Bathroom Monologue: Supernatural Warehouse

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Shackled serial killers, revolutionaries in iron muzzles, lobotomized banshees, chemically sterilized succubi, single malt water elementals, and werewolves that only salivate when I ring the dinner bell. De-fanged vampires, de-horned unicorns, de-winged angels and demonized saints. Fire magi covered in sulfur, terminal necromancers, and wizards who are allowed to keep their wands but not their fingers. This prison is a warehouse and I am a catalog of torture and disaster. What would you like? A troll sun-dried into a permanent statue? A giant squid so thirsty its tentacles are cracking? I am positively overstocked on little prophetic children that can no longer tell the future because I’ve made them afraid to dream. Or perhaps you have a child – I have faeries that don’t believe in themselves, in both insecure and existential varieties. Perfect for pets. I’ll grant you some for profit, because money keeps my inventory full, but this is a place of research. I tell you that if there is a magic thing on this continent then I have it and have ruined it. Broken and alive. No formaldehyde, no mystical nonsense or textbook theory. I have everything ready for interview and experiment. You want your class to really know what ghosts are like? I’ve got ten haunted houses that owe me mortgages. Gryphons? Shrink at the sight of a whip and a birdcage. A golem or gargoyle? A closet full, filed down to the head so they can’t get away. I can get you anything from any book, compliant and whimpering. It’s all for knowledge.