#apthecary

@apthecary​ sent:  ❝  you don’t know how glad i am to see you.  ❞

              a certain brightness arises upon her features the moment she is met with such a kind reception.  she cherishes any ally or friend she is able to glean.  but,  admittedly,  most of her connections come in a rather transactional form.  even those with some loyalty to her among hidden networks and criminal enterprises have only been earned due to her usefulness to them.  but it’s different here.  she feels a little more human in this shop.  she feels like...he means it when he says he is glad to see her.  he means it in a way that is foreign,  one which she finds herself hungry for.  starving.  

her smile lingers,  slow to fade like the summer sun.  she forgets,  for the briefest moment,  the box in her arms as she peers up at him.  sometimes,  it’s easy to get lost in his eyes and his kindness.  but she remembers herself after a moment.  magnolia carefully places her crate onto the counter.  ❛  i wasn’t sure if you still wanted to try selling these here,  ❜  she signs once her hands are free,  nodding towards the contents of carefully woven sweaters and scarves.  there are a few small,  painted canvases as well.  ❛  you could even give them away too with purchases.  i don’t really know if anyone would pay anything for them...it’d just be nice for it all to have somewhere to go.  ❜  her expression grows a little more sheepish the more she goes on.  creating is a form of catharsis for her.  making money from it had before never before crossed her mind.   

                  it  was  curious  being  tied  to  an  object.  she  had  bargained  her  humanity  to  preserve  her  immortality.  a  deal  she  had  forged  in  a  moonlit  field,  unaware  of  the  powers  that  she  was  engaging  with.  it  had  taken  her  a  long  time  to  realize  that  the  effect  of  her  thievery  was  leeching  onto  her  soul.  a  black  stain  was  spreading  across  her  heart  and  she  couldn’t  seem  to  contain  it’s  affects.  she  shifted  nervously,  peering  over  at  the  camera  in  omen’s  hands.  on  principle  sybill  didn’t  like  to  hand  it  over  to  anyone,  but  she  needed  to  know  if  he  could  see  something  she  could.  sense  some  older  kind  of  magic.  

                 it  had  been  seven  hundred  and  thirty  eight  days  since  melody  had  laid  eyes  on  her  father.  they  had  scoured  the  surrounding  kingdoms,  the  lighthouses  saying  on  all  day  through  the  winters,  trying  to  produce  a  beacon  to  bring  him  home.  nothing  illuminated  the  encroaching  darkness.  and  in  her  grief  melody  had  become  desperate  to  try  and  garner  an  answer.  she  had  heard  whispers  of  a  helpful  someone  who  might  be  able  to  provide  the  answers  she  sought.  tied  neat  in  her  bag  was  a  portrait  of  her  father,  a  comb,  and  his  former  wedding  ring.  it  was  one  her  mother  had  picked  out  special.