[ from the world of skate matcha ]

you take a wrong turn through a twist of bookshelves and stumble upon a locked door. somehow, you have the key, though you don't remember picking it up before. choose a souvenir:

• potion (x4) stoppered vials gleam from their perches atop the polished shelves, the contents jewel-bright and haloed in deep ocean blues, glistening emerald greens, blooming ember oranges. you pick one up, examine it under the flickering glow of the lantern: when the light cuts over the glass, the afterimage is like a spill of uncut gemstones shattering over your irises. the liquid stirs, restlessly
• old book, hollow (x1) water damage has rendered the title illegible, though the giant krakens and man-eating fish embossed into the worn leather cover are still partially visible. you open the book to find that a section of the pages have been carved out, making room for some kind of treasure to be nestled into the ribcage of paper. upon further investigation, you find only a single long, curving tooth, spotted in shimmers of blood that seem to appear and disappear with the susurrations of the shadows
• clockwork fish (x1) gleaming with bits of brass and scales of sapphire, the pieces evidently filched off the tall clock standing solemnly against the far wall. you watch the the gears jerk and start and turn in no discernible pattern, the fish's mouth opening and closing in time with the jolting of its inner workings
• scent bottle, glass (x1) sealed shut with a gilt stopper, and sheened sweetly in the smell of ink and crumpled parchment, storms and spider silk. enamel flowers blossom up the sides, and when you try removing the stopper, a thin, anguished scream shrills out from the bottle - or is it just your imagination?
• seaweed frond (x2) sea grass blooms out from behind the gilded potion shelves, glowing like springtime and summer skies. you're not underwater (to the best of your knowledge, anyway), yet the seaweed seems to drift and ripple like the roar and recede of the tides. when you gently grasp the end of one particularly long frond between your fingers, you realize that it's pulsing in time with your heartbeat