Chapter Text
On a cold Friday morning, with Christmas inching closer and closer, a tired hand flipped the sign in the old shop window from “CLOSED” to “OPEN”.
It was a family-owned shop, one passed down for generations. It was a modest-looking building; a humble brick exterior with cherrywood walls and an aging carpet floor. From the two large windows, adjacent to the store’s entryway, one could see that the interior of the store was lined from floor to ceiling with large shelves, stocked full of toys of all shapes, sizes, and time periods. A small counter with a register sat in the corner beside the door to the staff room, which had long since been converted into a small dormitory for the shop’s sole remaining owner: Devereaux D'amour.
Devereaux, or “Dev”, as locals called him, was the final inheritor of the D’amour antique store. He was a tall, lanky man, roughly in his early 30’s; he had syrup-brown hair with a caramel streak at the front and a nose that curved downward into a point. He donned a small, pencil-style mustache, and his eyes looked as though they were permanently sleepy. As he flipped the sign in the window display, he let out a long, tired sigh as he prepared for another day of work; or rather, lack thereof.
Despite the holiday season creeping nearer, the little family store hadn’t had proper business for some time. Perhaps it was the location of the building, set aside of a plaza, or that the market for antique children’s playthings just wasn’t as high in demand as it once was. Whatever the cause for the drop in attendance, it meant that every day was a repetitive cycle for Dev; wake up, open shop, sit for hours with no customers, close shop, sleep, repeat. He hadn’t even been interested in his family’s business, but as the final descendent left, he had no choice but to carry the shop on his shoulders, even if it was well past being on its last legs. It was something he had grown to tolerate over the years. Fate was fate, after all. If he had to drag a long-dead business along for the sake of his family’s “legacy”, then so be it. At the very least, he fancied all the time to himself; no customers meant he could waste away the hours reading and resting to his heart’s content. Still, it was a lonesome job, even for an introvert such as himself. Unlocking the front door to the shop, he trudged over to the counter and slumped in the old, velvet chair behind it, putting his feet up beside the register and taking a sip of his morning coffee. All in all, it was just another, boring day in the old, dying store at the corner of the shopping plaza.
There was a small *thud!* at the doorstep.