Yes, he’s definitely a stalker. Noël shoots him an unimpressed look. Forget the bookshelf; I should hit him with the sentient baguette.

“It sounds like she was merely an object to you.” This man has more than a few screws loose……

“My love for her was real. I’d be more offended, but I can’t expect someone like you to understand.” The love struck tone of the store owner’s voice melted away into an icy, sharp bark. “You’ll figure it out when you’re older.”

“Well…I don’t know about that……”

Emerett was already faced away from Noël and gradually started walking towards the backroom. “I felt the same way…until I met her.”

“If you don’t mind, I do have one more question,” Noël lazily called out to the toy store owner.

“Then say it, already.”

“You do realize building a toy store in the middle of nowhere is terrible for business, right, Mister? I’d imagine that grotto not too far from here wouldn’t do much for tourism, either.”

“It’s not always about money. I’m doing it for the art.”

Smirking, an almost happy [mocking] tone was laced through Noël’s voice as he continued his barrage of statements against the store owner. “Or…could it be that you were chased out and had to set up shop here? I doubt most customers would enjoy listening to your ramblings of a deceased woman.”

A silence enveloped the store as Emerett paused in his trek towards the backroom.

“What I do is none of your concern,” the store owner icily retorted. “Materials are much easier to find here.”

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“Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Bye-bye, Mister Store Owner,” Noël sing-songs in a mockingly cheery tone as Emerett slammed the door shut behind him. Glass bottles clanked together as the door was forcefully closed on its hinges.

“Well, this was a disturbing experience,” the vampire deadpanned. “Better get out of here while he’s preoccupied.”

This whole ordeal was quite weird, and uncomfortable, and just…there was something about the way the elderly man talked about that woman. How could he claim to love her if…everything he described was so superficial? What did her laugh sound like? What were her likes? Dislikes? Did he ever speak to her even once, or did he spend his days building shoddy replicas that could never compare to a living, breathing person?

He wasn’t terribly interested in matters of the heart, but even the vampire knew obsession was a terrible foundation for a healthy relationship.

Nevertheless, Noël was more than happy to get away from that obsessive stalker of a store owner and his incredibly tacky building. He faintly pondered on whether he should ‘take care’ of Emerett incase someone less fortunate came across the structure and caught his attention, but the chances of that happening were slim to none.

It was highly unlikely anyone else would discover this place, and Emerett did not appear to be long for this world. Noël did not want to accuse anyone without solid evidence, but the chances of Emerett being capable of murder crossed his mind more than once. Though, if he were to be honest…physically, the store owner did not look the part. He seemed much too feeble and…not entirely of this ‘realm’. The man was inconsequential—he would die as he had lived. Alone in a sea of useless junk. Unwanted and delusional.

As Noël was too preoccupied in his thoughts, he nearly missed a soft, low voice emanating from a rustic silver plate of all things.

The vampire tilted his head at the plate, eyes wide in confusion. “This is odd for you, Lila. Have you developed an interest in plates and cutlery since we’ve last spoken half an hour ago?”

“No, no, my dear. But I must warn you—there’s…something off about this place……” the plate lamented in a quick, hushed tone. The witch’s purple eyes could be seen through the common kitchen plate, which…certainly made for a surreal, frankly quite bizarre sight. “I was looking through that man’s mirrors and windows, as you’d be wont to do if you had no one else to speak with for centuries, but…I saw something.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Lila. I’m well aware and heading back outside as we speak.”

“Oh dear, that isn’t want I meant. Not at all, not at all, I’m afraid. He possesses a portrait…I do not recognize the woman, but she has soft brown hair—”

“Please don’t, Ms. Witch. I’ve heard enough from Mister Stalker.”

“No, what I mean—”

“I don’t care about how beautiful this poor woman was. She’s dead…that should be the end of it.”

“Her brooch—”

A thick shadow loomed over Noël as Lila’s silent voice was cut off. The silver plate clattered to the floor…

“Wait, what did you say—” The vampire looked up and was confronted with the sight of a young girl. Only…her face was empty. Her eyes, mouth, nose…there was nothing to be found. Where there should be a face was instead a blank slate of empty void.

Dressed in a simple, floor length night gown and with a tallow candle loosely held in her hands, it was easy to mistake the faceless specter for a normal girl—at least, if you were to look at her from far away. She seemed impossibly tall and yet so very small. Upon closer inspection, Noël noticed how there were small tears and bits of stone and bramble stuck in her dress, as if she stumbled down from a great height. There were blood stains on her hands, sleeves, and skin. She was shaking slightly, one small, pale arm stretched outward towards the vampire.