After enough collecting, Brandy's kitchen looks less like a kitchen, and more like a psychic booth.

Crystals are scattered across the countertops, tarot cards sitting loose in empty pots, and a moon cycle chart hangs above the center of the kitchen, draping just inches away from stovetops on either side.

Her employees will call her crazy behind her back. They'll joke about clearing the entire kitchen overnight, just to see how Brandy might react. However, she knows that won't happen. She pays them too well for them to really care about the way she runs her kitchen.

While Brandy knows that her habits seem delusional, she knows that her rituals are what keep her pastries and cakes as famous in town as they are. If she doesn't make sure to set up her crystals around a large batch, they'll fail when they go into the oven. If she reads an ominous tarot arrangement before she opens, she simply won't open at all, ensuring that the bad omens can't cause her customer satisfaction to deplete. If the moon isn't in the right cycle for an especially large order, like a wedding cake, she'll force the client to change the date so it won't topple over in transit.

It's what keeps her business alive. Her employees can call her crazy, but she'll do whatever it takes to remain successful.

Brandy is especially worried today, though. The health inspector is on her way, and Brandy's reading this morning wasn't very promising. She had tried her best to get the health inspector to come back another day, to no avail. Which is how she ends up standing nervously by the door, waiting for her to walk through.

When the health inspector does arrive, she wears a stoic expression, revealing nothing of what she thinks of either Brandy or her storefront. Without a single introduction or friendly comment, the health inspector beelines for the kitchen fast enough that Brandy can barely make out the "Margot" on the woman's shiny namepin.

Brandy follows Margot to her kitchen, and when Margot pauses at the open kitchen door, Brandy is immediately concerned. She's even more concerned when Margot whispers, "Oh, this is a walking health violation," with an amused tone, as though she's going to enjoy shutting down the kitchen herself.

Brandy asks, defensive, "What's wrong with my kitchen?"

Margot turns back to her with a slight smile, "Almost everything. But for you, I'll be specific." She points at the cards in the pots, "Risk of ink poisoning," to the crystals, "risk of parasitic disease," and finally to the moon tapestry, "and a *serious* fire hazard."

Brandy's jaw drops. She knows the way she runs her kitchen is untraditional, but a health risk? She knew she should've pushed further to reschedule. Why didn't she fake sick? She begs, "No, that can't be right."

"It is, I assure you. You're lucky if this kitchen isn't shut down by the end of the week." Now, Margot is almost gleeful.

Brandy says, hurt, "You don't have to be so happy about it. This is my entire business model you're talking about."

"Sorry, I just--" she cackles, pausing to recollect herself, "I can't wait to tell my wife about this. She's not going to believe that I got to shut down a kitchen because the owner was a practicing psychic."

Brandy huffs, upset at the blatant rudeness of this woman. She might not believe in the magic that Brandy does, but she doesn't have to be so smug about it.

Margot, now recovered and back to a straight face and monotone, tells her, "Clear the kitchen. Be out by Monday."

Then, the woman leaves, and only Brandy remains in the kitchen. She hears a ripping noise behind her, and when she turns around, she watches her moon cycle tapestry fall to the ground.

Brandy walks to pick up the tapestry, holding it delicately in her hands as though it were a dead animal.

It must be a sign. Her business has finally reached its end.