.
The old apothecary hadn't been used in years , not properly. After Celeste's wounds, the place fell into dust and shadows, the smell of dried herbs and ashes clinging to the warped beams like ghosts refusing to be exorcised. Magnolia stood in the doorway now, cloak drawn tight around her shoulders, breath misting in the draft that slithered across the stone floor.
Inside, the shelves sagged under glass jars with labels so faded they may as well have been written in another tongue. Bundles of sage and yarrow crumbled where they hung, furred over with dust. The hearth at the far wall held a single unlit brazier, its iron belly blackened by old flame and older secrets.
Magnolia stepped inside, her boots whispering across the rushes. Her fingers traced the nearest shelf, leaving lines through the dust. At the far end, half-buried under a collapsed basket of dried wolfsbane, lay Celeste's old book , bound in dark green leather, its edges stained with something darker.
