The apothecary chamber smelled of crushed jasmine, damp bark, and dusted roots. Night air whispered through the cracked windowpane, curling around glass jars like ghostly fingers. Camille sat cross-legged on the stone floor, her hands trembling over a basin of moonwater, silver liquid trembling under the sway of candlelight. Her voice was low, murmuring to someone who wasn't there.
"She said I shouldn't have told them. But they needed to know," Camille whispered, eyes fixed on her wavering reflection. Her fingers tightened around a rust-colored herb she no longer remembered picking. "Celeste is watching me now. But she doesn't see it. She never sees it."
The silence answered her.
Then another voice, her voice, but not quite, rose from her throat, sharp and venom-laced. "You're weak. They will burn you like the rest."
