Simon spent the next few days familiarizing himself with the shop. He wandered the aisles, touched the trinkets, and read through the faded labels that described each artifact. The shop seemed to have a personality of its own—items would shift places when he wasn't looking, shelves seemed to stretch into new paths that hadn't been there before, and the air carried whispers that made him feel as though the shop was always one step ahead of him.
He found himself drawn to the large mirrors at the back of the shop. They were tall, ornate, with frames carved from dark wood and etched with intricate runes. One mirror in particular caught his attention. Unlike the others, its surface seemed to ripple, as though it were a pool of water rather than glass. It was mesmerizing, and despite the unease that prickled at the back of his mind, Simon felt a compulsion to look closer.
He stood before it, staring at his own reflection. For a moment, it was just him—disheveled hair, tired eyes, clothes rumpled from another restless night spent in the shop. But then the reflection began to shift. The face in the mirror twisted, the eyes darkening, the features sharpening. Simon took a step back, his breath catching in his throat.
The reflection smirked, a cold, mocking expression that Simon knew he hadn't made. It was him, but it wasn't. There was something else—something lurking beneath the surface of the glass, wearing his face like a mask.
"Who are you?" Simon whispered, his voice barely audible.
The figure in the mirror tilted its head, its smile widening. "I am you, Keeper. Or perhaps, I am who you might become." The voice was Simon's, but distorted, echoing in a way that made it sound hollow and unnatural.
Simon's pulse quickened, and he clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. "What do you mean? What do you want?"
The reflection's eyes seemed to gleam with a dark light, the runes on the mirror's frame glowing faintly. "I want what you want. Power, freedom, answers. But every desire has a cost, Simon. You should know that by now."
Simon swallowed hard, taking another step back. The shop's voice had told him that every deal came with a price, but he hadn't expected this—a reflection that spoke back, that seemed to know his thoughts and fears. It was as if the shop itself was testing him, pushing him to see how far he was willing to go.
"What are you?" Simon asked, his voice steadier now, though his heart still pounded in his chest.
The reflection chuckled, a low, sinister sound. "I am the part of you that knows the truth, Simon. The part that understands what the shop wants, what it needs. You can deny it, you can fight it, but in the end, you will see. You and I—we are bound together, just as you are bound to this place."
Simon shook his head, his jaw clenched. "No. I'm not like you. I won't become whatever it is you are."
The reflection's smile faded, its eyes narrowing. "We shall see, Keeper. The shop has a way of revealing who you truly are. And when that time comes, you will have to decide—will you embrace it, or will you be consumed by it?"
The mirror's surface rippled, the image blurring until it was just Simon's reflection again—ordinary, tired, and very much alone. He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he turned away from the mirror. The whispers in the air grew louder for a moment, as if mocking him, before fading into silence.
Simon moved away from the mirrors, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the feeling that the reflection had been right—that the shop was slowly changing him, shaping him into something he didn't yet understand. But he refused to let it control him. He had to find a way to understand the shop, to master it, before it mastered him.
As he walked back toward the counter, Simon noticed something new—an envelope lying on the wooden surface, sealed with a dark red wax stamp. He hadn't seen it before, and he was certain it hadn't been there moments ago. He picked it up, the paper thick and rough beneath his fingers. The seal bore an unfamiliar symbol—an eye with a serpent coiled around it.
Simon broke the seal, unfolding the parchment inside. The message was short, written in a sharp, angular script:
**A visitor will come at midnight. Do not refuse them. The price must be paid.**
Simon's heart skipped a beat. He glanced at the clock on the wall—11:45 PM. He had fifteen minutes before midnight. The shop had given him a task, and he had no choice but to comply.
He took a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The shop wanted something, and it had chosen him to deliver it. Whatever was coming, Simon knew it would be a test—a test of his resolve, of his ability to navigate the strange world he had been thrust into.
The clock ticked steadily, the minutes slipping away. Simon stood by the counter, his eyes on the door, waiting for the inevitable chime of the bell that would announce the arrival of his midnight visitor. He didn't know who—or what—was coming, but he was determined to face it head-on.
The shop had chosen him, and he would see it through, no matter the cost.