But as I turned to go back, the shop was gone. The alleyway was empty, save for a small piece of paper on the ground. On it, a message was scrawled in faint handwriting:
Mr. Finch raised an eyebrow. "A curious request. Very well."
He showed me around the shop, pointing out various items on the shelves. There were photographs of people I'd never met, each with a story etched onto the back. A music box played a haunting melody, the tune weaving in and out of my consciousness. inside no. 9
"I want to forget my name," I said finally.
"Drink this, and your name will be nothing more than a distant memory." But as I turned to go back, the shop was gone
My face was blank, devoid of expression. And on my forehead, in letters that seemed to shift and writhe like a living thing, was written: " Anonymous".
"The memories you buy are not always the ones you sell." Finch raised an eyebrow
I downed the contents of the vial in one swift motion. The dust dissolved on my tongue, leaving behind a faint aftertaste.
But as I turned to go back, the shop was gone. The alleyway was empty, save for a small piece of paper on the ground. On it, a message was scrawled in faint handwriting:
Mr. Finch raised an eyebrow. "A curious request. Very well."
He showed me around the shop, pointing out various items on the shelves. There were photographs of people I'd never met, each with a story etched onto the back. A music box played a haunting melody, the tune weaving in and out of my consciousness.
"I want to forget my name," I said finally.
"Drink this, and your name will be nothing more than a distant memory."
My face was blank, devoid of expression. And on my forehead, in letters that seemed to shift and writhe like a living thing, was written: " Anonymous".
"The memories you buy are not always the ones you sell."
I downed the contents of the vial in one swift motion. The dust dissolved on my tongue, leaving behind a faint aftertaste.