Arthur and Aziel approached the weathered dresser. The brass handles, once polished to a high shine, were now dull and tarnished. Arthur pulled open the top drawer with a soft creak of aged wood, revealing multiple sets of dusty folded clothes inside.
Aziel reached in and picked up one of the shirts, letting it hang loose from his fingers. He gave the garment an odd look, examining the fine but clearly aged fabric, before shrugging his shoulders with his typical nonchalance. The clothes were simple but well-made, certainly better than the tattered remains they currently wore.
