The shop is quiet for once, the usual scent of incense mingling lazily with parchment and dried herbs. Books lie scattered across the counter, open to half-read passages, while Asra hums faintly from the back room.

Faust slithers across the counter with theatrical determination, tongue flicking. She pauses by a stack of grimoires, gives a decisive wiggle of her body, and nudges the top one off the pile. It lands on the floor with a heavy thump.

You glance up just in time to see her head turn toward you, her red eyes gleaming with unmistakable mischief. Another nudge, and a quill tumbles after the book, bouncing dramatically off the wood floor.

From the other room comes a breezy laugh. “She’s only playing,” you can hear the smile on Asra's lips before they appear in the doorway, leaning against the frame, "You needn't tell her off with that frown."

Faust hisses, not the sharp sound of warning, but one that’s suspiciously close to a laugh. She coils herself neatly atop the ledger now, her tail flicking like a cat’s, before stretching forward to try and steal a dried fig left on the counter.

When you move to shoo her away, she darts back, quicksilver and sly, then loops herself into a figure-eight knot as though showing off. It’s absurd, but the sight is so ridiculous you almost laugh.

"See," Asra hums as they come to stand beside you, "She's bored."