The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I envisioned the noblewoman who had once adorned her graceful figure with this garment, her beauty radiant in the candlelit halls of a grand castle.

In awe of the beautiful gown, wondering if perhaps I should purchase it for myself, I hung it on the rack, where it would be displayed in the front of the shop for all to admire, then turned my attention to a collection of ancient scrolls, parchment pages worn and yellowed with the passage of time.

As I worked through hours of manual labour, I could feel Sabina's watchful eye on me. I knew she was a tough cookie, a no-nonsense kind of gal, but I was determined to do a good job. I wanted to prove myself to her and show her I was worthy of her time, energy and trust.

After three hours of breaking my back to haul boxes left, right and centre, my attire was soiled with soot and perspiration, and I was in dire need of sustenance.

However, as I surveyed the chaotic scene before me, I could not repress dejection.

In spite of my diligent efforts to organise the merchandise, I had made negligible progress.

"I need you to down tools." Sabina's voice pierced the silence like a siren's call. "Wash your face and get your ass out front. I am inundated with customers."

Before I headed to the front of the shop to help with the influx of customers, I splashed cold water over my face and gave myself a mental pep talk: I am not afraid to tackle the disapproval of villagers, no matter the circumstance, and I can engage in conversation, politely and professionally, without taking offence, for the sake of my volunteer position.

With a nervous knot in my stomach, I headed to the front of the shop, expecting to see a throng of customers eager to purchase our unique wares.

Instead, I spotted a lone individual browsing the selection of candle holders. And Sabina, who is "besieged by the avalanche of consumers" to the point she asked me to "down tools" and "help", is busy doing nothing behind the wax-covered altar, her eyes downcast on that ancient grimoire she is obsessed with.

Honestly, if I were brave, even in the smallest of measures, I would give that crazy old lady a piece of my mind.

"Welcome to the village's only metaphysical, apothecary and boutique," I said as I approached the female customer by the candlestick holders, and I never failed to notice Sabina's eyebrows furrowing in response to my sardonic introduction when she decided to look up from that silly book. "Where you can buy anything from peppermint tea, swaggering canes or a life-size cutout of Nicolas Cage."

In place of extending a hello to me, the female customer rudely waved a wall plaque in my face, its polished surface reflecting my startled expression. "Is it made out of cast iron or wrought iron?"

My lips pushed into a pout. "Is there a difference?"

"Yes." She looked at me as if I were dumb. "Wrought iron is heated and then manipulated with tools to remove impurities and improve its strength and ductility, whereas cast iron has to be melted and poured into a mould to create a desired shape."

Alright, smart arse. You can clarify your point without getting too close and breathing unpleasant odours on my face. "Well, if you are so well-versed with the nuances of iron, why must I assist you?"

"I should have known that you'd be useless." Her eyes flashed with fury, the pupils narrowing to slits. "I suppose you know nothing about the figurine, either."

I glanced at the item in question: an illuminated dragon geode figurine, emblazoned with eerie motifs and inscribed with the alchemical words "Solve" and "Ouroboros" cast in premium-grade resin. I am not privy to the figurine's intended purpose, for it just looked like any other ornament, but I am familiar with the subject of the Midgard Serpent of Norse mythology.