The silver jangling of bells against old, hardened wood danced against the cluttered walls of the store, bringing with it a warm, pungent air that seeped its way through the Reliquary, lifting a light layer of dust from the main counter and casting it into the breeze. A pale young woman stood at the doorway, kicking a small plastic stop under the thin gap between the wood and the tile, stepping back to stare for a moment at her labor before striding into the stone alley, where a young couple, heads knocked together in affection, waltzed past, and the tabby cat which made its nest in the apartment just upstairs pawed toward a darkened corner, perhaps on the hunt for its next meal. So it was every morning, though the couple would sometimes be exchanged with an older man walking the opposite direction, or there would be no other person at all. But the time was always 8:56, for that was a minute after Ramla would arrive, so long as she always left her home on time.

	Above, a single cloud rolled its way across the blue sky, the sun still hidden behind the buildings across the alley, leaving the front of the store in a faint shadow. Ramla turned around, stepping back into the front of the cramped shop, where she glanced about for a brief moment before walking further inside, moving behind the counter and, reaching a hand to the wall, flicked at a switch, illuminating the store in a bright yellow light. Mere moments later, a creaking resonated from the rear of the boutique, fading in and out, slowly, as each squeak of ancient wood drew closer, until finally, a figure was seen descending the stairs, short in stature, though wide, and hunched over in age.

	The girl had already left her spot from behind the counter at this point, and was busily glancing up and down the stacks of paraphernalia, taking mental stock, planning how she would reorganize the minuscule portion of the store's surplus this day, which would inevitably be left unfinished when she would leave in the evening. Still, she had made a point of tidying the numerous stacks of clutter in her time there, dusting, cleaning, polishing, counting, sorting, arranging, stacking; she had already fixed up the whole front of the store, leaving a much greater amount of room for patrons to walk into and wander about in, so if anything caught their fancy, there would be less risk for them to grab it and have the whole of the store fall upon their heads and crush them. This seemed to both please and irritate the elderly owner, as he had to reacquaint himself with how his store was sorted, though he was not entirely without thanks.

	And so it had been every day of every week, save for each Monday, when Rangi would say to the girl: "Come again tomorrow, today is my day of prayer," though Ramla knew the old man was not a religious sort, and told him that she would work quietly, since she knew his reasoning for being closed on that particular day was more from his laziness and tiredness which he had acquired from old age, but Rangi would still send her away regardless, leaving her to wander the streets of her new home. Often, though, she would simply return to her small apartment, read, and think, frequently of her family, and occasionally of her own life, and of the few people she had met and enjoyed the company of - those who would frequent the shop, and those who had been kind to her and would walk with her either to or from work.

	Today was no different from any other day - each customer which entered would ponder, pace, and grab something which suited their fancy, glance at it a bit, sometimes set it down, other times make their purchase, but most were silent in their observances, save for the occasional flirt which would make attempts at Ramla, who would only smile and politely decline, and a good number were frequent visitors, and after each would leave, the old man behind the counter would sit up in his chair, make a snide remark, laugh, and Ramla would continue her work, smiling, enjoying the man's company as she knew he did hers. As this particular day approached closing hours, there was a sudden rush of customers, many young and hip, each appreciating the shop's bizarre appearance, and for the first time in her seven months there, Ramla had become enthralled in work, and Rangi was seemingly overjoyed, moving with great haste as he hadn't done in many years.

	As their last customer had made his purchase and had stepped into the secluded alley, Ramla stepped over to the door, kneeling over to remove the plastic stop, and let it close by its own will, coming to the counter where Rangi sat, fumbling about with the money in the register, counting steadily, a bright beam spread across his face and through his long gray beard. Ramla smiled at this, and turned to begin cleaning, when the old man spoke in his cracked, aged drawl.

	"What makes you so sad?"

	It was a bit startling to her, and she turned back around at the gruff voice, her amber eyes locking upon the gruff man who had spoken them. There was a brief moment of silence between them, leaving a bleak air which grew in cheerlessness, until Rangi again spoke, "I know there is something which bothers you. But, it is no matter to me; I'm only an old man, and I have no better things on my mind than to worry," standing, the man's height was only a few inches from matching that of the counter, and grabbing at a stack of bills he had set aside, plodded his way to stand in front of the girl, and handed the clump to her gingerly, patted her hand, and turned, trudging then toward the stairs which led to his home above the Reliquary. For another moment, Ramla stood there, then walked behind the counter, grabbed her bag, put the money inside, and began to tidy up the little she had energy to clean, before walking again behind the counter, turning off the light switch, and left the store, closing and locking the old wooden door as she went.

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	The city had darkened as night had fallen, leaving little place within the alley illuminated, even by streetlight. She turned to the right, setting her destination toward home, and walked. It was strange, as she thought she felt a presence, but paid it no mind, continuing her walk as she had every other night. Indeed in the evening she had had the most run-ins with drunkards and petty thieves, though often she would get away safely, so rather than pay mind to whatever it was behind her, she had thought it best to wait for it to confront her, especially now that she was approaching the corner, and the light was growing, and now she was only a few steps away...

	"'Eyyy, Rammy, my girl," the voice was drawled and slurred with liquor, and uncomfortably familiar. From around the corner he turned, fancy puffed-up suit and swept back, greasy hair, covered in some sort of rancid animal fat that stabbed out at the air with a ferocity, which only made Ramla wince. A hand slapped against the brick, and there he stood, obnoxiously blocking her path, perhaps unaware of how much of a fool he was making of himself, yet he persisted. "How've you been, baby? I haven't seen ya in a bit, ya know, and I was gettin' lonely," as he spoke, the stench of booze exhumed from his mouth as if one could trace its approach. Ramla turned her gaze away from him instead, looking back, seeking out what had been following her, but behind her was a clear alley, just as it had been every other night. The man took note of this, and more abrasively, spoke: "You, what, mute now? No 'hi', no 'scram, Jeffy?' Come on, Rammy, I've been missin' ya, at least pay me some mind, ya know?" He promptly lowered his hand from the wall, pocketing it, and standing as stoically as he could muster, though he was too drunk to stand on his own, and he was swiftly rumpled over, leaning toward Ramla, falling. She took a step back to let him drop, kicking her foot out as his head approached the cement to soften the impact. Swiftly she stepped around him, walked forward, glancing back as she went, making sure there was no one there, for as well as she could tell.

	She walked at a hurried pace, throwing quick glances behind her every now and then, hating that she had let the paranoia set in. She was a few short blocks from her home, keeping in the light as well as she could, though she noticed how barren the streets were, as they hadn't been so deserted for as long as she knew of, always being bums and drunkards about, singing or hunched over one another, but tonight there was no one. This worried her more, though the presence she had felt before seemed to diminish, but she still would turn her head behind her, and as her head came back around each time, she felt it again, as if it knew whenever she would look to hurriedly hide itself.

	There was one more corner for her to turn, and as she did so, the dim yellow from the overhead street lights entirely vanished, and she saw nothing but a looming shadow - darker than the deepest black, and more sinister than her most devilish nightmares, it stood, no face upon its absolute void-like shade. A moment of hesitation passed, then horror struck, painting her face in terror. Yet she stood there in silence, just as the shade did with her, and they stared at each other a moment, almost locked in a trance, stopping time itself. A million thoughts rumbled through Ramla's mind in only a short moment, but they were cut off in a flash, for her whole vision was enveloped, as was her breath, and her body, and finally, her cognition, until everything was dark, and nothing seemed to remain.

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	The wind blew at her hair, and her eyes opened to peer up at a single cloud rolling its way across the blue sky, with the smell of flowers and wild grass tugging at her nose, pulling her to sit upright, where she sat and glanced about in a haze - the vastness of the bright meadow almost blinding her, but setting her mind at an unsure ease, which she pondered for a moment, trying to focus her thoughts to what had just occurred. A single yellow butterfly danced and fluttered about in front of her, pulling close toward her frock, landing with silence and grace upon her shoulder.