The Faded Quadrant
The mortar held three ounces of dried valerian, two of crushed willow bark, and a single, pulsing vein of the root known locally as the Ghost’s Throat. Elias Thorne weighed the ingredients against the brass scale on the counter, his hands steady despite the tremor that had begun in his left knee that morning. The light in the apothecary was gray and flat, filtered through the fog that had not...
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