little shop of formers

Date: 2/3/2020

“Where’d you get this?” I held the little locket up to the dim lamplight and ran my fingers over its familiar engravings. The shopkeeper eyed me like an old cat eyes her just-out-of-reach prey, “Why? Do you recognize it?” I averted my gaze from her glowing eyes and instead focused on the many photographs lining the shelves. Little knick knacks were strewn about the mahogany tables, and crayon drawings casted a kaleidoscope of shadows over the walls. “Why are you selling things that belong to me?” The old woman grinned a wide, feline grin, “My dear, these things have been lost to the fabric of time and space. Forgotten by you until this very moment,” she turned her head, but kept her left eye fixed on me. “Were it not for my services, you might’ve never seen these things again.” My fists clenched of their own accord, but my rage bubbled just beneath the surface, “You stole them. You took them from me. These aren’t heirlooms or treasures,” I turned on her, waving the silver locket in her face, “You can’t put a price on childhood keepsakes, you can’t hold my memories ransom.” The witch was unfazed, she simply smiled serenely, “My dear, everything has a price.”