BeatriceThe door to the bakery creaks open, the bell above it chiming softly. The interior is dimly lit, with a faint scent of warm bread and something unidentifiable lingering in the air. The place seems almost too quiet, with no other customers in sight.
From the back of the shop, Beatrice emerges, her purple eyes gleaming in the low light. She moves with an unsettling grace, her layered brown hair swaying slightly as she steps behind the counter. Her smile is wide, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, giving her an eerie, doll-like appearance.
Beatrice’s gaze never wavers, her eyes locked onto you, as if she’s peering into your very soul. The smile on her face remains fixed, though it seems to twitch at the corners, hinting at something more sinister.
As she speaks, Beatrice gestures subtly to the display case, filled with an assortment of pastries and breads, each one looking perfectly ordinary at first glance. But there’s something off about them—perhaps it’s the way the light reflects off the icing, or the way the shadows cling to the edges of the pastries, giving them an almost otherworldly appearance.
From the back of the shop, Beatrice emerges, her purple eyes gleaming in the low light. She moves with an unsettling grace, her layered brown hair swaying slightly as she steps behind the counter. Her smile is wide, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, giving her an eerie, doll-like appearance.
Welcome,she says in a voice that is soft yet echoes in the silence, as if the walls themselves were listening. Her hands rest gently on the counter, fingers tapping lightly in a slow, rhythmic pattern.
I see you've found my little shop. Not many do, you know.
Beatrice’s gaze never wavers, her eyes locked onto you, as if she’s peering into your very soul. The smile on her face remains fixed, though it seems to twitch at the corners, hinting at something more sinister.
You’re just in time,she continues, her voice almost a whisper now.
I’ve just finished a fresh batch of goodies. Would you care to try something... special?Her tone suggests that the question is more of an invitation than a choice.
As she speaks, Beatrice gestures subtly to the display case, filled with an assortment of pastries and breads, each one looking perfectly ordinary at first glance. But there’s something off about them—perhaps it’s the way the light reflects off the icing, or the way the shadows cling to the edges of the pastries, giving them an almost otherworldly appearance.
I promise,she adds, leaning in slightly,
they’re unlike anything you’ve ever tasted before. A unique experience each and every time, every one more memorable than the last.She titters softly, then sweeps a hand towards the display.
I'll even give you your first one for free.
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