The sound of bells ringed through the air as I stepped through the door. Soft bossa nova music came echoing from inside.
Something about the quaint little boutique intrigued me as I was passing by. The storefront was decorated with yellow chimes wrapped with red ribbon, and a set of ram horns topped the large neon sign that read “Rachel’s Wool.”
Inside, the racks and walls were absolutely covered in all things wool. Wool sweaters, scarves, gloves, hats, and cloaks lined the shop. All knitted in various patterns and styles, there were no two pieces alike, as if someone had hand knit them all.
“Welcome~”, came a feminine voice. A weresheep came sauntering in my direction from the back counter. Like most weresheep, she was covered in a thick layer of pleasant-looking wool, with a black latex material filling in the spaces on her body without it.
“My name’s Rachel. Can I help you, sir?” she asked me with a gentle smile. I couldn’t help but smile back at her. Her almost half-lidded eyes gave her a drowsy look. I was feeling a little sleepy myself, too.
“I’m not looking for anything specific,” I said, “But did everything from this place ah, come from…” Her smile became lewder.
“Oh, yes sir. Everything in this shop was once a part of me. I hand knit them all myself, too. Won’t you take a look?” She asked, batting her eyelashes.
At this point, I was having trouble keeping my own eyes open. Packing this much weresheep wool in a small space must’ve compressed the sleep magic into a much more potent form. Was this her plan all along? I didn’t even have to touch any of her wool to become sluggish.
Before I had any more time to ponder about this, sleep took me. Rachel’s smiling face was the last thing I saw.
I went home that night with an armful of wool products and a sore pelvis.