obsession chapter 2

***

“Hee hee, I knew Brun would waste one dose.” Shariette gleefully polished the gold coins, having just sold another bottle of the same potion she’d sold a few days ago for two Luca, this time at full price, even pretending to offer a discount. And she’d even managed to upsell the drunkard a tonic and stomach medicine! Sparkly things were the best. The sight of them always thrilled her.

Business was booming today.

“Miss Raven, my mom sent me.” The little girl from the inn down the hill. Shariette calculated the regular customer’s dosage, expertly measuring and packaging the herbs.

“You’re five days early. Tell Ronia to use only one packet of Kyrill powder a day.”

“But she says it’s less effective if she uses less.”

“She’ll die. In three years.” The casual threat sent the little girl scurrying away, pale with fright.

“It’s terrible, I’ve been feeling so weak and tired lately, and I get short of breath just walking a little.” Emil, the writer who lived by the lake.

“Picky eating. Lack of exercise. Lack of sleep. Potion addiction.” Shariette repeated her standard diagnosis. “Eat some meat. Drink plenty of water.”

“My deadline is just around the corner! Just brew me a strong potion.”

“Take a walk every day while the sun is up.” Emil pleaded, “I’ll really do it after I finish this project, I swear! Really! Just—”

“Goodbye!”

“Argh! She does whatever she wants!” Clutching the back of his neck in frustration, the writer departed.

Click, creak. Unlike the previous customers, the door opened slowly this time, with the cautiousness typical of first-time visitors.

“Ah, eh, i, oh, oo.” Raaawr. Shariette stretched her mouth in all directions, warming up her facial muscles in an attempt to feign a welcoming expression. Natural expressions were always a challenge.

“Welcome.”

Thud, thud. The customer, cloaked in a dark green robe, walked in with measured steps. Customers like this usually sought rare ingredients and paid handsomely, often adding a bonus for discretion. Shariette’s demeanor became noticeably more amiable.

“What herbs are you looking for?”

“….” A searching gaze from beneath the hood brushed against her skin.

“I’d like you to make me a sleeping draught. The strongest you have.”

I think I’ve heard that voice before. The elegant pronunciation and intonation, characteristic of nobility. The unhurried yet firm tone. The low, smooth resonance of his voice…

“This is an apothecary, not a pharmacy.”

“I hear there’s a skilled apothecary here, called ‘White Raven.’”

“That’s me, but I’m not an apothecary.” Shariette brazenly denied it. There was no need to advertise her unlicensed practice.

The man was incredibly suspicious. He exuded both aristocratic elegance and a dangerous aura, like that of a swordsman. Even his calm speech carried a strange sense of… wait. No way. She gulped. She knew another person who gave off this same feeling. A shiver ran down her spine. As the man’s watchful, emerald eyes, sharp as a wild animal’s, remained fixed on her, he lowered his hood, revealing his face. Jet-black hair fell across his smooth forehead. His features were sculpted with an artist’s precision, breathtakingly beautiful. The word “beautiful” couldn’t have been more fitting. Even the shadows under his eyes, as if in need of the sleep he sought, added a touch of decadent allure.

Sparkly… And at the center of it all, his eyes, like roses crafted from glass and gemstones, shone with a captivating crimson light. A mesmerizing red that could steal one’s reason. Recognizing him, Shariette’s heart pounded in her chest. Her sweaty hands clenched involuntarily.

“If the draught is effective, I’ll pay a handsome reward—”

“Caw!!”

Pssht! Tsss! Tsssst! The spray bottle erupted, dousing the man’s face with its contents.

“.…” Caught off guard by the sudden drowsiness, the man blinked slowly, his eyelids growing heavy.

“How…?” His shocked, disbelieving expression lasted only a moment.

“Caw!” Tsss! Tsssst!

“Wait—” Tsssst! Tsssst! Tsssst! Pssssht!

Panicked, Shariette unleashed a merciless barrage, ensuring the job was done. Like a princess pricked by a spinning wheel, the man collapsed. Thud. The spray bottle slipped from her grasp and rolled across the floor. The dangling, handwritten label fell away, revealing the original label beneath. 

– Anesthetic: For Large Predators.