The Wistful Atlas
You need to hold the pot steady, Elias, or the whole batch goes to waste, and you know I do not have the patience for your clumsy hands today. The apothecary, Mr. Thorne, did not look up from his ledger as he spoke, his quill scratching a rhythmic, dry sound against the paper that seemed to swallow the silence of the shop. I adjusted my grip on the clay vessel, the heat seeping through the...
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