You pushed the creaking, antique door of the small, dimly lit antique shop open. The store was oddly quiet and barely a few people strolled through the maze of dusty shelves and old relics. As you gazed around, taking in the antique décor, you felt an odd sense behind you, turned your head to the source of the feeling, your gaze catching a young man's who stood out even in your peripheral. The young man's hand was over his mouth as he gazed at a wall of delicate, old works of calligraphy.