The merchant blinks owlishly, pointing a single claw-like finger at their face.

"... Me?"

Their laughter is anxious and elated, a breathless little staccato that veers unexpectedly into a whimper, like they aren't quite sure what to do with themselves. It is a small yet spectacular loss of composure, for someone who has behaved so mysteriously up until this point.

"I'm flattered! Though regrettably I am not for sale."

They wink—somehow you discern this, though only one of their eyes is visible in the twilight of the void.

"If you're desirous of my company or conversation, I don't mind you dithering over your decision..."

Growing a little flustered yourself, you wonder if it was a good idea to encourage them in this way.

> Peruse the flirtatious merchant's wares.