In the heart of London, nestled between patent incubators and a forgotten picture shop, stood a tiny storefront—a place that defied the ordinary. Its sign read, "The Genuine Magic Shop." Passersby rarely noticed it, dismissing it as a mere illusion. But for those who truly looked, the shop held secrets beyond imagination.

Gip, a curious English boy with wide eyes, tugged at his father's sleeve. "Daddy, can we go inside? Please?"

His father hesitated, glancing at the faded sign. "Magic comes with a price, Gip. Are you willing to pay?"

Gip nodded eagerly. His heart thrummed with anticipation. They stepped across the threshold, and the air changed—a subtle shift, like the flutter of moth wings.

Behind the counter stood the Magician, an enigma wrapped in velvet robes. His eyes held galaxies, and his smile whispered of forgotten wonders. "Welcome," he said, his voice a soft breeze. "What brings you here?"

Gip's father cleared his throat. "We seek genuine magic."

The Magician's gaze lingered on Gip. "Ah, the young ones always see more clearly." He beckoned them closer. "Tell me, what do you desire?"

Gip's father hesitated. "A glimpse of the impossible," he said. "To believe again."

The Magician nodded. "Very well." He produced a crystal vial filled with iridescent liquid. "This elixir reveals hidden truths. But remember, it extracts a memory—a cherished one. Are you willing to pay?"

Gip's father glanced at his son. "What memory?" he asked.

"Your first kiss," the Magician replied. "The taste of summer strawberries.”