“ffAY nee wiKHan-ziklau, quiff-00R, X-ort” proclaimed the Runes, advertising the shop. Letters ephemeral, evanescent, and shimmering emerald green about a sunbeam. Should you not read elfin, the translation would roughly equate to “Fay, faerie-folk & Witch - Nails, Hair, and Time-swap.

Non-magic mortals, for the most part could not see the letters, let alone enter the sunbeam, but for those that could find their way in, it was not unlike a regular beauty parlour, without noise or machines.

For a Faerie, it was all about beauty; eternally young and desirable whereas Witchcraft demanded that a woman repulse with her age.

Sprites and Wisps flew, guiding each hair; to wind round fashionably shaped horns, as a guilt spider - having cast a loop of silk around the wrist of the faerie to bind her, with another single loop, to a witch- began humming the age-transfer melody - faerie getting younger giving her days to the witch.

“Oh, Hello. First time here? Your chair is ready,” smiled the proprietrix.