A bout of nostalgia floods her while she studies the display the apothecary has to offer. Océane recognizes the touch of a Mage if she sees one—- There is no doubt in her mind that she could easily find the ingredients here she used to poison her father with. The nostalgia lingers while idle fingers wander the lables that line the shelves She blames the house and the lasting effect it had. She can hear someone approaching, the owner she suspects, she turns, the hint of a smile on her lips.
“ You have an excellent collection, ” she offers “ Do you grow yourself? ” // @sena-clarke










