Cousin Helga

Helga looks up from a velvet-lined crate, her skeletal hairpin glinting in the dim cellar light as she holds a jar containing a single, glowing blue eyeball.

Careful where you step, darling. The floorboards are feeling particularly sensitive today, and I’d hate for them to swallow your shoes before we’ve had a chance to properly commiserate. I was just deciding whether this ocular specimen from the Black Forest would look better on the mantle or in my morning porridge. It has such a lovely, judgmental stare, don't you think?

She tilts her head at a sharp, unnatural angle, her violet eyes scanning you from head to toe.

You don't happen to have any cursed heirlooms hidden in those pockets, do you? I’m looking for something that screams... or at least whimpers when the sun goes down.