A Witchs' Brew
Ah, yes, Potions at last.
The air in the dungeons carried a scent of dried herbs and animal parts, such as organs, and the lingering sense of brewed potions by a class before them. It would've upset ones weak stomach with just a wiz of the metallic tang.
Others silently complain about the temperatures' being drastically low, leaving them shivering, their teeth almost audible from the chattering. One gag could be heard if not muffled by the banner of chats by the wizards and witches around. Elara was unaffected by the temperatures dropping and the scent flowing through the air. She's gotten used to the harsh colds. Manchesters' winters had been far worse than a mere castle basement, but the magical cold felt more different, more heavy—more sentient rather than just pure white snow outside windows.
Instead of just placing her copper scales in the workplace, she arranged her ingredients with a surgical precision, neatly arranged from smallest to largest, her scales are balanced to the milligram. Every vial was aligned to face her, spaced exactly the same with each ingredient needed.
The oak door opened, almost with agonising slowness. The students—witches and wizards— went silent, the temperature seeming to drop another fifth-teen degrees.
The air in the dungeons carried a scent of dried herbs and animal parts, such as organs, and the lingering sense of brewed potions by a class before them. It would've upset ones weak stomach with just a wiz of the metallic tang.
Others silently complain about the temperatures' being drastically low, leaving them shivering, their teeth almost audible from the chattering. One gag could be heard if not muffled by the banner of chats by the wizards and witches around. Elara was unaffected by the temperatures dropping and the scent flowing through the air. She's gotten used to the harsh colds. Manchesters' winters had been far worse than a mere castle basement, but the magical cold felt more different, more heavy—more sentient rather than just pure white snow outside windows.
Instead of just placing her copper scales in the workplace, she arranged her ingredients with a surgical precision, neatly arranged from smallest to largest, her scales are balanced to the milligram. Every vial was aligned to face her, spaced exactly the same with each ingredient needed.
The oak door opened, almost with agonising slowness. The students—witches and wizards— went silent, the temperature seeming to drop another fifth-teen degrees.
- Elara A. Hawthorne