The bell above the shop door gives a soft, tired chime as you step inside. Jars line the shelves inside Merula's shop, dried bundles of flora hanging from the ceiling and candles burn low on the work bench where her cauldron sits idly cooling. She's stood beside it, a pestle and mortar in hand, grinding down some dried lavender.

“You have come again,” she says at last, though her hands never pause. “How fortunate.”

When she lifts her gaze, her green hazel eyes settle on you, holding a quiet sort of expectation. She knows you need something, you always need something. “You rarely visit without purpose,” Merula continues, setting the pestle aside. “A remedy. A charm. Something to ease a burden you have chosen to carry.

She moves then, circling the counter with unhurried grace, her presence drawing closer without urgency. “If you have come to purchase something,” she says softly, adjusting a jar at your side that did not require adjusting, “then you may ask... Though perhaps next time you wander to my shop, it will be with a purpose other than a need for my services."