*Author's Note: Critique and commentary is always very welcomed! Any ideas of what you'd like to see in the next chapter is also grand :) *

Elsa weaves through the narrow aisles of the shop, brushing past racks crammed with clothes that smell faintly of mothballs and age. Her fingers trail over the fabrics, lifting skirts, blouses, and dresses one by one. She looks for something modest yet professional, anything that might pass as suitable for the office. Most of the options are either outdated or worn thin, and she frowns, tugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders against the chill of the dimly lit room.

Her movements are quick but deliberate, sifting through garments with a sense of urgency. The flickering light above casts shifting shadows across the racks, and she feels them move as if someone brushed against them. She pauses, her hand still on a hanger, and glances over her shoulder.

The old man isn’t at the counter anymore. Elsa’s breath catches as she notices a faint shuffling sound. She turns her gaze back to the racks, her pulse quickening. Somewhere between the tightly packed rows of clothes, she catches the glint of his glasses. He’s watching her, partially obscured by the hanging garments. His head tilts slightly, and the edges of his thin smile are visible through the gaps in the fabric.

A shiver runs down her spine, but she forces herself to ignore him, focusing instead on finding something appropriate. She lifts a navy blue dress that looks clean enough and holds it against herself, checking the fit in a cracked mirror nearby. As she adjusts the dress on the hanger, she can feel his gaze following her every movement, heavy and unrelenting, like a predator sizing up its prey from the cover of darkness.

As Elsa holds the navy blue dress up to her chest, the old man’s voice cuts through the silence, low and unsteady, like the creak of an old door.

“That one might look nice on you,” he says, his tone dripping with something that makes Elsa’s skin crawl. She freezes for a moment, her grip on the hanger tightening as she stares at her reflection in the cracked mirror, pretending not to hear him.

He steps closer, his shoes scuffing against the wooden floor. “But maybe… it’s a little too big for such a delicate figure,” he adds, his voice barely louder than a whisper but sharp enough to pierce through the stale air.

Elsa’s cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and unease. She turns slightly, trying to gauge his position without meeting his eyes. He’s lingering a few steps away, half-hidden by a rack of coats, his small frame dwarfed by the garments around him.

“Of course,” he continues, his words slow and deliberate, “you’d look good in anything… or maybe nothing at all.”

His gnarled hand reaches out, brushing lightly against her forearm, the touch as cold and unwelcome as the draft in the dimly lit shop.

“You have such soft skin,” he murmurs, his voice low and rasping, as though speaking to himself. Elsa stiffens, her grip tightening on the dress, but she doesn’t pull away, unsure of how to react. Her breath catches as his fingers linger a moment too long, tracing down toward her wrist in a way that makes her stomach churn.

“I can make you a discount,” he says, his smile thin and suggestive, his eyes scanning her with an unnerving intensity. “For a customer like you… I’d be happy to help.”

The old man watches Elsa with a knowing grin, his sharp eyes catching the way she hesitates. He steps closer, his voice dropping even lower, thick with false generosity.

“You see, my dear, there’s no one else open at this hour. The streets are dark, and other shops have long since closed their doors,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the window where the faint glow of streetlamps barely penetrates the gloom. “If you want this dress, you’ll take my offer. Otherwise…” He trails off, shrugging theatrically, his smile never reaching his cold eyes.

Elsa swallows hard, her grip tightening on the dress. “I’ll pay the full price,” she says firmly, hoping to end the exchange quickly.

But the old man shakes his head, chuckling softly, his demeanor growing darker. “No, no, my dear. You misunderstand. It’s my discount or nothing. And I don’t just give discounts to anyone.” His words are deliberate, each syllable thick with implication.

A chill runs through Elsa as his meaning sinks in. Her instincts scream for her to leave, but the weight of her circumstances presses down on her shoulders. She glances at the dress in her hands, at the fabric that could secure her place at Herr Werner’s factory tomorrow. Her pulse quickens as she weighs her options, her reluctance deepening with every second of his silent, expectant gaze.

As Elsa clutches the dress tighter, debating her next move, the old man ambles to the shop door. With a deliberate twist of the key, he locks it, the sharp click echoing ominously in the quiet space. Elsa’s heart skips a beat, her breath catching in her throat.

“Now, now,” the man says, turning back to her with a smile that’s meant to be disarming but only deepens her unease. “Don’t look so frightened. I’m just an old man, you see. Been alone for far too long. It’s not every day I get… company.”

Elsa forces a thin smile, her pulse racing. “I really just need the dress, sir. I’ll pay for it and be on my way.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Always in such a hurry, aren’t you young ones? Rushing off here and there. But you see…” He takes a slow step closer, his gaze flickering over her in a way that makes her skin crawl. “…it’s nice to have someone to talk to. To share a little time with. It gets so quiet here, especially at night.”

Elsa instinctively takes a step back, gripping the dress like a shield. Her instincts scream that this man’s intentions are far from innocent. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the racks, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating.

“I understand,” she says carefully, her voice trembling slightly despite her effort to appear calm. “But it’s late, and I really should—”

“Nonsense,” he interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re safe here. No one will bother you. Just a little conversation, that’s all.”

Despite his words, Elsa knows better. There’s something unsettling in his tone, something too practiced in his reassurances. She glances at the locked door, her mind racing for a way out as his smile lingers like a shadow in the dim room.

The old man steps closer, his movements deliberate, and extends a weathered hand toward Elsa. She freezes, her instincts urging her to pull away, but she forces herself to remain still. His grip is firm, his skin cold against hers. Slowly, he raises her hand to his lips, brushing it with a kiss that lingers just a moment too long.

“Forgive my manners,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “My name is Herr Klaus Reinhardt. This humble shop has been my life for decades.” He releases her hand, his fingers trailing slightly before he lets go, leaving Elsa with an uncomfortable tingling sensation.

Elsa forces a nod, taking a small step back to put some distance between them. “It’s… nice to meet you, Herr Reinhardt.”

Herr Klaus chuckles softly, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that makes her feel like prey. “Ah, such politeness. It’s rare these days, you know. And such a fine young lady like yourself—it’s even rarer.”

“I really need to pay for the dress and go,” Elsa interjects, trying to steady her voice.

“But where’s the rush, Fräulein?” he asks, tilting his head. “Surely you can spare a little time to chat. It’s not every day someone like you walks into my shop.”

The words hang in the air, thick with implication. Elsa shifts uncomfortably, clutching the dress against her chest as if it might shield her from his gaze. The locked door looms in her mind, and she feels the walls of the shop closing in.

Herr Reinhardt’s amiable facade vanishes in an instant. His hand darts out, snatching the dress from Elsa’s grasp. “Enough of this,” he snaps, his voice sharp and commanding. The sudden shift startles her, and she instinctively takes a step back.

He walks toward the register, the fabric of the dress clutched tightly in his gnarled fingers. “You come in here, in need of my wares, and act as if you’re doing me a favor.” His lips curl into a sneer as he places the dress on the counter, his fingers drumming against it. “Let me remind you, Fräulein—you’re the one who’s desperate. This shop is the only one open, and I am the only one willing to help.”

Elsa swallows hard, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’ll pay,” she says quickly, trying to defuse the tension. “Just tell me how much.”

Herr Reinhardt shakes his head slowly, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “Oh, no. I don’t think you quite understand how things work here. This isn’t just about money.”

She stiffens, her breath catching. “What do you mean?”

He leans forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll give you the dress, Fräulein. At a discount, even. But first…” He pauses, letting the silence stretch, his gaze locking onto hers. “I want something in return. A favor, let’s call it.”

Elsa’s stomach churns as dread settles over her. She doesn’t respond, her mind racing as she considers her options, every fiber of her being screaming that she shouldn’t trust him.

“I want to have a look at your body. “ says Mr Reinhardt

“Are you out of your mind?” she says, her voice trembling but firm. She takes a step back, her arms crossing over her chest protectively. “I’ll pay full price. I don’t need any discounts.”

Herr Reinhardt chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “Full price? Do you even have the money for that, Fräulein?” His gaze flickers to the purse she clutches tightly. “Don’t insult me. I see desperation all the time. I know it when it walks into my shop.”

She hesitates, her heart pounding as her resolve wavers. The truth is, she doesn’t have enough, and he knows it. She could storm out, but this is the only shop open. Tomorrow’s interview flashes in her mind—the one chance to secure a lifeline for herself and Uwe. Without the dress, she’ll look unfit, and the opportunity will slip through her fingers.

“You wouldn’t really…” she starts, but the words falter as she sees the steely determination in his eyes. He’s serious, and she realizes her refusal could end badly. He might report her, or worse—spread rumors she can’t afford in this precarious new life.

She closes her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply. It’s just one moment. One humiliating moment. Better this than starving. When she opens her eyes again, they’re filled with reluctant resignation.

“Fine,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Just… let’s get this over with.”

A victorious smirk spreads across Herr Reinhardt’s face as he straightens, looking her over with a gleam of satisfaction. Elsa’s stomach churns, but she tells herself to focus on tomorrow—on the interview, the dress, and the survival it represents.

Elsa unbutton her coat, pull down her skirt, underwear lifting her shirt. She reveals a body that is young, femminine, tiny breasts with perky pink nipples. Her navel is prominent, and her bush cover her lady parts which are meaty.

Herr Reinhardt is ecstatic he wants to reach for Elsa’s body, but she retracts “You only said you wanted to see me naked”

Herr Reinhardt frustrated, but fair “That’s true. I will make you now a nice discount and I can’t wait for you to come back. “

Elsa pull her clothes back up, give the man the cash takes her clothes, and goes out of shop.