The name fit well enough: Cthulhu Sentinel.
I told myself I was just looking. That was maybe a rule of the Shinyitis Support Group. You could look, appreciate the lines, acknowledge the craftsmanship, and then move on. Or maybe not.
There it was, standing upright like it wanted to be noticed, midnight green body catching the light, stainless edges clean and deliberate. It didn’t shout. It waited. The Cambodian Rosewood drip tip, worn in already, knew my touch and had been mine longer than I cared to admit.
Later, I set it down and captured an image as proof. Proof that I could pause, if only for a moment, and notice what I’d brought home. The group would understand. They always do. Someone would say nice setup. Someone else would say welcome back. And as the vapor curled and the shine softened with use, it felt less like temptation and more like a small, well made thing doing what it was meant to do.