Please.
That motherfucker lived one year longer than Yarad, and suddenly he’s the blueprint for ancient wisdom?
Yarad was smarter, stronger, and didn’t reek of goat shit.
Typical.
Leave it to humans to forget the better man just because he didn’t have a PR team.
Once he’s out the door, I watch him saunter down the sidewalk, no doubt heading for the local bar a few streets up. It’s the only thing in the area that stays open past five.
At least he’ll come in tomorrow with some mildly amusing stories.
The human experience still baffles me.
Their lives are short, and on some primal level, they know it. Maybe that’s why they make such ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decisions.
How else do you explain chasing purpose through pills, prayer, and a chunk of fucking rose quartz?
I spend the next thirty minutes closing the register and tidying up. We live on a mountain, in a town so small it barely exists, so in-person business is slow. A handful of locals like to browse or place special orders, but that’s about it.
Let’s be honest, I didn’t open a bookshop in the middle of nowhere for the business. I opened it because I love books.
It’s the only thing humans have done right—well, them and vampires, and wrakhs, and tüskvarr—you get the idea.
Stories don’t care what you are.
That’s why I love them. In here, everyone belongs.
I don’t keep this place running for the money. I have more wealth than I could ever spend.
The shop matters in a different way. I keep it open for the stillness. The quiet comforts me. It gives me something close to belonging, the way I imagine home would feel if I’d ever had one.
My actual house is just somewhere I go to wait for morning.
I never cared about the numbers. That’s probably why I didn’t notice how much the shop had grown. Until Thane dragged it online—turned a profit for the first time in a century—the business side meant nothing to me.
A few months ago, he convinced me to let him build a digital storefront on our website. A website I didn’t even know existed. Something about brand visibility? I don’t fucking know.
Apparently, there’s a market for old and rare books. And somehow Thane stumbled right into it. The business bloomed overnight, almost like magic.
Every cent the online store makes goes straight to Thane, on top of his salary.
Oh, shut up! It was his idea. To the victor go the spoils, right?
As I reach the front door to pull the blinds and secure the locks, something brushes past my ears. A sound I can’t name—one that disrupts my carefully curated stillness. It’s wild and alive with jagged teeth beneath the beauty.
What the hell was that?
Christ, nothing holds my attention anymore.
But this?
It doesn’t just make me listen, it sinks its claws in, refusing to let go.
I shift into my Umbraeth, shedding flesh and form until I’m nothing but shadow, unseen and weightless as I slip through the locked door.
When I glance up Main Street, I find two women walking arm in arm toward me.
