The Tinker Trader (Observer)

A shard of sunlight splintered through the crack in the buildings to momentarily blind Envy as he used the crossing signal. He hadn't slept well. He'd been up all night plagued with depression. A constant swarm of self-deprecating thoughts had kept him alert and conscious into the twilight hours so now he was weary as well as irate.

The humans crossing next to him had happy fulfilling lives, he could see it written on their faces. Father of three, partner of this, inventor of that. That twelve year old who was a talented pianist - his ESP showed him their worth and Envy always made the mistake of comparison.

What was he measured against their privileges?

He was a cursed demon destined by holy writ to burn in eternal damnation. For all the ages that he'd lived he stood to inherit nothing. His 'family' were as selfish as he, and his so called father horded power and never used it against his cosmic adversary. You'd never know the Devil had done anything. And for good reason. He rarely did.

It fell upon Envy to make something of himself. To bring the beloved humans down a peg or two. To do this he had to play the sycophant. Pander to their beliefs and so called morals. When the Teen Titans had put out a summons for young heroes, he could not help but ask if he was capable of the feat. Envy had no interest in heroics, or the well-being of others in general. And yet - the challenge was there.

Could he put up the same pretext of righteousness?

Because that's all it was. A pretext. Jealousy didn't believe humans could be so pure and noble. There was always a personal benefit to their altruism. So he had come. And he had aided the defenceless. And he had opposed the 'villains'. And he had made himself known to the police. All so the real heroes would say he was a man of honour.

And then he would bring the whole rotten façade crashing down on their mewling justifications. No human was beyond corruption. God was wrong to treasure them so.

Envy drew up short outside a two-storey house. He read the shop sign and decided that he had found his destination. He was dressed in his hero attire - a mask and hooded jerkin. A disguise he called Aequalitas.

Pushing back his thoughts of inferiority, he strode inside to purpose.

The hooded man would step inside a cozy, well-lit shop.

A bell would announce his entry, followed by a thud as his foot would step upon the wooden floor. The shop was practically covered with wood - the walls, the floor, the windows, the counter - all had a vigorous brown color - a nice contrast to the typical glass and stone of most other shops. It was a clockwork shop. The walls were covered with shelves upon which numerous wind-up toys were placed - rabbits, foxes, mice, hedgehogs... One of the walls was dedicated to clocks. They were of various shapes and sizes, with and without bells, large and small, encased in metal, wood, or glass. Every piece was a whimsical creation that seemed to have its own life, for as long as the wind lasted. All of them - tributes to the genius of their creator.

Behind the counter, was the greatest creation of all.

A girl, of fair skin and hair, dressed in a long, white dress. She was tinkering with one of the toys. There were no tools in her hands, she did not even touch it, and yet the figurine disassembled and reassembled again, as is many small hands were holding every piece. And when the girl did so, the little toy began moving again, hopping and squeaking as if it was alive. But it was not alive. Just a pale imitation of life. And so was the girl.

Her face was motionless, strangely serene. Her red, unblinking eyes focused on what she was doing. It kept Sasha's mind focused and occupied. When father was in the workshop, she ran the place, and dealt with customers. Not that there were many. And those who were, were both impressed and intimidated by her. A piece of impressive craftsmanship. A machine that looked almost human. Almost. Never enough.

And the machine knew it. While she could not mimic human emotions too well, she knew how to identify. Disbelief, fear, revulsion. This was now how things were supposed to be. She was supposed to be Sasha. She was to be treated as Sasha. Failure to do so was her failure. Tinkering with toys helped the machine focus on a task, rather than contemplate her own failure.

And then the bell rang.

Sasha rose her head, looking at the person who entered. A tall man in a hood and a cloak. With a scary mask on his face. She had never seen the man before. Curious, she stepped out from behind the counter, and approached the visitor. The floor creaking under her heavy steps. Soon, she was in front of him. Staring at the man curiously.

"Good evening. Welcome to Baumann Clockwork Shop. How are you doing today?" - she said, opening up her hand and showing what was inside. The small toy she has been fixing, it chirped and moved, rolling around in her hand.

"Could I interest you in whimsical toys, clocks, and souvenirs?" - she repeated the phrase she said to every visitor to ever come about.