Potion Shop
Shelves breathe with glass and quiet fire,
vials catching light like held intentions.
Roots curl beside salt and ash,
each jar a lesson learned the hard way.
Candles stand watch, not for spectacle,
but for focus
for the patience it takes to listen
when plants speak softly.
Incense threads the air,
carrying memory, not fantasy.
This is not a place of tricks or theatre,
but of balance, care, and consequence.
Every mixture remembers its source:
soil, bone, leaf, and time.
Nothing here is rushed.
Nothing here is taken without respect.
If you enter, step lightly.
What rests on these shelves
is not magic for sale,
but knowledge earned
and offered only to those
who understand its weight.
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