Information

Vellum has a minion!

Proprietor the Gothique

Vellum
Legacy Name: Vellum

The

Nostalgic Torrent
Owner: Scribe

Age: 13 years, 10 months, 1 week

Born: January 2nd, 2013

Adopted: 13 years, 5 months, 4 weeks ago

Adopted: May 12th, 2013

Statistics

Level: 4
Strength: 17
Defense: 16
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 8
Books Read: 6
Food Eaten: 0
Toys Played: 0
Job: Register Clerk

Dust hangs heavy in the stagnant air, visible only in the slanting beams from the two small windows in the east wall, but tangible with every breath. The jangle of the bells on the door seems out of place in the stillness, and for a moment, you just stand, waiting for the silence to return, willing your heart to slow, your breath to deepen.

Achoo!

Okay, so the extreme dustiness is just not conducive to that kind of stillness. You sneeze again and feel around in your pockets for a tissue. Found one! Only slightly used, if very crumpled. You swipe at your nose and look around.

"Hello?" No one answers, so you shrug and start browsing. A bookstore is a bookstore, right? Though some are tidier than others.

This particular bookstore doesn't seem to have much for light reading; its shelves are stocked with classics, philosophy, and esoterica. And a magazine rack under one window and a cardboard rack of candy bars on the counter.

"Can I help you?"

You turn, startled, and see a huge man--or maybe a beast?--standing in the doorway behind the counter. Curled horns sprout from his salt-and-pepper hair, and his eyes glow red. He does not look pleased to see you.

What will you do?

If you smile brightly and ask for the latest Stefanie Mayer novel and a chocolate bar, please turn to page 191.

If you swallow hard, excuse yourself politely, fumble behind you for the door, and run screaming into the night, turn to page 52.

PAGE 191

"Stefanie...whosawha? Who are you? Who sent you?"

"You know, the vampires, and the...."

You fall silent as steam starts to come from the horned man's strangely enlarged nostrils. Seriously, they're huge, and it doesn't seem cold enough to make his breath steam. Your sunny smile slowly tilts downward into a worried frown.

"It's just...fiction," you try to explain. "Sci-fi. Romantic sci-fi."

"Fiction," he echoes. It sounded pretty innocuous when you said it, but you suddenly realize just how sinister the word fiction can be. "Who. Sent. You?"

"Nn...no one. I just...it's a book shop. The sign said it was open...."

This was not the correct answer. The red eyes narrow, and the last thing you see as he approaches you is the way the dim light casts shadows from each tiny serration on his curved horns.

Everything grows dark.

You have died.

PAGE 52

The jangling of the door's bells is drowned out by the pounding of your heart and your heaving breaths. You're only half a block away when you stop to catch your breath and question your sanity.

"There are no beast men," you remind yourself aloud. "He did not have horns, he just had a big nose and the exit sign must have been reflected in his eyes."

It's amazing what the human brain can rationalize.

You turn around and start back toward the shop. It would be really awkward to go back in and apologize, but maybe you can just nonchalantly stroll past and peek in the window and see that everything is normal and go on your way. So why is your heart still racing?

A cloud drifts over the sun and the lights in the shop have been turned out. As you approach--you try not to look directly at the shop, staring instead at the taqueria across the street--you dart a glance at the door just in time to see the open sign being flipped over by a large dark hand. You stop walking and glue your eyes to the menu taped in the taqueria's window. Suddenly, the glass reflects two red dots just above the desolc sign.

Your breath catches in your throat and you set off running again. This time, you do not stop until you reach your home.