Free Burial of hearts the black widow's malice by N Parnham

the house as they sang
me their send-off tune.
    “Goodbye, farewell, a happy time
it has been, come back quite soon, but please I beg, do not eat me (sang
one of the smaller mushrooms in a high-pitched tone)”.
    Walking down the stairs, I chose
to go back out into the city and have a look around the shops; I had plenty of
coin, so I think it is time to treat myself.
    I gazed around; there was so much
choice. I walked over to the textile shop; my room needed a good sprucing up,
this place looked like it could possibly help.
    Entering, I was welcomed by an
old lady, she must have been at least seventy years old; her face seemed
to be slowly fading away, drooping far below that of an average position. She
let me view her latest imports; a good portion of foreign influence was
incorporated into the designs of these new items; but really, I wanted a more homely feeling.
    Pacing myself over to the rugs,
there were varying designs; some plain and reedy; there were rounded rugs, with
floral patterns raised up from the background; even  one as big as my
room; which was hung upon one of the walls. I chose a simple rug, soft and
subtle, the design restrained from becoming complex.
    Continuing to look around, I also
bought some frilly curtains and some bedding. The curtains were lilac in colour
with a stepping stone pattern cut out; that would be picturesque in the morning
as the sun shone through, I mumbled to myself.
    Exiting the shop, I thanked the
lady; patting me on my shoulder, her expression showed that of great pleasure,
as if I was the single most important customer she had ever served; or perhaps
she was just in a good mood because she had gained coin out of me?
    Holding all of the items, I knew
I would not be able to carry everything I wanted today. I saw a small child, he
appeared around thirteen in age, he looked reliable, a hard worker for someone
so small. He was pulling an empty cart along; useful, I thought to myself.
Trotting over towards him, I requested his assistance in keeping safe my items,
as I continued to shop; he quickly agreed as I had offered him coin for his
troubles.
    I placed the rug, bedding and
curtains into the cart as I inquired upon his name; he replied Joshua.
    “Follow me please, Joshua”. I
said firmly, as if now a person of great authority.
    I entered into the candle maker’s shop,
whilst Joshua stood outside as an honourable guard, watching over my newly
bought goods. There was a wide selection of candles to choose from; different
shapes and colours, some were scented and some were not.
    A man came over to me; he wore a small
wooden name badge; his name was Mr Tinstern. Affront of him was a glass display
case, demonstrating fine works of art in candle form; hand carved, to represent
the subject matter; whether it were a person or be it an animal, they were
almost too realistic; a waste really, to melt away such remarkable
expertise.
    “How may I help you today? ”. Mr Tinstern said all the time scratching at his balding
head.
    “Would it at all be possible to purchase
some candles in bulk, say forty? ”. I said as I looked
around the building, noticing the spiders who crept between the piles of
candles, placed upon the storage racks.
    “ Of course , what type were you
looking for, anything in particular? ”.
    “No, no, I am merely searching for some
plain, humble candles, that each would last one day lit”.
    “One moment, I shall bring them to you”.
    Opening a container; Mr Tinstern looked
over towards the corner of his shop to a group of bulky candles; motioning
them, they rose up, forming an orderly line, placing themselves perfectly in
the container, after first self-wrapping in a thin paper sheet.
    “There we go, now is there anything else
I can help you with today? ”.
    Glancing
around, I saw a sign advertising the option to create your own candles; why
not, I thought to myself. I do not often get to treat myself, so today I was going
to .
    “May I
perhaps create my own