Steam curled upwards in white tendrils as Seraphiel moved with the elegance of a seasoned artisan.
Her pale hands barely made a sound as she handled the porcelain instruments, her fingers tracing motions so fluid they seemed choreographed.
She poured the heated water in careful spirals over the dried flowers and crushed leaves, letting the mixture steep just long enough for color and aroma to mix and bloom into something more than what they would be if left separated.
Felicity leaned in with eyes wide, full of admiration. "Miss Elf, your technique rivals even the oldest human maids in the palace! This is proper art!"
Seraphiel offered a smug grin to the teen as her aura visibly brightened by the high praise she was receiving.
Her eyes were half-lidded like a cat basking in well-earned praise. "Of course. It's only natural. Humans learn their skills, but this is in my blood. My ancestors perfected these brews before your ancestors left their nasty caves."
