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[cattleyamay]

Thieving Furniture

His quick steps echoed through the empty hallway. he tried to slow down his pace, but the nerves didn't allow him. After years of construction, the new outlet mall had finally opened, and he needed to make his move before all the security measures were settled.

Petrified was a tame word for how he felt. Ever since his fallout with his accomplice, he hadn't dared venture into burglary again. Yet, the thief job market was as dry as the Sahara, and his money was thinning out faster than he could manage. Without his former accomplice's lock-picking skills, he decided to test the water with the good old-fashioned armed robbery

The cold metal of the dagger in his pocket brought him comfort. He knew a gun was a better idea, but had always felt like it was far too dangerous to carry one for a simple store robbery.

He spotted a dark corner of the hallway where a small store entrance stood.

Two Moons Outlet: 20% sale on all crystals

The cursive letters on the storefront were unusual for such a modern mall but he assumed the store just wanted to stand out.

The only entrance was a small carved wooden door, its intricate patterns of vines and constellations met in the middle where two silver moons were painted. The windows on the sides were tinted to the point you couldn't see anything inside the store.

Perfect he thought what a better store to rob than one where no one could see a thing.

He looked around the almost empty mall before entering the inconspicuous store.

Ding

The door’s bell jingled the moment he passed the door frame and the strong smell of burned incense inundated his nostrils. The air was thick with fog floating in the store’s atmosphere. The cobblestone floor and the brick walls only emphasized the store's unique ambiance, a stark contrast to the outside.

His eyes went from shelf to shelf noticing the strange objects in them, small bottles with colorful contents, parts of fantasy creatures he was sure were made of wax, stones with rudimentary writing sat atop some books whose titles were written in a language he was sure didn’t exist.

A tiny book with wings flew by him as he approached the counter. He wondered where the battery pack would be hidden in such a small flying object. A small attendant was sitting behind the counter lounged in an enormous dark green velvet chair. Only her bright red hair and a dozen sparkly bracelets prevented her from blending into the chair completely.

The attendant glanced at him, her disinterested eyes barely settled on him before she looked down at her book again and spoke.

“Welcome to the Two Moons Outlet: the best sorcerer’s shop on the American continent, what spell can I get started for you?” Her monotone voice lacked any intention of actually helping the supposed customer. Then she hit a metallic triangle dangling above her head twice, the sound echoed once from the front of the store and strangely again a second later from the back.

He set the dagger on the counter with a loud thud. Just as he was about to start his speech she interrupted him.

“My regrets sir, we don’t do refunds” She didn’t even look up from her book.

“I’m not looking for a return—”

“We don’t do trades either, that’s the one moon shop” her voice dripped with apathy. Again she didn’t look up.

“I’m not here for a trade!” He snapped. “Give me all you have in the cashier right now!!” He bellowed.

He had practiced this part in front of the mirror a dozen times the night before trying to sound as intimidating as his voice allowed, now he just sounded as frustrated as a kindergartener without a toy.

“Oh, you're robbing us? rude” She yawned, he couldn’t believe the PUNK YAWNED while he was trying to rob her.

If thieves had a dignity she had just mopped the floor with his.

“I said!” she raised one eyebrow at his tone. “Open the cashier and give me all the money” Her head tilted with curiosity, not a hint of fear in her void eyes.

“What cashier?” just then he realized there was no box or cashier on the counter, just more weird objects and a worn down yellow paged open journal. He squatted and looked at the rest of the counter’s shelf, all filled with different objects none looked like they would hold money. He grabbed his dagger again by this time the attendant had gone back to her chair and to reading her book.

Perplexed and a bit insulted he walked around the counter until he was right in front of her, and with a swipe grabbed the book from her hands and tossed it away across the store. She looked up at him, her eyes still void of anything but boredom. Could the woman even feel a thing?

He pointed the dagger in her direction

“Wherever you keep the money, I don’t care but give it to me NOW!” He shouted threateningly. She let out a long yawn as if the whole ordeal was terribly inconvenient.

“We don’t deal in money human” She flicked her wrist and the book flew back to her.

Astonished, he stared at the book he had just tossed across the store now on her hand. She flipped a page, as if he wasn’t still standing there with the dagger pointed toward her.

He slowly turned around confused beyond explanation, he gathered the book must have a similar mechanism to the tiny winged one from earlier. A mechanism she could activate with her bracelets or something. It was the only logical explanation.

He started to walk toward the exit. Frustration boiling in his veins. Part of him wanted to go home and hide his embarrassment under the blankets.

On his way out he spotted a golden necklace on a shelf, the necklace consisted of a series of intertwining golden chains, with two sizable round pendants each positioned at opposite ends.

Pure gold. He knew it was right away, all his years of robbing jewelry stores in the dark with his accomplice had trained his eye to perfection. He knew pure gold from a mile away.

He pushed the glass case holding the necklace onto the floor. The glass shattered everywhere as the gold necklace spilled on the cobblestone floor.

The attendant snapped her head upward at an abnormal speed and narrowed her eyes at him.

He quickly bent down and grabbed it hoping the attendant wasn’t going to try and stop him.

She stood slowly from her velvet chair, setting the book to one side.

“Now, you are a true thief” She smirked at him, and at that moment he wished to see her turn back to apathy for it was terrifying to see her smile.

He tried to run, but his legs felt paralyzed. He looked down at them and saw with horror that, in place of his legs, there were two wooden planks.

His back gave out making him contort. His torso turned flat and parallel to the floor as his hands touched the ground. He wanted to scream as he saw them turn wooden and flat. His eyes glanced up at the attendant wanted to ask for help but all she did was hold her smile as any noise died before it came out of his mouth. Then he couldn’t move it or feel it anymore. Only his eyes stayed movable.

He watched helplessly as the attendant gathered some trinkets from the counter and walked towards him. He felt as she placed them on top of where his spine used to exist, now replaced by a flat wooden plank. He wanted to protest, to scream, to run, to wake up from the nightmare.

“Don’t worry thief, I’ll let you keep what you sought” She pronounced sweetly as she placed the necklace in another glass display box and then moved it on top of him.

She dusted him off as though he had been a table in the shop all along, rather than a paralyzed human. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an intricate vintage mirror, and what he saw in its reflection was beyond comprehension. It was a table with his eyes.

No.

He was a table with only eyes.

She walked back behind the counter without a trace of concern. Grabbed the book again and settled in a snug position on her chair.

“I love thieves, they make exceptional furniture” She smiled to herself, and only then did he notice the pleading human eyes staring back at him on the velvet chair.

[cattleyamay]

IDGAF if the women in my fiction are empowering or aspirational, I'm an adult, I don't need role models, I want the women in my fiction to be interesting, and if that involves being pathetic, hypocritical, amoral, or trapped in a delightfully dysfunctional relationship so be it

[cattleyamay]

It was my third night alone in the apartment, and as I unpacked boxes, I stumbled upon the antique mirror tucked away in the closet. Dusty and forgotten, its frame caught my eye. "Finders keepers," I thought, placing it on top of the dresser without a second thought.

I thought I had found a small treasure by chance. But luck was far from what I gained when that same night, my reflection eerily smiled at me and remained frozen in time. While I moved about the room, my reflection remained fixed, with only its eyes following my every move.

That was my last night setting foot in the apartment.

Ever since, whether it be a mirror, a window, or even a puddle, the frozen reflection with its eerie smile stared back at me, watching my every move.

[cattleyamay]

[cattleyamay]

France, 1793

Her gaze landed on the enormous and imposing "Rue des Cordeliers" where her greatest enemy happily resided. It was a pity that such a despicable being inhabited such a beautiful mansion.

She reached for the neckline of her dress with her trembling hand and sighed as she felt the cold metal of the dagger. She was furious; she had sent him a letter requesting an audience, and the scoundrel didn't even bother to respond. Then she sent a second one, but impatience and anger didn't allow her to wait for a reply.

She was too impulsive for her own good. What was she thinking when she decided to visit him, she pondered regretfully. But it was already too late, she told herself; the time had come.

She glanced sideways at the confused and surprised looks of the coachman and the servant as they saw her approach such a grand mansion that obviously didn't match her noble attire. They probably thought she was coming to see her lover, and the fact that she kept touching her neckline didn't help.

She paid the coachman what was owed and waited for the carriage to disappear before heading towards the mansion. My, it was immense; it was clear that the demonic idiot was living the good life.

Nerves began to churn in her stomach. Suddenly, she felt the corset tighter, cutting off her breath, and her hands were as wet as rivers; to prevent a possible heart attack, she had to take several deep breaths before knocking on the door.

She heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the enormous door, and then it opened with difficulty, revealing a chubby, short lady with a bored look, who looked at her with confusion.

"Can I help you with something, miss?" she grimaced at the servant's annoying tone.

"I need to see Mr. Marat; it's a matter of utmost importance," she barely finished the sentence before seeing the refusal in the chubby lady's eyes.

"I'm sorry," the lady lied without trying to hide it, "but Mr. Marat is not in a condition to receive visitors."

The servant moved to close the door, but Charlotte rudely intervened with her hand, blocking the door's path. With all her strength, she pushed the gigantic door aside and entered the enormous mansion.

"Miss, wait! You can't enter!" she exclaimed as she hurriedly tried to catch up with her.

A door to her right opened, revealing the demon of Paris. The king of the Jacobins.

Marat was halfway dressed, with drops running down his face and chest. The scoundrel smirked at her.

She smiled to herself. He didn't know the fate that awaited him.

"Abertine, what's the meaning of this commotion?" Marat asked, still smiling.

That was the last smile that came from Marat's lips before her knife slit his throat. The man didn't manage to make a sound.

That was her mission, to stop the perpetrator of the September massacre. She knew she would be executed, but that hardly affected her. She had already accepted her fate and with it came peace.

(Originally written in 2014, translated from Spanish to English 2024)