The soft aroma of an herbal concoction wafted airily through Anessa and Miriam’s kitchen from a steaming pot, tickling Angeline’s nose. She was watching over the place in the absence of her two friends, and was seated lethargically at the dining table feeling rather unpleasantly like her head was made of lead. She remained immobile simply because it seemed too bothersome to do anything else. What’s more, it was like a veil had been cast over her consciousness, and everything felt hazy and indistinct. She couldn’t even say she felt sleepy, just torpid.
Angeline had felt at the time that messing around with Marguerite had restored a bit of her good mood, but once she lay down in bed at night she’d been greeted by one of those strange dreams again. When she’d awoken, she’d found her pillow was wet and cold from tears she had shed in her sleep, and she was gripped by profound sorrow. Her breathing had been labored, and her throat had felt inflamed. But even with these visceral reactions, she couldn’t remember a single detail of what she’d seen. Only the smoldering emotions remained in her heart. Hence her sluggishness and why she hadn’t bothered to go see Ishmael. Instead, she had dragged herself over to her friends’ house and was now stewing in her fugue at their dining table.
The door opened with a clacking sound, admitting Miriam into the room with a shopping basket dangling from one arm. She frowned at the sight of Angeline still in that state and hurried over to gently pat her on the back. Angeline flopped down onto the table from even that little force.
“C’mon, Ange, get a hold of yourself...” Miriam said as she used her fingers to massage Angeline’s back.
“Urrrgh,” Angeline groaned and stirred. “That...actually feels pretty nice.”
“Huh? Really? Hmm, you must be pretty fatigued.”
Miriam furnished herbs, nuts, and berries from her basket. She seemed keen on making something to lull Angeline into a peaceful slumber. Angeline heaved a deep sigh and lifted herself up to talk with Miriam.
“Merry, do you know what you’re doing? Have you ever made a potion before...?”
“I’m a magician, you know. The hag did show me the ropes.”
“But in all the requests we’ve done together, I’ve never seen your handmade potions...”
“It... It will be fine. I have a recipe!” Miriam declared, pulling a heavy book from the shelf and opening it on the table. “See, right here. Compounding for a good night’s rest. This will put your lights out.”
“Will it really work? I was thinking about consulting Mr. Ishmael...”
“Hmm... I admit, I’m not as good at brewing potions as a research magician. But I do dream of entering the field someday. There’s no reason I can’t do it, you hear! Now please, trust in your friend.” Miriam was pouting as she went into the kitchen for ingredients. Angeline giggled softly and laid her chin down on the table again. It was nice and cool and very comfortable to the touch.
They’re just dreams...
Angeline had experienced numerous life-or-death struggles with powerful high-ranking fiends, and yet it was something like this that was getting to her. How pathetic... Why am I like this? she lamented. Without the energy to pull herself together, she was at a loss for what to do about it.
The smell wafting through the air changed into something rather peculiar. It was completely unfamiliar to her yet strangely calming. Whenever she had visited a magician’s house before, it would generally have some sort of aroma in the air. Those who made medicine had homes that smelled of herbs and balms, while enchanter’s homes would smell of ores and aromatic woods. This scent reminded her of some of those houses she’d visited before.
“How has Maria been lately?” Angeline murmured.
Angeline hadn’t seen Maria ever since they’d met at Elmer’s library. She seemed to have grasped on to a lead, but after she’d begun to fight with Elmer, the rest of the group had swiftly taken their leave.
Miriam returned from the kitchen with an earthen pot. “Okay, this should do it. Hot dish coming through!”
“Mm-hmm.” Angeline absentmindedly dodged out of the way as Miriam set it on the table. There was steam billowing out of the top, and she could tell just from the smell that it was made of all sorts of things.
“Drink this, and you should sleep soundly tonight,” Miriam said, and she poured some of the concoction into a cup. It was a brownish green color, but it wasn’t murky—it was clear enough that she could faintly make out the grain of the wooden cup.
Angeline tried a sip—bitter, but not as bad as cheap potions. The smell wasn’t too bad, but it didn’t help the flavor much. She was drinking it with a sour look on her face when Miriam seemed to recall something.
Rushing off to the kitchen again, she returned with a vial of honey. “If you add some of this...”
“You should have brought it out earlier...” Angeline wearily poured some honey into the cup. The sweetness offset the bitterness a little, enough that it went down easier now. Angeline blew on it and slowly sipped it down bit by bit. Drinks like these really did help put her at ease. She leaned back in her chair, which made a creaking noise.
Meanwhile, Miriam went back to the stove to heat up some milk and poured some into a cup with some honey. “Phew, nice and sweet!”
“Yours looks better than mine...”
“You can’t, Ange—don’t you want a good night’s sleep?”
“I think warm milk would help...”
“Are you saying my medicine doesn’t work? Hmmmm?” Miriam demanded, theatrically stamping her feet.
Angeline giggled. “Whatever I might drink...it’s still a little too early to sleep.”
“How about an afternoon nap? We have a spare bed.”
“Hmm...” Angeline mulled over that offer. It was just about the right time for a nap, and if she buried her head in a fluffy pillow now, she knew that sleep would take her in no time at all. She could hold her own against any S-Rank fiend, but she knew she stood no chance against a nap. “I’ll refrain. Otherwise, I might not be able to sleep tonight.”
“You think so? Well, your choice.” Miriam emptied a paper bag of cookies onto a plate. “But, if you’re like this, it looks like we’re going to be spending the winter in Turnera again.”
“Hmm...” Angeline was concerned about the possibility. Not that she minded the idea—it wouldn’t be the first time she had dreamed of it herself—but she also got the feeling that staying so long and returning so frequently would cheapen the special feeling of her beloved home.