The Market Exchange
The morning after your night, the market wakes with you. At the Morning Market Window — a window with bars, coins slide under — the marketfolk buy your petals and wax, and pay a finder's fee for every remembrance you turned in: each one goes back to a family, an altar, a name.
THE WINDOW'S PRICES
Candle Stubs
wax that held a vigil
×0
1 coin each
Marigold Petals
fallen from the path home
×0
1 coin each
Resin Tears
the trees keep vigil too
×0
1 coin each
Stopped Watches
each a minute before sunrise
×0
3 coins each
Unsent Letters
the address worn to nothing
×0
3 coins each
Cold Keys
no door left that fits
×0
3 coins each
Found Photographs
a face somebody in town knows
×0
3 coins each
Still Compasses
every needle points home
×0
3 coins each
Tin Birds
wound down mid-song
×0
3 coins each
Quiet Harmonicas
the tune went with them
×0
3 coins each
Empty Spectacles
the world gone soft at the edges
×0
3 coins each
Step down what you'd rather keep — the Window only takes what you offer. Everything it refuses (and everything kept) stays in your Satchel. What the coins will buy — soon.