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Mar 15, 2018

Lovecraft: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Coming Soon

Characters: Saeran Choi x Reader

Word Count: 3,811

Genre: Witchcraft!AU, Slow burn

Summary: After an unfortunate drunken night, you, a fortune teller who was cursed from a young age by an unknown witch, breaks your own creed and read your own fate. Seeing nothing but ruin and isolation in the future, you seek out an apothecary named Saeran, who gives you untested potion called Aphrodite’s Blessing, not for free though. In return, he wishes to study and document it’s effects on you. Can his creation not only save you from fate, but also break your longstanding curse?

Authors Note: I don’t usually care to write multi-chapter fics, but I felt this would be a better format for what I’ve planned out. I greatly appreciate critique, and reading your comments. Let me know what you think!

You could feel each curve of the cobblestone path pressing against the thin sole of your boots. They were worn down, patched to no end, seams parting once again… Not that it really mattered to you. You were destined for a life of solitude, ruin, destruction at your own core. Being a fortune teller, it was your own creed to not read your own fate. You were a medium. A pawn used to relay fate, you weren’t meant to know your own. You never really wanted to anyways, after seeing so many disastrous readings in which the card’s warnings weren’t headed. A few nights ago, in your drunken stupor you thought reading your fate would be a good idea. You were horrifically wrong.

You hadn’t intended to drink so much rum. The bartender was just so whimsical in the way he mixed his concoctions. The way silver strands jostled as muscular arms shook drinks in the same rhythmic way, every time. Maybe you’d thought that if you ordered enough, you’d catch him skip a beat. Maybe that chiseled face, surely crafted by the gods would take you home and ravage you. You swore you could still taste the spice in the back of your throat when you coughed at the chill in the air. Your esophagus burned when you took a swig from the water jug you carried on your hip.

All of this could simply be a physical manifestation of your current mental state though. Plagued with anxiety, you proceeded to shove those like you, wandering hopelessly, aside in the crowded streets. You tugged the wool of your navy cloak tighter around your shoulders, hoping to retain some bodily heat. You thumbed at the white edges, lined with constellations. This was the last gift you’d been presented with by your father before you left home for the big city. The cloak was like the summer night sky, at the last moment before shadows filled the sky in its entirety. It was home to you, a comfort item of sorts. You never wished to part from your dear parents, the only people who’d cared for you all these years, but the village was no place for a fortune teller to find a living. You could only tell the same twenty people the same thing the cards and skies told you so many times. Small towns like yours were a place for those strong enough with their craft to practice elemental magic. To freely cause boulders to rise and be flung about with no worry of guards rushing about, offering threats if one persisted. Elemental magic was still seen as a dubious concept, one that only the rich elite would have access to. However, it was becoming more common knowledge that a gifted student of any class could obtain the ability to practice creating breezes with proper guidance. The outskirts of town could be easily accessed, with no need to walk half the day to reach a far off stream to try to cause the water to bubble and boil, harnessing both fire and water spells. You could often find apothecaries wandering in your town, searching for new foliage, inquiring about preservation methods from those most acquainted with living off the land.

“You there! Prophet!” A ragged voice called from the entrance to his shop. A tailor, by the looks of the sign. “Don’tcha need them raggedy boots patched up? Can’t have someone like yourself lookin’ like yer livin’ off tha streets,” You gazed down at the black suede, knowing fully well they were tattered beyond return.

“No thank you, I have little coin to spare, and am equipped with a needle and thread myself,” The man did not look like the sort you’d trust to repair anything. He was scarred, war torn, and brash. His red beard was caked with dirt, bits of food clinging to the ends.You didn’t believe such chubby, calloused fingers could even hold a needle. It was more likely he was a thief, pretending he owned the shop as he stood in front of the door, taking payments and items from unsuspecting victims until the merchant came to scurry them away. You did not offer the chance for him to reply, simply carrying on your way. You had business to attend to, after all.

It was by chance that the discarded paper ended up in your path. On that treacherous walk home from the pub, it stood in your path like a beacon. Perhaps this was some deity giving you a second chance with your mistake soon to come. “Lovecraft: Potions and Vulneraries” it read in pink lettering. It had been torn at the edges, footprints having left their mark on it, but you still tucked the page in your pocket. Perhaps you knew all along that you’d need it.

The wooden sign creaked in the wind, tugging at its chain links, the peeling paint threatening to join the wind and it’s journeys. Red bricks were chipped, but it certainly had its charm. It was wedged between a bakery and a magical equipment suppliers shop. The thump of tomes being tossed on the counter could be heard through a cracked window pane, coins being tossed into palms and the scurry of yet another mage to be purchasing the essentials. Fresh bread could be smelled in the air, sweeping its way across the street. It warmed your bones. You walked up the steps, lightly dusted with snow, its pristine placing showed no signs of anyone visiting within the past hour. You heard a small chime as you pushed the splintered door open. The heavy floral, herbal scent hit you like a wave. Various coloured bottles lined the shelves, dried basil leaves dangling from the ceiling. Wax candles that spilled over, dripping onto the shop counter flickered at the breeze that drifted in along with you.

“Welcome! What can I help you with?” a voice called out. The man, standing behind the counter fiddling away with the soft petals of a sunflower, turned around. He lowered the burgundy hood on his cloak to reveal a soft, round face, hair as white as the snowflakes flitting about outside, bits of pink clinging to the ends. Perhaps it was some kind of pollen from a flower he utilized? You wondered about how he’d achieved the mix of hair colours, but quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of your head. It wasn’t all that important at the moment. The boy seemed quite young, not much older than yourself, if at all. With his age, he was most likely an apprentice. It was usually men and women in their late teens and older who ran shops, seeing as how the younger generation typically couldn’t afford to start up their own shops.

“I’m looking for the owner of this shop, would he be around perchance?” You questioned. You were always wary of apprentice apothecaries. They had quite a knack for creating potions that backfired in the form of bodily alterations that can’t be undone, using their craft as a guise to create aphrodisiacs that they’d slip into ladies’ drinks at the pubs, having bottles combust because they couldn’t be bothered to check what fumes would be emitted, and how they’d fill the glass until they burst…

“That’d be me,” He pointed to himself, looking slightly dejected. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“I-I’m so sorry!” You blurted. “I’m just used to shop owners being much older, and you look quite young…”

“That’s to be expected,” Placing down the mortar and pestle he’d been using, he walked around the counter, leaning up against the front of it casually. “I...Kind of inherited this place from my teacher, that’s why someone as inexperienced as me is running it,” You could sense that something grave had happened to him by the way the man’s tone dropped.

“Oh… If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to him?” You tried to evade asking him if his teacher had died, point blank. Instead choosing to give him a bone, and let him tell you as much as he wished. It wasn’t exactly polite to be inquiring about such a personal story, but you did wish to know why such a young looking guy was running a shop.

“He passed away a few years ago. The cause was unknown... “ His mint eyes darted down to floorboards, his foot playing with a loose one that was near ready to pop out. “But in his will, he gave everything he owned to me. Shop included. I just decided to keep carrying on practicing what I’d been taught, so here I am, running my own place,”

“I’m so sorry… About your loss, I mean,”

“Thank you for your condolences,” He smiled sadly. You figured his teacher must have been dear to him, seeing as how he acted as though he’d passed away a few weeks ago rather than a few years. “But all that aside, what can I help you with today miss?”

“I’ve… Found myself in a bit of a predicament, you see,” Averting your eyes, you took sudden interest in a stray thread on your cloak. It was embarrassing to tell your story, it was foolish that your answer wasn’t as easy as “go out and make friends”. You’d never been able to form close bonds with anyone who wasn’t family. It wasn’t that you were unkind, or deemed a monstrosity by society, but rather… A lack of connection. There was never any sort of click that went off when you spoke to people. Everyone always seemed at a distance. Civil to you, but it was like you were a minor character in a book. One who appeared for a page or two to fill up a moment, to hurry along the plot, and then you were abandoned by the writer. You were certain it had to do with the curse your parents whispered about in the night. It was only ever bits and pieces that you heard, but you knew the truth, deep down. Someone, somewhere, had cursed you to never find companionship. Not among friends, not among lovers. You could only wish you knew why or whom. It took an exorbitant amount of time and effort to learn how to curse. Anyone who wished to learn how would’ve required a deep seated motivation to curse someone. You never did let your parents know that you knew about this curse. You didn’t want them to feel sorry for you, so instead, you focused on your studies into divination rather than making friends, quickly being able to accel in your field. Taking on the guise of a cheerful studious girl, you were able to ease their worries, if only a little bit.

“I’m a fortune teller you see, and I accidentally read my own fortune, and my fate… Was not good to say in the least,”

“How do you accidentally read your own fate?” He questioned, confusion laced in his voice. Truthfully, it was an odd thing to say. Reading fortunes was a long, drawn out process, not something done with the flick of the wrist.

“I was a drunken mess, and it’s my personal vow to never tell my own future, but, well… Rum really gets to you, doesn’t it?” His face was skeptical, seeming as though he was analyzing your tale for lies.

“So what about your fate?”

“The cards foretold of a horrid future. One where I am alone for eternity, no companions, no family, no lovers. All that awaits me due to my isolation, is ruin at my own core.” You truthfully wished that this was a jest by the gods, however, cards did not lie. This, you strongly believed, was a warning. “I don’t wish to succumb to a fate like this, so I was wondering if there was perhaps a potion of some sort that could help me?”

“You’re an odd one, you believe in fate, yet you think it can be changed?” You’d piqued his interest. Why would someone who practices divination say the complete opposite of where their beliefs should lie?

“Destiny is not absolute.” You could go on for hours about your thoughts on fate, but you didn’t want to bore him with your long winded explanations. He nodded at this, you weren’t sure if it was of acceptance of your answer, or agreement.

“I might have something, give me a moment,” Turning his back to you, he walked into a nearby backroom, leaving you by yourself while he sifted through glass bottles. Grasping a nearby vulnerary, you examined it’s bring blue contents. An scrawled label read “Bane of Phobetor”. Carefully popping the cork, you sniffed at it’s contents. It smelled of the sickly sweet cough syrup your mother used to give you as a child, the kind that stuck in your throat, and you could taste with every swallow. Just what was this for? How much was it? This boy had a lot to learn about running a shop if he couldn’t even attach price tags and descriptions to the oddly named vials. You shook your head, sending melting snow flying off your cloak.

“Here it is!” The boy emerged with a heart-shaped bottle in hand. It was filled with a bright pink colour. The dim candle light caught on the glass, reflecting it in your direction. “This is one I’ve been working on for some time now, it’s called Aphrodite’s Blessing.” He shook the bottle gently, swirling it’s contents about. “I’m warning you though, it hasn’t been properly tested on anyone yet,” You weren’t sure how to feel, taking an untested potion. By an unexperienced apprentice who had his shop given to him by his deceased teacher, no less. But was this your only hope to save yourself?

“What’s the intended effect?” You inquired.

“I designed it to draw love and companionship to the user, a love potion, essentially.”

“So what, I’m supposed to take this and prince charming will pop up out of nowhere and save my pathetic soul for eternity?” As silly as his explanation sounded, you were desperate. You’d already sought counselling, you’d spoken to those in your field about your predicament, and none could offer any help. Would this be powerful enough to combat the curse you were bestowed upon? You’d heard of certain potions being taken daily to combat effects of a curse, but overcoming your own would depend on the unknown strength of the curse, and the apothecary’s potion.

“Not quite,” He laughed. “I created it out of accident. I was originally trying to create something that would bring my long lost twin brother back to my side, but I found the creation seemed to show promise of helping new relationships form well.”

“I thought you said it hadn’t been tested, so how did you come to that conclusion?”

“I tested the original formula on myself, but since then, I’ve done some alterations. I changed the intention to focus on helping the lonely souls of the world rather than trying to bring people back,”

“I see…” Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to bear any ill will. His aura was not malicious in the slightest. You were at your wits end, and even though you were wary, it didn’t seem like you had much a choice in the matter. You were doomed if you didn’t take it, so might as well try your luck with taking it.

“How much?”

He was a bit taken back, startled that you’d try it. He was expecting a solid no, and for you to carry on your way.

“Um...Actually, I can give it to you for free, for a favour,” It had to be a hefty kind of favour in return for the cure-all that you were about to receive, you thought.

“What kind of favour?”

“I’d like to study the effects of this on you so I can properly document its properties,” A reasonable request, after all, he said this batch hadn’t been tested. You would help him in his craft, and if this potion worked, you wouldn’t face a future of loneliness. “You’d just need to stop in a few times a week so I can record any changes to you,” This bargain wasn’t sounding too bad at all. And you’d get to see him again, he was kind of cute, you had to admit.

“I’ll do it...” You muttered.

“A-Are you sure? You don’t need to if you don’t want to,” He stumbled over his words, worrying he’d pressured you into making a decision in his favour. As eager as he was, he didn’t wish you to do something you weren’t comfortable with.

“No, this is my only chance at obtaining happiness. I want to try it,”

“Alright.” Placing the vial in your palms, he began to recite a list of instructions. “Ingest this once daily, if you can use a rose quartz spoon that would be best for enhancing the intention. Don’t mix it with other vulneraries, as we don’t know the effects yet. Stop taking it if you feel there’s something wrong, and let me know immediately. I have other potions for healing purposes should something go haywire,” You nodded, trying to mentally jot down the grand list of things to remember.

“So when would you like me to stop by again?”

“Maybe in two or three days? That should be enough time for the effects to begin.”

“Alright then, I shall see you soon then, um… What is your name, by the way?”

“It’s Saeran. Saeran Choi. Yours?” You gave him your name, and smiled as it rolled off his tongue. “Good to meet you miss, well, enjoy the rest of your day,” You waved as you opened the door to the brisk temperatures, braving them once again. You hugged the bottle tightly to your chest as if to protect it from the chill. You raced home, dodging the people scuttling about the streets.

Quickly, you shut the wooden door behind you, locking out the frigid cold. You placed Aphrodite’s Blessing on your nightstand, watching as condensation formed on the outside. A gentle finger swiping at the droplets, as if brushing away its tears. You finally, finally had some hope to save yourself. Far too long had you lived a lonely life, only thankful that the curse was not strong enough to shake the bonds you held with your parents. If the curse couldn’t totally isolate you, that meant this potion might be strong enough to overcome it. Maybe you’d find comfort in the arms of the bartender, perhaps that sweet lady with the glasses at the bank would look your way more than once, who knew what could be around the corner if this worked?

You began sifting through a drawer to find that rose quartz spoon you knew you had. It was quite common to have a few crystal utensils these days, they were useful for things such as enchantments and basic magic practice of any type. You thought it was wonderful that the common folk had learned enchantments, and that they’d become widely known to all. It was one of the simplest forms of witchcraft, and finally it was being taught to those who weren’t among the elite.

“Ah, there it is,” You tugged it from underneath an old altar cloth. Taking it to your sink, you quickly rinsed it of any dust.

The cork made a pop as you opened it. The smell of the concoction was sickly sweet, an overwhelming floral scent. You could smell the rosehip, the violet, the basil, all his ingredients mixing together. Tentatively, you poured a small amount into the spoon. It had the viscosity of a light syrup, but didn’t seem to be sticky. It was rather oily, as your rubbed a small amount between your thumb and index finger. You gulped down the spoonful, not trying to savour it’s taste. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but you weren’t a fan of barely flavoured cheap bubblegum. You weren’t sure if the slightly buttery taste was from a pollen, or if it was added to make the potion more bearable to drink, but nonetheless, you appreciated that Saeran had tried to add some more favourable flavours to it.

You sat, as if waiting for some form of instantaneous change. In the back of your mind however, you knew change would take it’s time, and all you had to do was go about your life and let Saeran record any changes. You did admit though, you felt a little warmer inside. Was it the excitement? The fear of the unknown? It was hard to say.

After placing your cards and gems on the windowsill to charge under the moonlight, you tucked yourself underneath the heavy quilt, eager to wake tomorrow and begin witnessing the change to come.

“Dear child, you know this won’t work,” Your head turned abruptly in the direction of the voice. “I am darkness itself, why do you think his potions will cure you?”

“Who are you?” You called out. You could only see a silhouette, a dark, toxic aura emanating from the person.

“Darkness, did I not already state that? But you, oh, such a sweet, foolish child of mine… You’ll soon see why your fate was such. The tower is not always such a bad card to pull.”

“Reveal yourself! What do you know about me?” You screamed, too afraid to take a step towards the figure. Why did they know your fate, and how did they know one of the cards you pulled?

“Why would I do that? My fun would end all too soon. I’ll enjoy seeing you put together these pieces my silly child,”

“What are you talking about?”

“Me. You. The apothecaries. We’re all connected, you’ll see. And you, you’ll be my finest child yet. You’ll see. Good luck out there, darling,” The figure offered you no chance to respond, to inquire any more. Waving a bleak hand, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, sunlight pouring through your window.

You grabbed the notebook sitting beside you, scribbling down anything you could remember from your dream. Hand, something about Saeran, total darkness, a child…. Whatever this was, you’re sure it had a deeper meaning. Dreams often could be used in divination, but this… Was so vivid. Could it be a side effect of Aphrodite’s Blessing? Is there someone trying to tell you something? Your subconscious? Only time and a consultation with your local potions dealer could tell. You placed the pen down, feeling the dream fading away from your memories, your consciousness becoming more aware of reality. You tried to forget the feeling of panic coursing through you, that the reasoning for became less and less clear as you woke. It was just a dream, right?

Well, it was time for another dose of the potion anyways.

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