A cape strung on my back, a back already adorned with two scars of duties, and I set out for a walk to set those fears aside. And for another vase. Not sure if I ever had enough money for another vase.
A pottery shop, three rights, two lefts, and another right, and then going straight through an alleyway. A stained-glass window I avoid looking at to avoid my own face passes through, next to the door. A wind chime sounds as I step through, and I once again entered that feeling of cold waters amongst the throat and chest. The feeling of being around other cookies -- it wasn't the best. But I wasn't here for other cookies, I was here for a vase. And with that quake from the morning, I was astonished at how well-kept the store was. Of course, it was prepped, quakes were so common down here, but still, such fragile objects, and not one seemed to be broken on the floor like my special vase.
Or maybe it was just swept to the side, as all broken things are.
The overhearance of conversation, families amongst themselves, friends. Friends so young and-- I haven't aged that long, haven't I? Or was the war of cookie and monsterfish already taking the toll it took on everybody of my league? But yes, that quake from this morning -- the talk of the city. Heard it come up at least three times, and how this shop seemed so stable compared to that shakery at least two.