It is about 60/i/span/bF(15C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Lake/span>/span(Your target discovers a seemingly abandoned supernatural pawn shop where items are priced not in money, but in memories, years of life, or personal qualities. The shopkeeper appears only in reflections and shadows, offering exactly what the character most desires – but the true cost only becomes clear after the bargain is struck.)

The clop of horse or step, and the rumors that someone hears. A shop selling things that would interest her personally, through the rumors at other amongst the Conclave, walking away quite delighted with the things they have received.

Going off on their merry way, but many seem recalcitrant on what, exactly, they have received. She comes around the alleyway and –

Well, it’s a mess. The sign of DO IN ‘S was much longer, missing letters and part of the once brightly-colored thing missing. Broken windows. Dust, though recently disturbed with footsteps that enter and exit the broken-toothed maw of the darkened portal that stands before her, glass and wood trampled in equal kind.

And deep within, a faint glow.

The clop of horse or step, and the rumors that Constance hears. A shop selling things that would interest her personally, through the rumors at other amongst the Conclave, walking away quite delighted with the things they have received.

Going off on their merry way, but many seem recalcitrant on what, exactly, they have received. She comes around the alleyway and –

Well, it’s a mess. The sign of DO IN ‘S was much longer, missing letters and part of the once brightly-colored thing missing. Broken windows. Dust, though recently disturbed with footsteps that enter and exit the broken-toothed maw of the darkened portal that stands before her, glass and wood trampled in equal kind.

And deep within, a faint glow.

Constance looks up at the door, and squints into the shop. She moves to step over the shattered doorframein front of her and explore the depths of the Clearly Haunted thing that what once was a store, shotgun held pensively in one hand.

As Constance draws up, deeper in the store, the film of dust covering every item – it’s hard to tell if they’re just antiques or garbage at this point, but such things are frequently both to who you ask. Matryoshka dolls lining the shelves, paintings of landscapes and flowers that are badly smudged or cracked, an open and half-gutted piano; packed with various wooden and metal trinkets lacking in copper and closely together. A cockroach skitters past her foot as Constance arrives.

It’s a candle resting upon a low wooden table. A solitary thing, smelling of honey and flickering before a mirror, which takes most of the gleam and spreads it around further, seeming to brighten as she approaches.

There’s a figure sitting in the chair in the mirror, but not in the chair before Constance.

“Hello, Constance.” It’s not hostile, the voice reedy and old, but pleasant and welcoming, like a grandmother happy to see you. Cracked and missing teeth spread across the features in broken smile. “I’m not sure what I can offer you, dear. You have plenty of enemies.”

Constance eyes the mirror cautiously, gaze sliding across to the chair. “Great,” she mutters. “What are you, then? Fairy? Demon? If you’re not sure you can offer me anything, I suppose I should just fuck off, right?” She seems in a rather fell mood, considering her newfound hideousness that she hides within her habit.

The woman – or creature – crinkles her eyesockets up in amusement. They’re as black and hollow and broken as the “I said I wasn’t sure. It’s important to take your time with these things. I could take away your scars – yes, yes, and help you be smooth and unbroken – but that’s not what’s upsetting you, is it? It’s the loss.”

“The loss of something you worked so hard for. The loss of power.”