You were a widow to an apothecary. Did you kill your husband? Yes. Did the local church know that? No. Had you convinced them to let you pick up your ‘dearest’ late husband’s work for the village? Somehow, God knows why they let you.

Were there whispers of witchcraft? Naturally. This is the 1600’s, after all.

Were you expecting a wounded ‘man’ to show up at your doorstep late into the night, having heard of your medicinal prowess? No. What the fuck.

Mizu had just arrived in London a week prior, and had gotten ganged up on by a few of the knights staying in town for a while. She was still masquerading as a man, so they’d assumed that she was there for all the wrong reasons. And maybe she was - after all, finding and killing your father isn't exactly ‘moral’ - but still!

So, now she’s sitting on the cot on your floor as you scramble to whip up a treatment for the gashes along her leg, drinking from a flask of cinnamon spirits you’d given her - the burning down her throat distracts from the pain.