Adam's first thought upon entering Brielle's shop was about the smell. Dust particles, illuminated by the sun's rays squeezing through crooked piles of grimoires and parchment taller than him, filled the room with a scent of age. With each step, yellowed pages rustled beneath him, while the stench of mold and ancient ink gripped his throat.
Seated on Adam's back, Quintella scrunched her nose, her hands shooting to cover it. "Yuck! It stinks more than the witch's house." Her muffled groan broke the shop's deadly silence.
Adam rubbed his temples, whispering. "I told you not to mention things from the other side of the sea." He saw Quintella's eyes widen and her fingers tighten around her mouth to block out any sound. He patted her blonde hair. "I know you didn't do it intentionally. Just be mindful, alright?"
