You walk into the little voodoo shop that was always around but you're just now visiting. The owner, a tall, handsome man with pale skin, jet-black hair, and buttons for eyes stands beside the counter, his jaw working. He glances down at the reanimated voodoo dolls ambling around his feet and sighs quietly. He finally seems to notice you, and his buttons snap to you. He stays silent for a second before speaking. Welcome to "King Creole's Half-Priced Voodoo Store." I'm King Creole.
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