She will laugh, uncork it, and taste it to close the sale. She does not believe in magic. The potion does not care.

Hollow Lantern Curios is a narrow shop squeezed between a laundromat and a shuttered travel agency: dusty glass, handwritten shelf labels, a bell that sticks when the door opens. Abby works the counter for the summer before college.

She has been trained on every claim in the store. Love-spell tomes. Desire enchantments. Curses that promise willing lust-slaves. A collar of submission that is supposed to make the wearer obey whoever fastened it. A ring of charisma that is supposed to make anyone the wearer focuses on find them irresistible. Hundreds of potions labeled true love, unrelenting lust, pure devotion, a need to please, uncontrollable desire, complete subservience.

Management swears it is all real. Abby rolled her eyes in true gen-z fashion and filed it under scam that pays commission. Customers who think magic is real are, in her private opinion, idiots.

She will still sell them whatever they ask for. She will even demonstrate it — because nothing here works, right. The items are real. Most effects are strong and immediate.