John waited at his desk for the customers to come in. There was nothing left for him to be working on anymore, so he could relax and enjoy his time in his new building. He was hoping that word would spread that John's Books was once more open, and he would have some busy days ahead of him. Lots of stories to listen to and books to sell.

A woman entered his store, a younger-looking woman wearing a clean white dress, flowing behind her lightly as she walked to the bookshelves.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," John responded, watching her take her time looking at the books and trinkets John had on display.

She paused for a while on the feathers, her eyes focused on one of the red feathers sticking out near the left of the shelf.

"Where did you get these feathers, might I ask?" The woman reached for the feather, plucking it from the shelf.

"Can't remember, why?" John said.

"Something so beautiful, and you can't even remember where you got them." She seemed sad, looking at the feather she held in her hands. "Did you kill what this feather belonged to?"

"Probably, can't remember."

"A shame, that its life would be cut so short and its body treated with such a lack of respect. Left to rot, stabbed into this bookshelf in the middle of nowhere." She turned to look at John, "Will you kill us too?"

"Unsure, probably not."

The woman laughed, turning back to the shelf of feathers. "Of course, we're naught but toys for you to play with." She paused just before she stuck the feather back in the shelf. "Actually, might I purchase this instead of a book, I wonder?"

"Yes, one story."

She brought the feather to John's desk, placing it down gently in front of him. She took a deep breath before she shared her story.

"I once met a phoenix. One of the most beautiful creatures I've ever laid my eyes on, the flames that licked at its form inspired awe and fear. The power that radiated from it so effortlessly as it slept was mesmerizing, each breath it took felt as though the very air was burning.

"But it was injured, somehow. I've no idea what could have possibly harmed it, but I could see the wounds on it so clearly. Fire leaking from its wings as though it were blood. I had no idea what to do, but it felt wrong somehow, to just leave it there to die. And so I waited, fending off what few creatures came to attack it in its weakened state.

"Days passed, and then months. The wounds slowly closing over time. Until one day, it woke up. I didn't even notice at first until I looked behind me, and I saw it standing tall, its bright red eyes open, staring at me.

"I fell flat on my ass, almost frozen in fear. It leaned down and tapped my head with its beak, and I felt as though my very soul was burning. The pain was unlike anything I've ever experienced. And then when I came to again, the phoenix was gone."

She reached out and grabbed the feather. "This reminds me of it, somehow. That faint magical heat that emanates from it just feels so familiar. I do hope you didn't kill the phoenix I saved."

"Probably not." He hadn't slain any beings on this planet thus far. Perhaps the phoenix left this place and he killed it elsewhere, but that would have been long before he even came to this planet. And he wasn't sure how old this woman was anyway, perhaps she was not even alive when the bookstore opened.

"How old are you?" John asked.

"I am seventy-three years old, why?" She said.

John wasn't sure how long it had been since he opened his bookstore. But he knew his first break had been a few years, and his second break had been long enough for a child to be born and grow old. He assumed that was at least seventy years.

"Not the same, then," John told her.

"I see. Well, I would still like it anyway, if my story was adequate?"

"Yes. Thank you." John said.

"No, thank you." She took the feather and left the store.

John had met a few phoenixes in his travels, none of them particularly kind. Though he supposed he wasn't either, at the time. It was surprising to him that one of them granted the woman a gift, a mere human blessed by an immortal.

A phoenix' immortality was never one John particularly appreciated though. They would rise again from the ashes and embers, but if you merely removed them then they would be snuffed out. Harmless pests, really. He couldn't remember getting a feather from any of them though, that was something that was only given as a gift. After all, if you killed a phoenix you did not receive a corpse, you received ashes and embers.

He wondered why the woman seemed to be drawn to the feather, but he couldn't remember where it came from. Perhaps the phoenix she knew gave the feather to another being, and he had taken the feather from its hoard. Or perhaps there was something else that drew her to it. He wasn't sure.

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But he was glad that he put up his shelves, and filled them with trinkets. To think that people would share stories for something like a feather. It was a nice surprise, though not quite as pleasant as trading books for stories. There was something about that which was indescribable to him, that he didn't understand but certainly appreciated.

Another customer entered his store, an older man, bald with a little gray stubble on his chin. He walked through the store, up and down each bookshelf before he pulled one down and brought it up to John's desk. The book was one of monsters and doors, a one-eyed creature getting pulled along by the rapid changes their society faced.

The man looked at John for a moment, before John felt a sudden surge of information flood his mind. Telepathy, he realized. How interesting that a human of all things would be doing this. He quickly sectioned the information off, before he looked through it.

It was a jumbled mess, the man's finesse paling in comparison to anything John had seen before. But for a human, this was certainly impressive. Enough on its own, and yet he had a story to examine as well.

John pulled the thought apart, organizing it as best as he could before he started to work through it.

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The man sat in a forest, upon a fallen tree. The remains of a campfire smouldering in front of him, a chunk of meat resting in the center of it. Fat dripped off, the fire flaring everywhere that it hit the hot coals.

He took a deep breath, the smell of the meat deeply satisfying to him. He wasn't the best cook around, but there was something about cooking it yourself, enjoying the smells of it all that satisfied him. The experience made it all worth it, even if the end product wasn't as good as something he might buy from a fancy restaurant in town.

He felt a surge of power come from his left and turned his head, seeing a large form towering over him. Their skin was green, almost mouldy. They looked down on him as he sat and breathed out. Their breath was rank, smelling of rot and death.

The being turned its head towards his campfire, and the man felt a wave of sadness cover the forest, almost suffocating him.

"Did you slay this creature?" The being asked him.

"Yes, it attacked me and I defended myself." The man responded, sweat beading on his brow as the sadness grew more intense. Pressing down on him from all sides.

"I curse you, human. For one with a tongue as yours, and the need for flesh to consume, may you never open your mouth again. Your voice never to be heard, nor the taste you desire ever felt once more. Live a life of pain and despair, and may you learn the error of your greedy ways, human. Never bother that which is not yours again."

The being left as quickly as it came, the sadness that overwhelmed the man vanishing with it. The man tried to gasp for breath, but his mouth would not open. No matter how hard he tried, it would not move.

He looked at his food, cooking on the fire. The smell almost hurt him now, the knowledge that he had spent all this time cooking it, anticipating it. Longing for the sweet reward at the end, and yet he would never have it again.

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The man looked at John, and then at the book.

John nodded his head, and the man grabbed the book and then left. A vague feeling of gratefulness entered John's mind.

How interesting, John thought. That a human would be forced to resort to telepathy just to communicate. He wondered if the human's telepathy would be weak enough to communicate with the average human, or if he would run into the same problems John had. John wondered if he could even reduce his telepathy down enough to not bother the average human. What if he were to send only memories of words, one at a time, as though he were speaking directly into somebody's mind.

It was something he hadn't thought of before, but he supposed it could work. In theory, it shouldn't be any more information than if their brain were to just hear the sound itself. Of course, telepathy had more complications than that, with the memories being directly inserted instead of heard. But it was something worthy of testing.

He also wondered about the being the man had met. He didn't recognize it, even though he had seen the entirety of the world before. He didn't focus on every individual being when he extended his awareness that far, but he thought he would still recognize something like that. And yet he didn't.

John also didn't notice any curse placed on the man, he seemed perfectly fine. Maybe he had resolved the curse by now, and merely relies on telepathy since it is more convenient? That would make sense, John believed the same as well.

But it was still curious, what that being was, and how it cast the curse. John didn't feel any magic being cast, but he supposed the man could've just not been powerful enough to notice it too. It wasn't something John could do, though he never claimed to be a masterful mind mage either. His domain was that of space.

He spent the next few hours thinking about the creature and what it might have been, none of his memories seeming to line up quite well enough. He knew it wasn't a lie, that wasn't something that could be done with a memory like this. It would be obvious to John that it was manufactured, though it could be that his memory had changed too. Curious, at any rate. Something to maybe look for later.

John turned his attention to the customer in his store. They came in a few minutes earlier, a younger human in brown pants and a white shirt. They wore a leather cap, hiding their hair beneath it. They ran through the bookshelves, giggling to themselves as they picked up some books and put them back.

They brought one of the books up to John's desk, reaching a little to place it in front of him. It was one of a gorilla and mashed potatoes. A strange one, John thought.

"This one please!" The younger human said.

"One story per book," John said.

"Oh. Uhh. Everybody always calls me a girl but I don't really think I'm a girl? What does being a girl mean anyway? I like what boys do a lot more but everybody says that's weird. Is that weird?" The human asked.

John shook his head. Gender was something he never understood much anyway, why they drew these lines, defining what each of them could, or should do. And for what purpose? Perhaps they had different biological needs, but he wondered why that meant that the girls should be left to cook, and the men to hunt. Or vice-versa in other cultures. There didn't seem to be any consistency to it, either. Sometimes men were the strong protectors, sometimes the women were.

"Really? You don't think it's weird that I wear boy clothes?" The human asked.

John shook his head again.

"Yay! I guess that's not a good enough story, is it?" The human asked.

John shook his head, he liked the child but if they didn't think it was good enough, then it would not be.

"Okay, umm. One time we were out in the forest. We're not supposed to be, they say there are dangerous monsters out there. But I've never seen any before and it's a lot of fun to explore. We found this place that seemed kinda weird. Like it was there, but it wasn't? I dunno what it was but it was super cool. Is that one enough?" The human asked.

John nodded his head. The human took the book and ran out of the store.

He wondered what the human meant by an area that was there, but it wasn't. Perhaps something he could go check out himself if it was enough for a mundane child to notice.