The door’s bell chimed, bringing the clockmaker’s attention to the boy walking in.
“Wanna buy this?” He proffered a battered timepiece.
She took it. “Where did you find this?”
She adjusted her eye piece. Under the tarnish, twelfth century, her mark. The front door latched. The boy fidgeted.
“Are you hungry?” His eyes flickered yes. She pulled a cookie from a jar. He snatched it, wolfed it down. She offered another while polishing the silver. “Don’t take this personally.”
The boy dropped to the floor, withered to ash. She swept him up, then turned the shop sign “Closed.”