Isabella Baudelaire carefully climbed the small ladder behind the front counter of her shop and pulled a tiny skeleton key from the black velvet reticule at her side, the ebony bugle beads that dangle from it jangling together softly. Upon closer examination one would see it really was a key made from bone, ornately carved with vines and flowers, a relic in it's own right. Gingerly she fit it into the small lock and turned it, opening the brass and glass door. It lifted open on a small hydraulic and she reached a slender hand in to pull out a very thin volume covered in a deep lavender leather with silver corner protectors. A rose fashioned from amethyst and silver decorated the center as several more amethyst petals spilled down the cover.<br/><br/>Balanced precariously on a rung of the ladder, her fingers skimmed over the spine of the book, tracing the single foreign word written there, her brow furrowing in concentration. She laid her hand palm flat against the cover, closing her eyes briefly, as if she could absorb the contents of the ancient manuscript, exhaling softly as she slid it back into it's spot. Her fingers moved over the other volumes until she pulled out a much thicker book covered in plain dark leather that looked quite ordinary and tucked it under her arm.<br/><br/>She pushed the door shut, the soft hiss of the hydraulics releasing as she turned the key in the lock before withdrawing it and sliding it back into the reticule, letting it drop to her side as she began to descend the ladder once more. The volume almost perfectly matched her gown crafted of the finest lavender silk and black lace. The corset top tied front and back, pushing her small breasts up dangerously beneath the black silk chemise. A black bustle of matching lace spilled down her backside, the gown hugging her curves perfectly.<br/><br/>Her heeled boots clicked softly on the polished wood floor when she stepped from the ladder, walked across the room, and settled into a dainty chair by the window. It was a dismal day in Bradbury, skies so grey the smoke from the factory smokestacks blended right in. Skies that perfectly matched her eyes. Isabella laid the book in her lap and reached a hand to her hair making sure the majority of her thick curls were bound into the bun at the nape of her neck, several thick tendrils escaped and curled around her face.<br/><br/>Isabella watched the door. She was expecting a client to arrive for this very rare book of maps and lore for a land that never existed. So some said. The sale of this book would pay her flat fee for half a year, at least. The loud tick tock tick tock of clock hanging on the wall slowly lulled her into a light slumber as she waited for the man whom she was beginning to wonder if would even show.