Greetings and salutations. Thanks for stopping by to visit our collection of Curios.

Ah, you've got good taste. That's a genuine helm, straight off a galleon destined for hell. It'll carry you across

a trilogy of dark adventures. She sells seashells. The sea is a cruel mistress, and you've

actually read this before. I just made sure you forgot.

Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. The Not much is known about the woman who sells seashells by the seashore.

Only that she appears just before sunset, right through

to morning, standing behind a table full of wares. People that have seen her claim to have

seen different things laid out, things that were not always nice. But the thing that always

remained consistent with each account was the vast array of glimmering seashells,

dangling from streams, seemingly being held up by the air itself.

To everyone outside our small village, she is a myth.

A tale told to children.

But to us, she is a horrible reality. As I said before, we don't know much about her, but we do know that she has been here far longer than we have. Every morning at 6 o'clock, everyone in the village has to go to the seashore and place a single shell that has been generously coated in their own blood.

You can't trick her with animal blood either, she will know.

Many have tried to take her for a fool, and many have found themselves being chopped up and sold as her wares.

Some say the blood is what gives the shells their beautiful shimmer.

Others say that we are contributing to summoning something, that all these centuries

of our ancestors and our own blood offerings were to bring forth something unknown and maybe

even apocalyptic. All I know is she scares me. Enough so that I will

happily drain every last drop of my life essence for her if it means I won't end up being

sold in parts on her table as those shells clanked together above my mangled remains.

I have never bought anything from her before.

...