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The shop felt strangely hollow after dawn. The final chime of the bell faded into silence, and Corven leaned against the closed door, letting the cool morning air sting his bare skin. He was exhausted in a way that went deeper than his bones. The memory of the night—two women, two bargains sealed in sweat and surrender—still buzzed along his nerves, but the world itself had changed. Sunlight slipped between the cracks in the shutters, striping the wooden floorboards. Dust motes danced where only shadow and magic had reigned for hours.
He forced himself to move, locking the heavy door and turning the battered sign to CLOSED. The letters gleamed in the morning, as if painted in something that never quite dried. Corven let his hand rest on the wood a moment. It felt warm—like a living thing. He shuddered and pushed away.
The shop was different by day. In the lantern's glow, everything had been gilded: relics gleaming, shelves humming with magic, every shadow promising secrets. Now, the air felt dry, the artifacts still and watchful. The ledgers on the counter sat closed and dark, their cracked leather covers cool beneath his fingers. Only when he pressed his palm to the largest book did he feel a gentle pulse, like a heartbeat, echoing his own.
He turned and walked the rows. The shelves were empty, wiped clean by whatever force claimed each bargain's prize. Only the faintest hints remained—a curl of red mist in the place where the first pendant had shimmered, the ghost of perfume and sweat, a half-heard whisper that faded if he tried to focus. The candles had burned down to stubs; the rug before the counter was rumpled from desperate knees and tangled limbs. Corven found himself smiling, pride and disbelief warring in his chest. He was the master here now. He had made this place come alive.
He scrubbed the counter, polished the glass, and swept the floor. In the dim light, he caught a glimpse of himself in the warped mirror above the washbasin. He barely recognized the man looking back—eyes sharp, mouth softer, a bruise on his jaw from the noblewoman's bite. There was strength in his stance, an energy humming in his bones that hadn't been there before.
Corven stripped and washed, splashing cold water on his skin. The water in the little basin tingled—faintly charged with the last remnants of magic from the night. He dressed in fresh clothes, tying the black key around his neck, and glanced at the ledgers once more.
The biggest ledger's cover was marked with an ornate symbol he hadn't noticed before: a crescent moon entwined with a blooming rose. When he opened it, the first page was blank. But as he watched, lines of text appeared—crimson, delicate, shifting as if alive.
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[Shopkeeper's Ledger – Initiate]
Ecstasy Harvested: 2
Bargains Sealed: 2
Shop Status: Dormant (Daylight)
Reputation: Whispered (2/100)
Unlocks Pending: Mirror of Secrets, Stock Expansion, Shopkeeper's Perks
---
He blinked, running a fingertip over the script. The letters shimmered beneath his touch. A pulse throbbed in the wood beneath the book, as if the entire shop was waiting for his next move.
He turned the page. A faint outline of the shop appeared, shelves and counter sketched in thin lines. Three shelves glowed brighter than the others—he remembered, suddenly, the feeling as each woman climaxed in his arms, how the shop itself had seemed to drink the pleasure, growing more alive with every moan and gasp.
A new line etched itself below the map:
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Enhance your shop, expand your legend. Quality brings quality.
---
Corven's lips curled into a smirk. "Quality, is it?" he murmured. "Let's see what I can do."
His stomach growled, reminding him that pleasure and power weren't enough to keep a man upright. He found a loaf of bread and some hard cheese tucked into the cupboard beneath the counter—remnants from the previous owner, he guessed—and ate hungrily, staring at the morning outside. Every so often, a passerby slowed, glancing up at the crooked sign above the door. Some looked away quickly, others lingered, curiosity written plain on their faces.
The city itself felt different. He saw things he hadn't before: the shimmer of magic in the gutter water, the way cats watched him with too-bright eyes, the scent of flowers blooming where there shouldn't have been any. He wondered if the shop's magic had changed him, or if he was only now seeing the world as it truly was.
When he finally stepped out into the sunlight, the key around his neck felt warm against his chest—almost pulsing in time with his heart. He walked the streets, shoulders squared, head high. The city's market was already bustling: stalls bursting with spices, bolts of cloth, bottles of perfume, and stranger things—tiny cages of birds that sang in voices like flutes, bundles of dried herbs that whispered in the wind, trinkets carved from bone and stone.
Corven stopped at a candle maker's stall, eyeing thick, black tapers and delicate, perfumed votives. The merchant, a plump woman with quick eyes and nimble fingers, grinned. "A bit early for night candles, love. Planning a romantic evening?"
"Something like that," Corven replied, voice low and teasing. He bought a bundle of dark candles, a length of silk rope, a few glass jars for potions, and a jar of rare oil the woman claimed would "make any skin remember your touch for days."
Next, he found a leatherworker selling cuffs and collars, mostly for fashion—but a few, he could tell, were designed for more than mere show. He selected a pair of cuffs lined with soft velvet, and a mask of supple leather cut to hide only the wearer's eyes. The man behind the stall grunted, counting coins, and gave him a wink. "You'll be needing a safe word, friend."
Corven chuckled. "Not for me."
He drifted from stall to stall, collecting props: a silver bell, a polished mirror, a set of old iron keys, a handful of colored silks, a tiny bottle of perfume so sweet it made his teeth ache. Everywhere he went, women watched him—some with open curiosity, some with sly, appraising looks. He caught whispers as he passed:
"That's him, the new shopkeeper…" "…the one who took over at midnight…" "…heard he grants wishes, but only if you pay in pleasure…"
At a tea shop, a girl with wild curls and freckles poured his drink, lingering at the table. "Is it true what they say about your shop?" she asked, eyes shining with mischief.
"What do they say?" Corven replied, sipping the fragrant brew.
"That you can make a woman forget her sorrows—or remember them forever. For a price." She grinned, bold for a moment. "If I ever need a miracle, maybe I'll stop by."
He smiled, letting the possibility hang in the air. "I'll keep a candle burning for you."
He left the market with a bulging satchel, the city's energy buzzing in his veins. By the time he returned to Midnight Curiosities, dusk had begun to crawl up the streets, the last rays of sun painting the shop's crooked windows gold and crimson.
Inside, the magic had changed again. The air felt thicker, alive with anticipation. As Corven unpacked his treasures, the shelves seemed to stretch, making room for every new addition. He polished the counter until it shone, set the black candles in heavy brass holders, arranged the silks and props in careful, tempting piles. The mask found its place atop a glass dome, the silver bell gleaming on the edge of the counter.
He drew out the hand mirror he'd bought from the curiosity shop—a strange thing, rimmed with tarnished silver and etched with swirling runes. When he gazed into it, his own reflection shimmered, shifting until he saw flashes of other faces: the noblewoman gasping in pleasure, the dark-haired temptress clutching her pendant, women he didn't know—yet.
Chill rippled over his skin. The mirror felt hungry, as if it ached for secrets. He set it beside the ledger, making a mental note to keep it covered during the day.
The ledger itself was changed. When he opened it at dusk, fresh script spilled across the page, words sharp and electric:
---
Shopkeeper Status: Initiate
Ecstasy Collected: 2
Props Acquired: 13
Shop Expansion: +1
Reputation: Whispered (4/100)
Unlocks Imminent: Scent of Desire, Mirror of Secrets
Clients are speaking. Midnight approaches. Will you claim more?
---
Corven smiled, pulse quickening. There was power in the words—more than he'd ever felt before. He traced his finger along the newest line, feeling magic ripple beneath the surface.
He spent the next hour arranging the shop for the night: trimming wicks, laying silks just so, practicing with the cuffs and bell. The key at his throat felt heavier, burning faintly. He caught his reflection again in the mirror—his eyes looked older, knowing, something other lurking behind the surface. He wondered—not for the first time—if he was changing, or if the shop itself was molding him into what it needed.
Night settled like a velvet shroud. Corven lit the candles, dimming the room to soft, inviting gloom. The bell above the door gave a gentle chime, as if reminding him what was to come.
He paused in the center of his domain, breathing deep. The air was thick with oil, wax, and the first taste of magic. The ledgers glowed, eager for new bargains. The shelves seemed to sigh, ready to receive whatever midnight would offer.
He ran a hand across the counter, feeling the shop's pulse thrum in answer. He still didn't know why he had been chosen—only that he was here, and that every night, the city whispered a little louder.
As the bell trembled and the clock in the square struck twelve, Corven smiled.
The door would open soon.
Midnight Curiosities was ready for whatever walked in next.
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