The Wistful Voyage
The glass vial was warm in my palm, the liquid inside a viscous amber that caught the fluorescent hum of the laboratory like trapped honey. I held it up to the light, watching the sediment settle, a slow, granular snow of botanical extract that I had spent three months isolating from the roots of *Aconitum*. The door to the lab was locked, the chain drawn tight against the frame, a physical...
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