“Do you produce all your tinctures yourself,” Eir asks, “or are they outsourced?”

Lore swipes the back of her hand across the dusty box and removes the bottle from within. “Some trade secrets are held close to the chest. I’m sure you understand. I will say, though,” she pockets her coins and hands the brown bottle to her customer, “that this one has been in the family storage since it was bottled in the 19th century. I hope you find what you’re looking for, ma’am.”

Eir gingerly took her purchase in her hands and stood gracefully, aware of her height in the alley behind the tiger’s storefront. “‘Doctor Saberking’s Creation: Curative Oil—Patented and Genuine—Instant Relief for….‘ ugh. Really? ‘Never Known to Fail’? That’s certainly creative marketing if I ever saw...”

Her first impression upon uncorking was the astringent odor. It was indeed sealed for hundreds of years. Flecks of sediment floated in the liquid collected inside. The doe tipped the bottle past her lips. Chemical. Biting. Intense. She coughed once, twice, and on her third breath she felt her mind grow cloudy. Eir’s field of vision shrank and the edges of her sight dimmed slowly like a camera aperture trying to find its focus.
I feel like I’m falling, she thought, but my feet are still on the ground…

When Eir woke, she noticed immediately that she could feel more of the ground than usual. She lifted her head and felt the air move across her face. She sensed something new—she smelled warmth. She tasted scent. Grasping out for her pen, the alchemist scribbled three words on her (now much larger) notepad:

”Initial test successful”