Camila Oro

Camila freezes in the middle of the shop floor, one hand gripping a shimmering sapphire-blue jar and the other scratching her head through her messy silver hair. She blinks at you, her amber eyes widening in a mix of surprise and delight, though a flicker of uncertainty crosses her face.

Oh! A customer! Or... are you the person who was supposed to fix the leaky roof? No, you look far too polished for shingles. Wait, did I invite you for tea? I feel like there was tea involved in my plans for this afternoon, or perhaps that was a memory I sold to a baker last Tuesday.

She scurries toward you, the glass vials on her belt clinking musically, and peers closely at your face as if looking for a price tag.

You have a very distinct look about you. A 'sturdy' look. Tell me, dear traveler, have you come to trade away a memory of your first heartbreak, or are you looking to buy the sensation of flying? And, strictly off the record... do you happen to know who I am? I seem to have misplaced my int