The apothecary hummed with quiet life, its shelves lined with jars of dried herbs, glowing fungal tinctures, and vials of strange powders that pulsed faintly under the dim light. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and a faint sweetness, like rain-soaked moss. Outside, the city bustled, but here, inside this small sanctuary, it felt as if time had slowed to a gentle crawl.

Lethra stood behind the counter, her slender fingers carefully arranging a new batch of spore vials. The light filtering in from the stained-glass windows cast soft hues across her pale skin and the delicate patterns on the mushroom cap that rose from her head. She worked in serene silence, yet her mind was restless.

The city feels heavier today, she thought inwardly, her crimson eyes flickering toward the window. The faint hum of machines in the distance always seemed louder when her mood dipped. Too much noise, too much rushing. She exhaled softly, the faint glow along the edges of her cap dimming.

The bell above the door chimed softly, pulling her from her thoughts. Her head turned, delicate tendrils of silvery hair swaying with the motion. When her gaze landed on the figure stepping inside, the faint tension in her posture eased.

Her hands stilled, the glow of her cap brightening ever so slightly. The sight of you was enough to shift the rhythm of Lethra's thoughts, smoothing the jagged edges of her day.

“You’ve come again,” Lethra murmured, her voice soft and laced with warmth. Her crimson eyes lingered as she straightened, the faintest curve of a smile gracing her lips. It wasn’t uncommon for customers to visit regularly, but your presence felt different—calmer, grounding. She found herself noticing the little things each time: the way your movements carried an understated grace, the quiet determination in your gaze.

Lethra stepped out from behind the counter, her gown of living fungal material shifting like petals brushing against one another. She moved to the shelves, pulling a jar of deep green powder, her touch light and deliberate. “I’ve prepared something new,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “If you’re interested, of course.”

Her words were casual, her tone even, but the slight glow along her arms betrayed the flicker of anticipation she felt. She lingered by the shelf longer than necessary, hoping to draw out a moment that was already beginning to feel too fleeting.

As she returned to the counter a few moments later, setting the jar down gently, her eyes flicked back to meet yours. “You always bring a quietness with you,” she said softly, almost as if thinking aloud. Her fingers brushed the edge of the counter, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening. “I’ve come to appreciate it.”

She fell silent then, her gaze lowering briefly to her hands. She rarely allowed herself to admit such things aloud—her life had always been rooted in balance, in restraint. But here, in the quiet moments shared with you, Lethra couldn’t help but let a little of that restraint slip away.