@pietrouccello / a mol iz di refue erger far der make.
“Back again so soon, Your Eminence?” The flat hadn’t changed in the time since Matilda had first introduced the good doctor; still cramped, with the peeling wallpaper and strings of herbs, and the little window looking over the neighboring roof, which seemed to serve only to allow weak light to spill onto a potted plant. Today, however, there was a thickness to the air, a strange pinkish tint that spilled into the hall through the open door. On the rickety table that was meant to serve both for eating and brewing ( a dangerous practice; perhaps that explained the crumbs in the bedsheets ), a glass container of something boiled merrily away, clinking occasionally as the hardened balls of whatever it was he was creating were tossed up against the sides. It smelled... odd. Sharp and pungent simultaneously, the sort of scent that burned the nose upon entry. “Treatment not working out?”