Down a dark alley, well past several finer looking establishments, deep in the heart of the Night Market is a non-descript building with shuttered windows and a dimly lit door. A small sign sits just above the door, barely visible in the green witch light candles' glow, reads "Borrowed Beauty".

  Inside, two figures stare into a mirror, attempting to decide what sort of look would be most appropriate for the new season. The older woman leans closer to the mirror, her breath hesitant, unsure. The dim candlelight flickers across her pallid skin, accentuating the network of fine, spidery veins creeping up her throat—evidence of a body long past its natural prime. She tilts her head, the unnaturally dark hair falling to the side as the dark hollow where her right eye once sat is now occupied by something *new*.

  Madam Gothel watches her client with curiosity, but does not rush her. She merely waits, hands neatly folded in front her, intently observing the woman blinking into the mirror. She would appear to be the opposite of her client - youthful instead of withered, effortlessly beautiful instead of desperate to reclaim what was lost. But beneath the illusion of perfection, subtle stitching crisscrosses her skin like a jigsaw puzzle, barely concealed beneath a layer of expertly applied makeup. She wears a stylish black dress, complimented by her dark bob haircut, which makes her silhouette elegant and inviting; but an aura of danger lingers around her, clinging like the floral perfume she wears so heavily. Her eyes appear kind, but hide a darkness from years in this trade.

  "Not quite settling in, is it?" Madam Gothel muses, smirking as she leans in to whisper to her client. Her voice is cool, and smooth, like molasses slowly dripping from an overturned spoon. "Some parts resist their new homes, at first, but they'll learn in time. But if time is an issue, we have other options."

  Her client's fingers ghost along the edge of the socket, feeling the unfamiliar weight as it struggles against her. The eye twitches slightly, resisting its new host. She watches herself in the parlor's mirror, blinking slowly, and each time the new eye lags just a fraction of a second behind. Not enough for most people to notice, but just enough to be infuriating.

  Madam Gothel snaps her fingers and gestures to the floating collection of eyes waiting behind them, watching as they shift, restless in their containment spells. “Perhaps a different shade? Something with a sharper gaze? Or… if you desire some measure of power, I have the eye of an oracle. It sees further than most, a wise investment for someone in your field.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Her client frowns, still watching her reflection as she blinks. "No," she murmurs, her voice laced with dissatisfaction. "I don't need foresight. I want it to match, I want it to obey. I need it to just-" She blinks, watching the new eye resist once again, "-obey."

  The Madam smiles again, a well practiced expression, "Mmm. Well, if not this one, I have many others in that exact style and size. Let's see."

  She flicks her wrist, and another eye drifts forward from the others. It hovers just to the side of the older woman's face, blinking slowly. The color and size are exact, nearly indistinguishable from her natural eye. As the older woman blinks again, several times, the eye attempts to match. By the third blink, the two have synced. This eye knows its place.

  "Well, well. Look at that. A perfect match." Gothel giggles, her smile broad. "If you'd like...?" she asks.

  The older woman nods in agreement, and Gothel waves her hands, the disobedient eye popping out with a wet squelch while the new eye replaces it just as quickly. The old woman winces briefly, it was *almost* painless. She stares into the mirror, blinking once more. This time there is no hesitation, no resistance. It is like she never lost an eye to begin with.

  "What will this cost?" she ventures, already knowing the price to be steep.

  Gothel exhales a soft, satisfied hum, stepping behind her, resting gentle hands on the woman's shoulders as they both regard her reflection. She feigns uncertainty, as if she didn't know exactly what she wanted as soon as this client stepped through her door.

  "A simple trade, dear," she says smoothly. "For something so obedient, so beautiful, so perfect, I require something of equal value in return."

  She leans in, her breath warm against the older woman’s ear.

  "You will bring me a heart, still beating. A rare one. A witch’s heart, like your own. Not yours of course, that would be silly. But... perhaps one of your coven, hmm?"

  The older woman stiffens.

  "It cannot be an ordinary one," Gothel continues, fingers tracing the fabric of the older woman’s cloak with absent amusement. "No pretenders. No hedge-witches. I need something powerful, for another client, you see. A heart warded by black magic and death, by old curses and dark pacts. Someone like you… but perhaps easily missed."

  The older woman says nothing, staring into her own reflection.

  "Do this for me," Gothel purrs, "and your new eye will remain yours. It will not rot, it will not fade with time. It will remain beautiful, forever. Perhaps, such an action would even garner my favor for future deals. Why stop at just an eye?" She trails off, her nails gently tapping against the woman’s shoulder, the meaning clear.

  "But fail me, and well... I'll reclaim what is mine, with interest." Gothel's voice hardens sharply, her fingers suddenly gripping the old woman's shoulders intensely.

  "I... I know of such a person. Consider it done." The older woman chokes out a response, as if she is convincing herself of the words as she says them.

  "Perfect!" Gothel responds, her voice returning to its pleasant tone. "I'll be eagerly awaiting your return."