I stand, staring, my eyes wide at the glittering glass and reflections and trinkets around me. Every surface is covered in objects, knickknacks, unattended candles. What little of the wall that isn’t laden with shelves is covered in posters, tapestries, and strings of beads that dance and catch the sun. They don’t seem to catch much here, though, due to the mannequins, displays, and general clutter blocking the front windows. The whole shop smells like perfume, the same one my aunt wears, and that, combined with the dust, causes me to sneeze.
          A fat orange cat slowly stretches at the noise, annoyed to have been awakened from his nap. I hadn't noticed him until now. I whisper a sorry, and he rolls over, seeming to forgive me. I nibble on my lower lip, then pick up a small bottle that catches my eye. It’s filled with what at first I think are garnets, but as I hold it up to the light and take a closer look, I see they’re actually tiny dice, though not one has six sides. I spot one with seven sides, one with two, and one with so many sides it appears just to be round. I consider taking out the cork so I can get an even closer look, but before I can make up my mind, I hear a voice.
          “Hello, dear.” The voice reminds me of my grandma, but more so of my third-grade teacher, kind and strict all at once. I quickly look up to see the speaker, and they're not what I was picturing, but certainly what I should have been. They wear a sweater covered top to bottom in brooches, and a long black skirt that covers all but the tip of their shoes, which appear to be bright orange. Their face is covered in crinkles that could be from a lifetime of smiles, or maybe one of frowns. “How can I help you?”
          I startle and realize I’ve been staring. “Uh, hi! I’m just having a look around, sorry. Cool sweater, um, and cute cat.”
          “Well, dear, Lady Willow is always happy to make new friends, though he can be picky.”
          At first I think they’re speaking in the third person, but then I see that they’re looking at the cat. They turn toward me again. “And here, there's no such thing as just browsing. Open your hand?”
          I briefly hesitate, then hold out the bottle to them. “Sorry, here you go.” My reluctance to give it up surprises me, and I add, “I wasn’t sure what I was allowed to pick up.”
          I watch as the shopkeeper studies me, then the bottle, and I nervously tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
          They offer the bottle back. “Why this?”
          I can feel their eyes on me as I study it. I intend to say something small, about how garnets are my birthstone, or how I want to play DnD, but that’s not what comes out. “It just feels like my whole life is up to chance. I try to make the right choices and work hard, but if fate rolls against me then none of it matters. I wish fewer things were out of my control.”
          They nod, unsurprised by the outburst, and bustle over to a different counter. I watch their ring-laden fingers open what I think is a cash register, though it has too many levers, and flip through a large, leather-bound book next to it. “Let’s see, the dice, the small dice, how much . . .” They pause for a second to look back at me.
          “The rumors are wrong, you know. I’m not a witch. I’m smart and I’m odd, which is close enough for most. Nonetheless, I can still help you.” I look at Lady Willow, and he looks back at me. “Magic is exactly and only what you make it. These dice will help only as much as you're willing to give up.”
          They pull a lever, and push another, and across the room a receipt prints out on yellowed paper. I walk over and pick it up, nearly bumping my head on a glass wind chime directly above it. My eyes scan the paper, searching for the price, but it’s written in a language I’ve never seen. The ink seems to waver, just slightly, like pavement on a hot day, and I understand.
          They watch me read, and add, “You could walk out with those dice for free right now, you know. Of course, then they wouldn’t do anything, but it could make a lovely paperweight.” I nod. I know. I’ll pay the price.
          There's an ornate pair of silver scissors on a nearby countertop, and they make a satisfying snip as I open and close them. In three neat cuts, the bottom half of my hair falls away, and I remove the colorful barrettes I was wearing. My dad uses them to clip the hair out of my eyes whenever I leave the house, “so you can see properly, hon, and the world can see you.” I place them in the shopkeeper’s palm.
          They hold my gaze, and smile, though it’s tinged with melancholy. “I hope to see you again, but I also hope you’ll have no need to see me.”
          I nod. “Thank you.” Clutching the bottle in my hand, I leave, knowing that eventually, someday, I will be back.