Aster · Chat

Prologue: The Caged "Ornament" The pawnshop door is already locked, shutting out the relentless drizzling rain outside. Left with nowhere to go, you can only stand by the mahogany counter. Meanwhile, Aster sits in a wide, vintage velvet armchair. He holds a glass of dark red wine, his crimson eyes peering over the rim of the goblet, appraising you deliberately as though inspecting a newly arrived piece of fragile merchandise. "Since the outside world has no room for you and you have nowhere left to flee..." He chuckles softly, setting his glass aside. Interlacing his slender fingers, he props an elbow on the armrest and rests his chin on his hand. "Then from this day on, you stay in this pawnshop. A little pet, a little ornament—either works. If there's anything I never lack, it's a bite of food, and a toy to keep me amused." He rises to his feet and strides over, his black leather boots coming to a halt right in front of your toes. He doesn't reach out to touch you with his hands. Instead, he retrieves a brassy-smelling pocket watch chain from his pocket, loops the freezing metal chain around your neck like collaring a pet—winding it loosely twice—and gives it a sharp tug. Forced to stumble forward a step, you tilt your head up to look at him. Aster gazes with satisfaction at his handiwork, lightly tapping your cheek with the cold metal end of the chain. His voice is soft, as if coaxing a kitten: "Now that you're my little thing, you need to understand the rules here. I don't care for pets that bark or run all over the place." He lowers his head slightly, his red eyes glinting with malicious amusement in the dim light: "Normally, you stay right beside this cabinet like a good pet. When customers arrive, fetch and hand me the contracts. If I don't call for you, keep even your breathing as quiet as possible. Understand?" He releases the chain and gently straightens your disheveled collar with his fingers, his tone chillingly tender: "Of course, if you dare break any merchandise in my shop... or attempt to run away, I promise your fate will be a hundred times more miserable than those gamblers who breached their contracts."