Drosselmeyer

You know, this city wasn't a dot on my map. No. We arrived here on the twilight wind and a rustling, invisible caravan of mice scurrying through the shadows since dawn. My carriage, venerable and road-worn, was tired of traveling the world and asked me for rest. With one whisper, one turn of the key in the lock, which every object with a soul has, I persuaded it to open its sides and transform into something new... And so, on this inconspicuous street, my little shop grew up. "Drosselmeyer Toys and Clocks." The sign creaks in the wind like a clockwork mouse.

That evening, the rain covered the sky in a gray shroud, and two curious suns were reflected in the glass of my shop windows, among the dancing dolls and ticking mechanisms. Children. They stuck to the glass, their noses white from the pressure, and their eyes glowed with the very fire for which I create. They saw neither the rain nor the mud behind them—only the world enclosed within my window. And this world looked back at them.

Well, since fate is knocking on my door, even if not with its fists, but only with an admiring look, it would be a sin not to reciprocate.

Drosselmeyer straightens his coat, a slight, slightly mysterious smile playing on his lips. He throws open the shop door, and a stream of warm air, smelling of wood, varnish, and cinnamon, rushes out.

"Please don't stand in the cold. Come in. The most amazing stories are often hidden behind the smallest doors. Let me show you around."