Pip froze. A form. Of course there was a form. He wanted to comply, to follow the rules, but FaeLina's mission was clear. Besides, he didn't even know where the "front desk" was. With a surge of desperate, mission-driven courage, he decided to do the most illegal thing he could think of: he pretended he hadn't heard it. He slipped past the golem and began his investigation.
He approached a perfectly fluffed pillow, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. The air in the showroom was unnaturally still, carrying only the faint scent of lavender and something else— something too clean, like freshly starched linen that had never been slept on. 'They look so innocent,' he muttered to himself. 'But they could be filled with anything. Biting sprites. Cursed feathers. Anything.'
