betrothed.

Perhaps she ought to sleep tonight, by morning it'll disappear.

Pushing back the curtain the lass had peeked behind before, the hag stumbled to her desk, kicking and stepping over multiple papers and canvases in the process.

Dried specks of paint and cheap clay adorned the walls and the floor like some sort of weird, abstract design.

Paying no mind to her environment and the clutter all around her, the hag squinted her eyes, searching for the bottle of pills her doctor had prescribed her.

Tugging off the seal, she unscrewed the bottle cap and dumped out a single pill.

Whether the old fogey was a witch doctor, a formidable certified doctor who was a savant, aficionado, and cognoscente in the field of medicine as they claimed to be, or some buffoon who doesn't even know anything about medicine—the hag downed the pill without a hint of hesitation.

It was bitter as expected.

The pill slowly crept down her esophagus with great difficulty for a multitude of reasons—the damn thing was as big as a child's pinky finger.

But alas, what clean fluid could she use to down the pill? The paint on her desk? The bottle of alcohol that's been sitting in her cabinet for the last three decades?

'Well. It was possible, but she wanted to rest for that night- not eternal rest.' The old crone thought.

Finally, the hag sighed. Putting the bottle of pills away, she tossed the papers on her desk aside. As minutes passed by, clear beads of sweat began forming on her nape.

Where was it? Just where did it go—the damn thing couldn't have grown legs, the hag's frown deepened as she squinted her eyes.

Just an hour ago, she could've sworn it was still on her desk--her desk that stood near the curtain. The curtain. The curtain the young lass had peeked behind.

The damn wretch had taken her journal; she snatched it off her table and bought it and the old hag didn't even notice.

Fuming, the hag abandoned her cane and tottered towards the entrance.

Unlocking the door, she stuck her head outside as if hoping that the young lass would magically appear. However, she was long gone. Her tracks were swept away by the rain, and the foggy weather obstructed all sight.

The old crone wanted to chase after the girl, but where to? Which direction? Plus, considering how well-maintained the young lass's appearance was, she could've left the premises in a car.

Damn brat, I should've chased her out the second she entered my bookstore! The old crone snarled to herself, her face crimson with anger.

Turning around, she slammed the door shut behind her. For a brief moment, the walls of the bookstore shook from how hard the hag had slammed the door.

Then, a candle went out. And then, another candle went out. And another.

Darkness enveloped all premises of the bookstore. The shadows trembled and shook before taking the form of a handsome gentleman with black hair.

It reached for her hands like an affectionate lover would, but the hag only slapped his hand away. However, it only laughed at her aggressive action and fondly smiled at her.

It did not speak, but neither did the old crone.

Finally, it reached for her hand again. But this time, the old woman didn't slap away her hand.

"Ines," It whispered, calling her name, "Do you regret your actions?"

The older woman, Ines, sneered at its words and snapped her wrist, casting a spell. She answered, "No, I don't."

That night, the bookstore set on fire.

Nearby pedestrians tried to call help and put out the fire, but the fire only grew stronger in response. By dawn, all traces of the bookstore had been wiped out and all that remained was ashes and rubble.

When law officials tried to determine the owner of the store, not a single file or record was found.

All residents who lived on the same street and block had the same response when interrogated: "Who? Pardon me, but are you talking about that old store across the street? Well... It's been abandoned for a couple of years, sir."