M E L I T A
Ah, so there had been her failing. She hadn’t thought about a patient, a client, taking a swig or whiff of the medicinal brew, being overwhelmed with the bitter concoctions, the unpleasant tidings likely to sweep across their tongue. Even as she took a sniff, the girl grimaced, blanching slightly at the notion of being granted the infusion, no matter how beneficial or soothing to the body. “I see…” she noted, nodding her head in agreement. It was some matter of deceit in the witchcraft, potion blending, and she could understand it a little better when put into terms of schemes – how to trick someone into taking their medicine, how to play the specious host. The youth must’ve missed her mother’s deliberate deviousness, had only been distracted by the pouring, the grinding, and didn’t catch the layers that had gone into her elixirs.
But Phoebe was nice enough, and didn’t reprimand or lecture her when the obvious had been neglected. At this the girl could sigh with some obvious relief (she’d been scolded enough in her childhood…and subsequent teenage years to have heard the refrains for a lifetime; but her innate, impulsive whims didn’t mend or mold themselves to meticulous processes, so she was likely doomed to hear admonishments until she altered her motives), and tilted her head, curious all the more. “Are there other flavorings?” What if the person didn’t care for mint, and they were back to square one? What other ways were available to disguise and veil?
