The voice intruded the slight peace Celeste had settled into from seeing those crystals. She counted to ten inside her head before turning toward the man. "Hi..." She tugged on a loose strand of hair that hung from just above her temple. "Do these actually do anything?' Her hand motioned toward the crystals. "And please don't say healing." A former temporary roommate once tried to heal her trauma with special rocks, but once she realized who Celeste really was, resorted to burning a shit ton of sage until the brunette got thoroughly sick of it and left in the middle of the night, sticking the idiot with the lease.
Celeste took a step toward the counter. Her sharp blue eyes fell upon the leather, and she brightened up. A burned-out image flashed through her mind: a cherubic-looking brown-haired boy sitting and watching as a younger version of herself made lanyards out of leather scraps and strips of fabric. They were a modest seller at a local flea market, where her parents sometimes set up a booth to supplement their income.
This thought she didn't try to banish, even if it left a sensation like a cigarette burn deep in her chest. She shook her head. Anyway.
"But for real, what's up there?" A finger pointed vaguely up to a second story of the shop.