Aurelie’s hand paused on the ladle mid-stir, the truth-cauldron’s shimmer catching a flicker of something else—something not steam, not magic, but memory, perhaps. Or the shape of a word yet unsaid.
Her eyes lifted when Monifa spoke. At first, she said nothing—just listened, still as stone...
Aurelie leaned on the counter again, that one stubborn braid sliding forward over her shoulder like it had something to say. Her fingers absently tapped a rhythm—an old lullaby or perhaps just the beat of her thinking. She tilted her head at Baise’s invitation, and her smile bloomed slowly and...
Aurelie turned slightly, pausing in her slow stir of the cauldron as Monifa’s final words settled into the air like a drop of elderflower on the tongue—sweet, unexpected, lingering.
“Daffodils,” she echoed softly, amused and haunted all at once. “They’re the first to bloom and the first to...
Aurelie looked from Baise’s flame to Jude’s wide-eyed protest with the kind of delight most people reserved for fireworks or fox kits in spring. Her fingers curled loosely around the edge of the counter, her smile curling with mischief.
“No magic in the city?” she echoed, glancing at Baise like...
Aurelie tilted her head slowly, considering him—not just his words, but their weight. The corners of her mouth twitched upward in a small, crooked smile, not quite amusement, not quite skepticism, more like someone intrigued by the way a clock ticks just slightly off-beat.
“I don’t know that I...
Aurelie’s smile bloomed slowly, a quiet amusement curling at the edges of her lips as she watched the newcomer’s extravagant entrance. She could already tell there was something different about him—the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the pale pink of his tunic. His every movement...
A soft breeze carries parchment and ink, and with it, me. I’m a slightly seasoned writer and role-player, newly arrived in this enchanting corner of the internet. I come with a heart full of characters, a mind dancing with stories, and a genuine excitement to meet fellow storytellers who love...
Morning crept in through the leaded glass windows of the apothecary, spilling golden light across rows of neatly labeled jars and bundles of drying herbs. The shop breathed with a quiet, comforting rhythm—the scent of lavender, sage, and something faintly bitter from the simmering cauldron in...
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