The rain lashed the rooftops as if the sky itself had grown furious — determined to wash away all the sins of this world. The street was empty, save for the dim glow of windows hinting that life still lingered somewhere behind them. Turning off the main road, the traveler stumbled upon a small shop.

  Above the door hung a handcrafted sign: delicate silver symbols etched into dark blue wood. At its center — an engraved lotus in full bloom, its petals softly glowing with moonlight once nightfall came.

  “Moon Lotus”

  “Potions, artifacts, and the desires you’re afraid to speak aloud,” the sign read.

  As he reached for the door, shaped like a fox’s tail, the hinges gave a soft creak. The door brushed the hanging bell above, and its crystalline chime sliced clean through the sound of the rain.

  The shop was small but cozy: walls draped in greenery, shelves packed with jars and vials, and a faint violet light emanating from a crystal on the counter. The air was thick with the scent of honey, warm herbs, and something spicy and sharp that tickled the nose and stirred half-forgotten memories.

  “Welcome,” said a gentle voice.

  Behind the counter stood a figure, as if stepped straight out of a silk painting: graceful, wrapped in a dazzling kimono that shimmered with fiery whites and crimson reds. An outer robe — snow-white with a silvery sheen — trailed behind like moonlight itself. A crimson obi, embroidered with golden foxes and flowers, hugged the waist, emphasizing each curve. From its center hung a delicate clasp in the shape of an alchemical sun, its golden tassels whispering with every movement.

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  Her hair — scarlet, like tongues of flame — flowed around her shoulders. A slender pale hand held a smoking pipe between long fingers. Behind her, nine fox tails swayed slowly, as if alive with their own will.

  “You’re looking for something special, aren’t you?” Her sharp, slightly aloof emerald gaze slid across the man’s face.

  Taking a deep breath to steady his heartbeat, he stepped inside. His eyes swept the shelves — bundles of herbs tied with string, crystals tucked beneath domes of glass.

  “I… I’m looking for a love potion,” he murmured.

  She smiled, gliding along the shelf — and the vial leapt into her hand on its own.

  “Before you receive it, I must warn you: love potions are illegal. And the consequences tend to be… tragic,” she said, handing him a heart-shaped glass bottle.

  “I understand…”

  The man took the vial, placed several gold coins on the counter, and left the shop.

  A gust of wind slipped in after him, snuffing out all the candles in a single breath. For a moment, the room was swallowed by darkness.

  Then came the snap of fingers — and the flames returned.

  A pale hand brought the pipe to soft lips, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

  Only now, behind the counter stood not a woman — but a man of the same otherworldly beauty.