The day started with optimism, the kind that only exists before something starts smoking.
Alma stood proudly in the middle of Milo's herb-scented potion room, sleeves rolled up, cheeks smudged with chalky blue powder, and a determined glint in her eyes.
"Today," she declared, "I shall brew my very first solo potion!"
Milo, sitting cross-legged on a stool nearby with a notebook titled Potion Mishaps & Mild Explosions, gave her a supportive smile. "Excellent. I'll supervise and only intervene if things start glowing, shrinking, or tap dancing."
"Noted!" Alma chirped.
Luca strolled in with a pastry in each hand. "What's the occasion? Is it 'Bring Your Favorite Disaster to Work' Day again?"
Milo gestured toward Alma like a proud teacher. "She's brewing the ailmy laundry potion."
Luca blinked. "You mean the one that helps clothes wash themselves? That's a real potion?"
"Of course it is!" Alma said brightly. "It was in Grandma Willow's 'Domestic Charms and Sassy Doilies' section."
"I always assumed that book was satire," Luca mumbled, eating a croissant.
Milo crossed his arms. "She's got the ingredients. I checked them myself."
"Twice," Alma added smugly.
"And no side potions this time?"
"Nope! One goal. Just one. Clean laundry."
Milo nodded. "Alright, begin."
---
Alma pulled out her mixing bowl (a copper one shaped like a frog's head), set out her ingredients, and got to work:
Whisperbloom essence (because Grandma Willow swore it added a "soothing personality" to potions)
Ground sudsroot
Sparkle salt
A dash of tumble-leaf extract
And a single button from an "especially overworked sock."
She stirred counterclockwise while chanting the rhyme:
"Sudsy bubbles, rinse and whirl,
Make laundry dance, twirl and twirl,
But never bite, nor yank or tear,
Just clean with joy and linen care."
Milo nodded approvingly. "Nice rhyme work. Very nonviolent."
Alma beamed.
Luca squinted at the mixture. "Is it supposed to be... frothing like soda and humming opera?"
"That's the Whisperbloom!" Alma said cheerfully.
"That flower does hum Verdi," Milo confirmed.
Then, Alma poured the mixture into a ceramic laundry jug shaped like a sheep and gave it a final swirl.
The room fell silent.
The potion shimmered blue, then pink, then blue again... and finally settled into a soft lavender glow.
Alma exhaled. "Success!"
Luca clapped. "It's beautiful! Let's feed it a shirt."
---
They chose one of Milo's test garments: an old tunic with potion stains, half a sleeve, and a questionable smell.
Alma carefully dipped it into the jug.
The potion rippled gently. A few bubbles escaped. The tunic floated peacefully, twirling in the air above the container... then it sparkled.
"Ooooh," all three said in unison.
The shirt landed on the table, perfectly clean, dry, and mildly floral-scented.
Alma gasped. "It worked!"
"Look at that collar!" Luca said. "It's... crisp. I could shave with it!"
Milo ruffled Alma's hair. "You did it!"
Alma held the jug lovingly. "I shall name it... Sudsy."
Then, of course, came the side effect.
---
It began when Milo's pants started creeping off the hook on the wall.
Not falling—creeping. Like a snake with a waistband.
"Uhhh..." Milo said, pointing.
Then one of Luca's shirts launched itself across the room, flapping like a furious bird, and slapped him across the face.
"AH—MY BREADSTICK!" Luca yelped as his snack flew from his hand.
"What's happening?!" Alma cried.
"The potion—it's too infused with energy!" Milo shouted, ducking as a pair of socks tried to garrote him.
The room erupted into chaos.
A scarf tied itself into a lasso and attempted to wrangle Luca.
Milo's vest puffed up, flexed its buttons, and body-slammed a potion shelf.
"SUDSY IS REBELLING!" Alma screamed.
"We gave clothes self-awareness and too much self-esteem!" Milo yelled back.
---
The trio sprinted into the hallway as Milo's cloak chased them like a vengeful shadow, flapping wildly.
"New rule!" Luca gasped. "No potions with opera-singing plants!"
"We need to neutralize the potion!" Milo shouted.
Alma flipped through her notes mid-run. "Grandma Willow mentioned if Sudsy ever gets 'a bit rowdy,' you should apply a Calm-Fiber infusion—made with sleepy thyme and grounded underpants!"
Luca blinked. "Why... underpants?"
"Because underpants are humble!" Alma yelled.
They dove into the kitchen. Milo rummaged through a drawer, flinging out socks, scarves, and one of Luca's overly dramatic capes.
"Found sleepy thyme!" Alma said triumphantly.
"Great. Now we need—wait. No. I am not sacrificing my underpants to a potion uprising."
"Too late!" Alma said, holding up a flowery pair she'd clearly found in the laundry bin.
Milo went crimson. "Why do you even—?!"
Alma tossed it into the bowl with thyme and a dash of chalk powder.
The mixture shimmered gently, emitting a faint yawn.
"Everyone, dip and dodge!" Milo yelled as they stormed back into the potion room, now a war zone of flailing fabric.
---
Alma flung spoonfuls of Calm-Fiber mixture onto the rampaging garments.
One by one, the clothes began to droop, sag, and slowly collapse into gentle heaps of harmless, fresh-smelling laundry.
The cloak gave one last dramatic flap, then curled itself into a nap on the rug.
The vest, mid-body slam attempt, simply rolled over and snored.
Luca picked up his tie, now twitching slightly. "This is why I only wear sandals and robes. No possessed accessories."
Alma collapsed into a heap of clean shirts. "I was so close."
Milo patted her shoulder. "You were close. The base potion worked perfectly."
"It just had... too much energy," she sighed. "I didn't realize Whisperbloom sang battle operas when soaked."
"That's an honest mistake," Milo said.
"Is it?" Luca asked, peeling a sock off his face. "I feel like this was aggressively predictable."
Milo smirked. "Honestly, Alma, I'm proud. You didn't blow anything up, summon a laundry elemental, or curse us with permanent static cling."
"That's next week's experiment," she mumbled.
---
Later, they lounged on the porch, sipping lemon balm tea.
Alma wore her victory crown: a laundry basket on her head.
Milo sat beside her with a quill, writing "Laundry Learned to Fight" in his notebook.
Luca was half-asleep in a pile of clothes, humming a lullaby to a sock.
"This was a success," Milo said.
"Really?" Alma asked.
"You made a working potion, learned something new, and no one exploded. That's three stars in Potion School."
She smiled. "Thanks, Milo."
"And next time," he added, "maybe skip the flowers with warrior spirit."
Luca opened one eye. "Or just make me armor out of that vest. It's got fight in its threads."
They all laughed, surrounded by the soft scent of fabric and thyme.
In the distance, a sock on the clothesline wiggled slightly... then went still.
Milo narrowed his eyes.
"...Let's keep the Calm-Fiber on standby."