5 - Highsun 9 – 16 / 1 - Ash Moon 1 – 8
Cobwebs gathered lazily in the corners, shutters rattled in the breeze, and bundles of drying herbs dangled from the rafters, casting spindly shadows across the floor and walls that looked like reaching fingers when the firelight flickered. This little room was chaotic, yes—but it was mine. All mine… I had lived here my whole life; every creak, every stubborn shelf, every lingering scent of lavender and ash wrapped around me like an old quilt.
I turned towards the bookshelf which still held most of my inherited, magical books: thick tomes bound in cracked leather, thinner notebooks stuffed with pressed flowers, and a few ominous-looking grimoires that had always made me feel like I shouldn't breathe too close to them.
I set my basket down and swept a hand across my cluttered desk to throw the bits of leaves and trash to the floor before turning to grab one of the more familiar tomes and brought it back to search for the recipe I needed… I clapped at the cover to inspect it, the dust that had settled on it formed a cloud I blew away. The scent that followed was musty and oddly sweet, like wilted flowers pressed between old pages—a smell that always made my chest ache with nostalgia.
"All right," I muttered, pulling a stool close. "Let's make a potion worthy of a duke's daughter on her wedding day…"
As I went through the pages, my fingertips brushed over the indentations of the handwriting, tracing the loops and flourishes as if I could summon Gran's steady hands through ink alone. I remembered sitting at her feet as a child, chin on my knees, watching her stir a cauldron twice my size. She never measured ingredients—she listened to them. "Potions talk, little star," she'd say with a wink. "You just have to learn their language." I wished, not for the first time, that I'd paid better attention.
The glamour recipe was easy enough to find; her neat handwriting read: A Potion to Delight the Eye. And, of course, beneath that was a list of ingredients that looked… longer than I remembered.
Soon enough, the table was a mess before I'd even really started—jars of ingredients I'd collected over the years (and which I wasn't completely sure would still work), clean vials in one corner waiting to be filled, and messy bundles of dried herbs covered it. My little cauldron waited patiently in the hearth's pit. I bent over to coax the fire to life with a simple enough charm, the first flames licking the iron like they'd missed it.
"Okay," I said, scanning the page once more for order of things to put in to cook. "First, the base of spring water, obvious. Then, a handful of ground pearlwort petals—got it. A touch of powdered moonroot—uh… half a pinch? Or… a generous pinch? 'Generous' sounds fancier."
I picked up the ingredients and began spilling them into the cauldron, counting out loud the seconds between each. The pearlwort petals melted like snow the moment they hit the water, releasing a sweet, floral scent that clung to my sleeves. The moonroot powder hissed when it touched the surface, curling into spirals like it had a mind of its own. I leaned closer, eyes wide. "Behave," I told it sternly, as if scolding a mischievous cat.
More followed: moonwater, crushed iris petals, beeswax, crushed pearl, two drops of sun-thistle oil. I tossed them into the gently simmering water on time… I think. My wooden spoon swirling clockwise as instructed until it turned blue. A faint shimmer began to swirl through the mixture, like starlight in water. Encouraging.
"Less of this, more of that," I muttered, pinching another petal between my fingers before throwing it in. "If I add too much, it'll stain instead of shimmer. I think. Probably."
The next part was trickier: a single drop of one's own essence. Grandmother always made it sound poetic. I, on the other hand, winced dramatically as I pricked my finger with a sewing needle.
"Ow! Witchcraft is fun, they said," I muttered. "But no one mentions anything about the pain of poking yourself like a pincushion."
The drop hit the surface and the mixture fizzed. A pale mist rose, brushing my cheeks like cool silk. My heart fluttered. It was working.
…Or so I thought.
By the end of that first night, my reflection in the hand mirror alternated between giving me wrinkles, turning my hair a ghastly shade of green, and—worst of all—making my nose grow two sizes too large.
"No. No no no no," I said, frantically reversing the spell with the little undoing charm my mother had taught me as a child that works on simpler, weaker things, which clearly, and thankfully for my face, my potion had been; one sweep of my fingers, a whispered revertias, and the magic dissolved with a soft pop. My usual face returned. Normal and slightly flushed from panic.
I took a deep breath. "It's fine. First tries never work."
The days blurred after that.
When I'd dabbed a fingertip of potion to my face and rubbed it across my cheek, the result was… shiny. Uneven. A patchy shimmer that looked more like spilled oil than beauty. I whined. "Well, if the bride wants to look like a trout, I've nailed it."
Each morning, I'd tend to the garden, gather more herbs, and return to the workroom after lunch to try again. By the evening, the cottage smelled like every flower in the forest had exploded in a single room. My notes reflected back the failures so far:
Highsun 10: I added too much moonroot and ended up with a potion that turned me completely translucent. I shrieked so loudly, the jars rattled… When my hands vanished, I flailed it around without knowing, smacked the side of the cauldron, and nearly knocked it over. For seven terrifying seconds I thought I'd erased myself—only to reappear mid-scream and scare myself all over again. If anyone had seen me, they'd think I'd finally lost it.
Highsun 12: My reflection in the mirror winked at me on its own. That mirror is now face down on the table. Update: 4 hours later, mirror-Ami was still creeping me out so I had to take her out back and… she no longer exists. Using new mirror now.
Highsun 14: Potion made my hair grow past my knees in seconds. Glamorous? Perhaps. Manageable? Absolutely not… It started slowly—a single strand brushing my elbow—then exploded in a whoosh that tangled me like a net. I face-planted into the cupboard, and by the time I crawled out, my braid looked like a tree trunk and I'd shattered a jar. It took half an hour and a pair of kitchen shears to undo that mess.
Every time something went wrong, I'd use the reversal charm, which lead to me muttering it like a prayer. My magic responded easier with each try, as if getting used to cleaning up my messes. If I focused too hard, the room sometimes flickered with light—flowers on the windowsill blooming out of nowhere, or jars clinking without being touched. Little bursts I didn't understand but had long accepted.
By Highsun 16, the stack of used ingredients on the counter was embarrassingly high, and my coin purse was not heavier than when I'd started. I stared down at the cauldron, where the latest brew bubbled with a pink, pearly sheen. My hands shook as I lifted the ladle.
I put in the last of the petals and watched them dissolve, tinting the mixture deeper. I stirred carefully with the wooden spoon, clockwise—always clockwise for glamour. Grandmother's voice echoed in my mind, a memory more than anything real: "Intention matters as much as ingredients."
Then, I added the beeswax. It clumped at first, floating like pale islands, before slowly melting into the blue water. The scent turned sweet and heavy, like honey left in the sun. I leaned closer to the tome, squinting to find my place.
"Powdered pearl for brilliance. Sun-thistle for endurance."
I carefully spooned in the pearl powder, watching it scatter like stardust across the surface. For a moment, the cauldron shimmered as though holding a piece of the night sky. My heart skipped. This could actually work.
Then came the sun-thistle oil. I uncorked the bottle and hesitated. Two drops. Just two. My hand wavered.
Three drops slipped in.
The cauldron let out a wet hiss. A puff of greenish steam curled toward the ceiling. I frowned and had to cough and fan the air with my hand. "Oh, perfect. That's fine. That's exactly what I wanted."
The shimmer dulled. The mixture slumped into a murky, unpleasant shade somewhere between pondwater and overcooked porridge. I whined and prodded it with the spoon, as if it might change its mind.
"…Maybe a little more pearl powder?" I tried out the idea…
"Please," I whispered, "just work."
When the liquid settled, I dabbed a little on my face and turned to the mirror.
For one glorious moment, my features shimmered softly—cheeks rosier, eyes brighter, hair gleaming like a polished gemstone. I gasped with a widening smile. "Oh!"
Then my eyebrows fell off.
I let out a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, scrambled for the reversal charm, and watched them pop back into existence.
And, once again, the same, freaky, lonely, broke, simple, stupid girl who tripped on roots in the forest and accidentally made flowers bloom appeared in the reflection.
The frustration finally cracked me. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cool floor, hugging my knees. My eyes prickled with unshed tears, and I pressed my forehead against my arms.
I thought about Grandmother—how easily she brewed even the trickiest concoctions, how people from three towns would request for her work. What would she say if she saw me now? Probably something wise… or just that look she gave when trying not to laugh. I smiled.
If magic had a heartbeat, Grandmother easily tapped to it. I, meanwhile, was still fumbling for a pulse.
After a few minutes, I shake my head quickly, "You're fine," I whispered to myself, voice shaky. "You'll figure it out. You need the money. Just remember the money! Just one more try. You've still got time. Still got a whole night. You'll get it right."
I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and glanced at the book on the table. The page glimmered faintly in the candlelight, like it was mocking me.
I pictured myself walking back into town with a heavy coin purse, buying bread that wasn't stale and maybe even a sliver of honeycomb. No more skipping meals. No more scraping the last bits of herbs into empty jars. Just this one potion, and things could start to change.
"One more try," I repeated, louder this time, and pushed myself up to prepare for the next round.