Thread: You can't unring a bell (Alexander and ChrisGabriel)

The merchant was a small local legend, right along side the glowing will-o-wisp that flutters above the nearby lake, the story of how the town was founded upon the thousand-foot trunk of a fallen world-tree, and just quite how old lady Macgree is 140 years, thanks to witchcraft, obviously. Some children swear he is fake, some consider him a real person who does nothing but run a scam, and some tell the story of how their brother or sister made a deal and it became true. Nobody who ever is said to actually have made a deal ever mentions a word about it, so it has been impossible to verify, and children are known to tell bigger tall tales than even professional drunkards. Despite this lack of evidence, the town does have more unusual inhabitants than would be found even in a larger city, so this story does help explain away many odd figures of the town. Clarabell was hesitating. While she indeed searched for a way to be more than she was - and to be more than not only her peers, but all the other girls her prince would be around - , she still shyed away from knocking on the doors of the old witch, Lady Macgree. Clarabell also knew that even if there was a will-o-wisp on the pond, she can't swim or boat there alone - anmd bringing somebody with her was not an option. It was enough that her family was smiling at what they called her infatuation with the prince. But her friends and the meaner older girls - some of them just before marriage - outright laughed and started to giggle behind her back. So, she was alone, and seeking a solution. For what, she had no clear thoughts on, just knew that she wanted to be interesting enough for the prince to take notice. Maybe if she had beatiful long hair... or a really charming face... Maybe she needed to be a little more grown up - especially in some areas. So, filled with thoughts and love - or maybe that was just lust, she did not knew - Clarabell wandered the streets when she had the time for it. That is how she found herself at a crossroads at dusk, staring at the doors of the little shop on the corner. This must be it. she tought, and carefully tried to look in the small glass paneled big window. Must be closed up for the day. she hoped, not brave enough to just go in. The store was as dark as the street was still, but when the girl lifted herself towards the windowsill and nestled her head next to the portal, a lamp lit up on a desk on the far side of the entryroom. No figure stood beside it, and no match or a candlestick was present to pass the flame, but now the room glowed warmly, and she could see an array of trinkets laid about inside. With a blink, the girl was next to the desk, though she could not recall the door opening or herself stepping through, though it must have happened, because there she stood. So much for the shop being closed and locked up shop. When she took a second glance around her surroundings, she found that she was not alone alongside the piles of trinkets and shelves of baubles. A man, dressed simply in a green and brown set of trader's clothes, but dressed extravagantly with rings upon his fingers and necklaces wrapped around his collar, stood staring out the very window she had been looking inward from. She swore that she had never seen him, that the room was quite lit and yet quite empty, but he was the master of this domain, and she a mere visitor. After fifteen seconds of silence, as if he were on watch for anybody that would interrupt them, he turned to the girl. I sense a soul that has been set upon a search. It is an old soul, with more history to it than some libraries contain inside all of their tomes. That kind of age has value to it. Young girl, what is it that YOU value? Not everybody possesses now what they want, but I can see to it that anything of value can be acquired, if given time.