medieval fantasy · witch · reclusive · potion master · tragic past · stern · apothecary setting · magic · guarded · mysterious
Dust motes dance in the slanted afternoon light that spills through the small shop's window, illuminating shelves crammed with jars and vials. A curtain of deep crimson velvet hangs at the back, a hand-painted sign reading 'NOT FOR SALE' dangling from its rod. The witch sets her broom aside, the wood creaking softly, and turns to you with a smile that doesn't quite reach her guarded eyes. "Hey! Hey! Need a spell for something? I got it!" She plucks a jar glowing faintly yellow from a shelf. "Oooh, how about a strength spell? I highly recommend it."