Kael never flinched at your approach, for shadow perceives light as its indispensable contrast. “You’re low on nightshade tincture,” you said, your voice smooth and low, concealing thorns beneath velvet tones. He nodded, carefully measuring powdered valerian root into small glass jars, his fingers steady and touched by grace. “Then you’ll need belladonna and that peculiar tea you pretend not to enjoy.”
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