It was a crisp, refreshing autumn afternoon.
The street bustled with people. Despite the grime creeping deep into the cobblestones and the ramshackle state of the buildings lined up and down the market, there was no denying this place was full of life. Children chased wooden rings up and down the street, hollering in such a high pitch that anyone passing by winced. Drunkards stumbled in the dark alleyways, swigging from glass bottles. People moseyed up and down the street, stopping at market stands here to buy fresh produce from just outside the city, crowding around a singing street performer there. In and out of storefronts people streamed, picking up medicines and eggs and fabrics for their families.
One shop in particular had a long line snaking out of it. The shop had a rickety wooden sign hanging over the door: Every-Herb Apothecary, it read. If you stood outside the window, you could see that the line wound inside up to a wooden counter. Behind the wooden counter stood a wall covered in shelves and bottles. And in front of the shelves and bottles scurried around a young woman like a frantic cat.
The young woman had amethyst hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. She wore an apron covered in pockets over her hemp dress, and a golden necklace glinted on her neck. Surely it couldn't be real gold. No one on the outskirts of Ymvik could afford that kind of wealth—and if they ever received it, they'd sell it right away. As the young woman ran around the counter grabbing bottles, handing them out to customers, and sweeping their coins off the counter and into her apron, an old woman in the line whispered loudly and obnoxiously enough for everyone inside to hear:
"Look at her. Hardly keeping on top of this place…Geuman business owners just don't have it in them…"
The people around the old woman all either shot her dirty looks or stepped away from her.
"She's a good one," a young man snapped. "Don't lump her in with the rest."
"Do you know how much Misoon's done for all of us? Shame!"
The old woman looked mortified, as though she had expected everyone to agree with her. She quickly shuffled out of the shop, jostling and irritating at least a dozen people in the process.
The young woman, Misoon, ignored all of this. She crouched down and nimbly grabbed a round glass bottle with a murky red substance inside, popping up and handing it to the next customer.
"Your cold remedy. Ten coppers." She swept the coppers into her bag and continued on. Working, working, working. By the time the sun began to set, the line had at last dwindled to just a few people, and her potion stock was looking rather pitiful. When she'd at last ushered the last customer out the door and flipped over the "CLOSED" sign, she leaned against the door and sighed, shoulders sagging in relief.
What a busy day…I know cold season is starting, but holy hell…
But there was little time to rest. Misoon locked the door, tightened her apron, dumped all the coins into a large coin purse in the back room of the shop, then proceeded to lug various bags and jars of ingredients out of the pantry and onto the table next to her cauldron. Wormwood, garlic, turmeric, lotus seeds, hawthorn, dried magnolia buds…Everything necessary to brew and restock her most popular potions for tomorrow. She'd need at least fifty cold remedies…a few dozen pain relievers…a few nightmare suppressants…
Misoon poured a small mountain of lotus seeds across the tabletop, picking out a few of the deformed ones. She could use those for curses. One of the seeds rolled off the table. Misoon bent down to pick it up.
"What the hell—?!"