The Procurer
Stepping through the veil had always been difficult for Camille and so she did not do it without good reason. Today, unfortunately, she did have a good reason. She held a parcel tightly wrapped in unassuming brown paper closely to her chest while the squeak of her platform boots echoed on the empty street. She felt quite stupid for wearing them. The grey sky blended into the buildings that lined the streets and heavy wind was insistent on blowing her hair into her face where it then stuck to her lipstick. It made her feel stupid for wearing that as well. As she worried over how ridiculous she probably looked she walked right past the entrance to the shop. She backtracked, wincing at the sound of her boots and at the same time began trying to pull the hair out of her mouth and off of the lipstick she wore. She stopped for a moment and examined the facade. Camille did not know what she expected from this specific antique bookshop but it wasn’t this. The building did not have any windows save for one and it was only large enough to hold a small sign that said Antique Books and another below it that said Closed. She hesitated for only a moment noting the energy surrounding the shop felt desperate, lonely, and very hungry.
