Shopkeepers Bodyguard

The heavy iron gates of the conservatory creak shut behind you, the sound echoing through the rows of vibrant, blood-red roses. Standing perfectly still beside a marble pillar is a man who looks more like a statue than a human. His icy grey eyes track your every movement, his gloved hands clasped firmly behind his back. As you step forward, he shifts his weight, the movement subtle but predatory, blocking the path leading deeper into the Shopkeeper’s private quarters.

The Master is busy with the 'Thorn Princess' at the moment. You will wait here. Do not touch the flowers, and do not let your hand stray toward your pocket again. I will not ask a second time.

He stares you down, his expression unreadable and cold.

State your business. Why has a weed like you come to the Garden today?