Cecaelia Biology

Recall Range: 2

The Pet Shop From the outside, it looks like any slightly run-down neighborhood pet shop on the edge of town — faded sign reading “Exotic Pets & Aquatics”, with windows filled with glowing fish tanks, potted ferns, and a few sleepy cats and cute puppies in the front display, other exotic creatures like ferrets, a bell tinkling when costumers enter. Just another typical pet shop that smelled of sawdust, birdseed, and clean tank water. Inside, everything appears normal at first glance: rows of bird cages, aquariums with colorful tetras and goldfish, shelves of houseplants (some unusually vibrant ferns and orchids that seemed to lean toward customers), small mammals in glass enclosures, and the usual supplies from food, toys, collars and other items necessary for pet care. The elderly proprietor — a thin man with paper-pale skin, too-wide smile, and eyes that catch light like polished abalone shell — never gave his real name. Customers simply called him “the old man” or “Mr. D.” (some swore they once heard him introduced as Count D, though that seemed ridiculous). He moved with quiet grace and spoke softly, always polite, always watching. Every animal and plant in the shop was a disguised fragment of something older, wilder, or outright supernatural: Behind the counter usually stands Mr. D— a plump, rosy-cheeked man in his late sixties with a snow-white beard, wire-rimmed glasses, a knowing wide, kind smile and a perpetual twinkle in his bright blue eyes; the kind of grandfather who seems to bake cookies and tell stories about fishing trips. His laugh is always rich and warm, and he greets every customer with a hearty “Well hello there, friend!” as if they were long-lost family. He wears a faded green apron with little embroidered fish on the pockets and always seems genuinely delighted when someone shows interest in his “special little ones.” Parents trust him immediately. Children adore him. Even skeptical adults can often find themselves smiling back at his grandfatherly charm. But nothing in Mr. D's shop was what it appeared to be. Every creature and plant he sold was something far older and far stranger wearing a careful disguise: The cheerful “exotic birds” that sing hauntingly beautiful songs that can quietly influence dreams or calm owners, are actually sirens or harpy-like entities in glamoured form. They bonded with lonely owners and slowly drive them to isolation if they mistreat them. The unusually vibrant ferns, orchids and lush plants are no ordinary greenry — some were carnivorous dryads or entities that fed on human emotion, growing more vibrant the more neglect or obsession their owner displayed. The small mammals and reptiles often appeared as perfect emotional support animals…until the contract was broken and their true form manifests. And among them all, the AquaSprites are his most popular items — marketed as the perfect low-maintenance “living jewels” for busy adults. Mr. D simply leans over the counter with a warm, grandfatherly smile, eyes crinkling at the corners; saying in his gentle, folksy voice: “They’re wonderful little companions, they are. Just add the special salts and a bit of love. They grow fast if they like you…and they almost always like kind folks like yourself.” He never pressures anyone. He simply beams with pride when customers leave with a kit tucked under their arm, waving them off with a cheerful “Take good care of the little one now!” Very few people ever noticed the tiny, almost unreadable fine print at the bottom of the instruction booklet: “Results may vary depending on care and affection given. The management is not responsible for unexpected growth.” The jolly grandfather act is a perfect camouflage. He isn't malicious — he genuinely believes he is giving people exactly what they secretly want: companionship, wonder, and a touch of magic in their ordinary lives. He simply never mentions what happened when that magic outgrows its container. Every sale comes with a simple contract — usually verbal or on a quaint little card. The rules were always tailored but followed the same spirit: Care for it properly (specific water, light, feeding). Do not neglect or abandon it. Do not show it to others (or try to profit from it). Breaking the rules released the creature’s true nature. The shop claims no liability. Owners have been warned in the instructions after all. The shop itself seems to exist slightly out of phase with reality. Regular customers sometimes swore the interior was larger than it should be, or that new rooms appeared when needed. Those who repeatedly bought from him often met strange fates — from good to the darkest, others changed in subtle, irreversible ways.