Rue set her jaw, determination and frustration coiling inside her like wild vines. "How can I be a proper apprentice with those jars in such a state?" she protested, the words bursting out before she could hold them back.

  Granny Thorn's eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Proper, is it?" she mused, relenting with a nod. "Very well. But mind you don't touch a thing without asking first."

  Rue grinned, a radiant bloom of hope and eagerness, as she followed Granny Thorn to the cellar stairs.

  They descended once more into the earthy smell and looming shelves. Rue's thoughts were a whirlwind of anticipation, her earlier frustration giving way to a thrill of new discovery. How many secrets could one cellar hold? And how long would it take to uncover them all?

  Granny Thorn led the way, her movements brisk and assured, despite her age and the cramped space. “Let’s start with the way we sort. We use the old way,” she said, gesturing to a cluttered section of the cellar. “No labels, just scent.”

  Rue blinked, trying to imagine how this could work. “We smell them?”

  “Without opening,” Granny Thorn instructed. She picked up a jar, its surface dusty and worn. “Waft, don’t sniff. Like this.” She showed Rue the careful motion, a flick of the wrist that sent the jar’s aroma toward them without breaking the seal. “Just in case.”

  Some reagents and herbs were poisonous, even deadly, even if only smelled. Rue knew this from her studies.

  She watched intently, then imitated the gesture. A rich, calming fragrance drifted to her nose, and she grinned, setting the jar in a pile.

  “Very good,” Granny Thorn said, her tone approving. “Now sort them. Calming, sweet, spicy, pungent.”

  Rue dove into the task, her earlier questions momentarily forgotten in the excitement of the work. The cellar felt alive with possibility, the air filled with scents that mingled in surprising ways. She moved between the shelves, sorting jars with growing confidence, a dance of curiosity and concentration. Light filtered through the tiny window, casting faint, shifting patterns on the stone floor.

  A large cobweb stretched across one corner, and Rue brushed past it, shuddering but undeterred. The jars began to form distinct groups, each a reflection of the old woman's unique system. Rue paused to catch her breath, a sense of accomplishment warming her despite the cellar’s chill.

  But her triumph was short-lived. As she reached for a jar perched precariously on a shelf, she misjudged the distance. Her elbow nudged another jar labeled “Wigglewort,” and it toppled over, spilling its contents onto a broom leaning nearby.

  Rue gasped, reaching to right the fallen jar. She didn’t see the broom twitch, its wooden handle vibrating slightly. She didn’t see it rise, floating upright as if held by invisible hands. Then it began sweeping at her feet, quick and relentless, sending her stumbling back in surprise.

  “Ah!” Rue exclaimed, caught off guard as the broom whisked around her, its bristles brushing her ankles and legs.

  Granny Thorn chuckled, watching the spectacle with amused detachment. “Wigglewort,” she said, shaking her head with mock disapproval. “That’s a potent batch, it seems.”

  The broom’s antics knocked Rue off balance, and she landed with a soft thud, laughter and disbelief mingling as the broom continued its vigorous dance around her.

  “Spirited, isn’t it?” Granny Thorn observed, reaching over to still the animated broom with a practiced spell. It fell lifelessly to the floor, the remnants of Wigglewort powder scattering like dust.

  Rue sat up, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming in quick bursts. “That was—” she began, words failing her as she tried to comprehend the absurdity of it all.

  “Still want to sort the old jars?” Granny Thorn asked, helping her to her feet.

  Rue nodded, a lopsided smile on her face. She dusted herself off, her determination renewed. This was only the beginning, and she was ready for whatever surprises came next.

  “Let's move on to the jars that need relabeling, then.” Her elderly mentor shuffled off, deeper into the cellar. “Keep an eye out for illegible labels or those that will soon be.”

  “Is the cellar larger than the upstairs?” Rue asked, falling into step behind her. But Granny Thorn simply shrugged.

  Once they reached the jars that had not been labeled Granny began to list off the names of the jars' contents as Rue wrote on the stickers she had brought with her from the capital. Flowers, herbs, and trees danced across the sheets, each one a small promise of organization.

  Next she began labeling the jars, the cheerful designs brightening the cellar and her mood. Granny Thorn watched with a mixture of amusement and concern as Rue's new system took shape. "That's an old label, dear," she finally said, taking a jar Rue had labeled with a daisy, copying the name from the old, faded label. "This contains Moonwort, which once called itself Sunbright until it renamed itself during the Dim Summer. If you sorted by smell, this would never have been an issue."

  Rue's hand paused halfway through peeling a sticker off her sheet, a mix of curiosity and confusion. “Renamed itself?”

  Granny Thorn chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with the light of a story untold. “Some ingredients can be very particular about what they're called and may change with the seasons, the weather, even their moods.”

  Rue's imagination caught fire, each jar now a potential mystery waiting to be unraveled. “So you mean they just... decide? How do you know when they change their name?”

  “Decide, they do,” Granny Thorn confirmed, replacing the daisy sticker with a moon label. “Sometimes it's a subtle shift in color or shape that can tip you off. Other times you can tell by smelling or listening. Either way, reagents will take on new lives when they're done with their old ones.”

  Rue shook her head in wonder, her stickers momentarily forgotten. “I thought I had it all figured out.”

  Granny Thorn patted her shoulder, her touch as gentle as the smile on her lips. “The day you figure it all out is the day you stop paying attention to the details. Never stop paying attention to the details. Go on then, and write it all down.”

  Rue set to work, her quill flying over the pages of her notebook. She jotted down each of Granny Thorn's words, the story of the herb unfolding with every line.

  “Granny, what's a dim summer?” Her quill had stalled as the question formed in her mind.

  “I like to name the seasons. Helps an old lady pass the time. Dim Summer was particularly cloudy and dull,” Granny Thorn mused, watching Rue with fondness. “Nothing else to do but change names, I suppose.”

  Rue's laugh was a burst of joy in the dusty air, her earlier frustration melting away. “I can hardly keep up with you.”

  “You're doing fine, girl,” Granny Thorn assured, turning back to the shelves. The chaos seemed less daunting, the endless rows of jars now small worlds of discovery.

  They continued their work, the cellar an echo of their voices and the scratch of Rue's quill. Dust motes danced in the light from tiny windows, each one a spark of inspiration for Rue's curious mind.

  Then, behind a cluster of mismatched bottles, they discovered a dusty jar that stopped Rue in her tracks. It was filled with a swirling silver substance, its surface alive with patterns that shifted and flowed like liquid moonlight. Rue stared, captivated by its beauty and mystery.

  “Be careful with that one,” Granny Thorn cautioned, her voice tinged with urgency. But Rue was already reaching for it, her fascination overriding her caution.

  The lid slipped in her hands, and the jar popped open with a sharp hiss. A silver wind burst free, a rush of energy that whipped around the cellar in a dizzying spiral.

  “Oh!” Rue exclaimed, trying to catch the escaping magic with her bare hands. It danced beyond her reach, moving with a life of its own.

  “I suppose opening all the jars is one way to learn about different reagents,” Granny Thorn remarked, watching as the wind found its target: a forgotten curtain hanging in the corner. The silver current wound itself around the fabric, filling it with unnatural life.

  “I'm sorry! I'll catch it!”

  The curtain billowed and twisted, taking on a ghostly form. It loomed over them, its movements both graceful and menacing.

  Rue's eyes widened, her heart a thrilling mix of excitement and alarm. “What is it?”

  “A bit of wind and imagination. Some might call it a ghost,” Granny Thorn replied, her tone almost amused. The curtain ghost moaned softly, its voice an echo of the wind's lonely call.

  Rue reached for the fabric, trying to catch the wayward specter. It eluded her grasp, swooping dramatically around the cellar.

  Her laughter mingled with the ghost's windy song, a chorus of chaos and delight. In one moment, the curtain ghost fluttered close, teasingly within reach before the next sent it spiraling away. Rue chased it with abandon, her notebook and quill forgotten.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Granny Thorn watched the spectacle, her hands on her hips and a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Careful, girl,” she warned, though her voice held no real worry.

  The ghost's path was wild and unpredictable, knocking jars askew as it circled the room. Rue ducked and dodged, her giggles echoing through the confined space.

  It was a dance of magic and mishap, each turn more exuberant than the last. The ghost seemed to revel in its freedom, a silver streak against the cellar's shadows.

  Rue was breathless, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of it all. The ghost veered unexpectedly, sending her sprawling onto a soft pile of herbs.

  The crash was as spectacular as it was inevitable, a whirlwind of dried leaves and silver wind. Rue lay amidst the chaos, her hair tangled and her smile triumphant.

  Granny Thorn shook her head, her amusement clear. “Got a lively one there.”

  The ghost hovered, its form still and expectant. Rue scrambled to her feet, more determined than ever.

  She grabbed for the animated curtain, finally managing to catch a corner. The fabric was cool and slippery in her hands, like holding a wisp of smoke.

  The wind seemed to sigh, a sound of resignation and surrender. Rue's grip tightened, her victory close at hand.

  The curtain ghost gave one last flutter, then stilled in her grasp. Rue laughed, a bright peal of success, and held her prize aloft.

  Granny Thorn raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. “Managed that well enough.”

  Rue beamed, her spirits soaring like the ghost before its capture. She caught her breath, her laughter subsiding into a satisfied chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d actually catch it!”

  As if in reply, the curtain settled into its former limpness, the silver wind fleeing back into the corners of the cellar. Rue was left with the empty fabric.

  Granny Thorn approached, her smile softening with pride. “Catching the curtain is lucky. But catching the ghost? That takes skill.”

  Together, they hung the now lifeless curtain back in its place. Rue marveled at how something so ordinary could hold such unexpected magic.

  “Take a breather. We'll jar it again, once it settles,” Granny Thorn said, the weight of the task seeming light in the wake of their shared triumph.

  ?.??* :?????°?????. ?? ?????????: *.???

  Ten minutes later, Rue was ready to continue the hunt.

  The silver wind had left a shimmering trail across the cellar, a glittering reminder of the adventure. Rue followed it, as silently as she could. But just as she was about to reach the end of the trail, the ghost resumed its frantic flight, looping and diving as Rue watched in awe. It knocked more jars from the shelves, each one toppling with a dull thud as Rue ducked for cover.

  Granny Thorn remained calm, reaching into her apron pocket for a small pouch of cinnamon powder. Her voice, usually firm and brisk, turned surprisingly sweet as she began to sing a lullaby. She sprinkled cinnamon in a circle around herself and Rue, the soft, soothing notes drawing the ghost closer. Its edges began to soften, its movements slowing as Granny Thorn's song filled the cellar.

  The lullaby was a gentle hum that seemed to resonate with the quiet power of old magic. Rue listened, captivated by this unexpected side of Granny Thorn, her amazement as profound as her relief. The ghost's silver threads fluttered softly, drawn to the enchanting melody.

  The ghost dipped lower, its once-wild form turning limp and forlorn. Rue found herself tapping her foot in the rhythm of Granny's song to keep herself awake. Each note was like a promise of calm and order.

  The silver wind sagged, a picture of exhaustion and surrender. It swayed like a tired dancer, unable to resist the spell of Granny's voice.

  “It's working,” Rue breathed, barely able to believe it. The ghost had been such a whirlwind of chaos, and now it floated listlessly, tamed by the old woman's magic.

  Granny Thorn nodded, motioning for Rue to retrieve the jar from the nearby shelf. The ghost drooped even lower, its movements reduced to a slow, dreamy drift.

  Rue marveled at the transformation, her awe growing with each passing moment. The ghost was subdued, its silver wind wrapping itself gently into a circle like a kitten in repose.

  Rue walked for the jar, but the closer she got to it, the harder it was to remember why she was walking toward it. What was the jar even for? Shirley it could wait until morning.

  Rue decided to take a moment, and sat down on the cold, stone floor. It really was getting late. It must have been after midnight by now.

  She rested her head in her hands, allowing her eyes to close, just for a moment.

  The next thing she knew she felt something tap her on her back. There was the sound of beautiful music. Someone was singing, another tap, this time on the forehead. And hard!

  “Hey,” Rue said groggily, “That hurt!” Rue moved her hand to stop whoever it was from waking her but her hand grasped something thin and hard.

  With great effort she peeled her eyes open to see what she held. It was a sandal. And there was another one beside her. She thought she recognized them.

  It was... Oh who wore sandals like that? Granny... Granny Thorn!

  Suddenly she remembered what she was meant to be doing. She looked behind her and spotted Granny, sans sandal, still singing in a circle of cinnamon—a circle Rue now realized she was no longer in—and pointing at the jar nearby.

  Before the lullaby could work its magic on her a second time, Rue hopped to her feet, grabbed the jar, and sprinted back to the cinnamon circle.

  Granny Thorn took the jar and knelt gracefully next to the creature, the last notes of the lullaby fading into the stillness. The ghost was now just a soft heap on the floor, its mischief spent and its energy dissolved.

  Rue felt a wave of admiration as she watched Granny Thorn scoop the silver wind back into its jar with practiced movements. The silver wind flowed willingly, content to return to its glass prison.

  The jar glowed softly as the last wisp of silver was sealed inside. Rue let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, a laugh of relief escaping her lips.

  “That was... incredible,” Rue said, her voice breathless with admiration.

  “Got a few tricks left on these old bones,” Granny Thorn replied with a wink, the warmth in her tone unmistakable, as she retrieved her sandals.

  Rue's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and excitement. “I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—”

  Granny Thorn waved off the apology with a gentle laugh. “Every apprentice makes mistakes. The good ones learn from them.”

  Rue nodded, her determination redoubled. This was a world she wanted to be part of, even with its unpredictability and challenges.

  “And that's already three for you,” the old woman added with a grin. “Let's be extra careful we don't make any more learning experiences today.” Granny Thorn began to walk deeper into the cellar. “Now, I think there are more jars that need labeling this way.”

  Rue followed Granny Thorn into the maze of storage shelves. She found herself wondering again at the cellar's size. It seemed to expand impossibly, narrow passages stretching between towering shelves that weren't visible from the entrance.

  As she became distracted by more interesting jars, she soon lost sight of Granny Thorn and found herself in a section where the jars were covered in strange symbols instead of labels. The air felt different here—heavier, older.

  “Granny Thorn?” There was no reply.

  As Rue turned to retrace her steps, a jar began to hum softly, playing a tune she recognized from her childhood at the orphanage. Confusion swept over her, goosebumps rising on her arms as she followed the sounds of the humming jar.

  It felt surreal, a piece of her past haunting the present in a way she couldn't comprehend. The melody was sweet and familiar, tugging at memories she thought she'd left behind. Rue hesitated, the jar's song a gentle echo that wrapped around her like a half-remembered dream.

  Her heart pounded with a mix of wonder and uncertainty. Why would a jar hum? How could a jar know a tune from so far away? Rue's curiosity flared, a bright spark that outshone her confusion.

  She moved closer, the song growing clearer with each step. Her breath caught in her throat, the tune resonating with an intimacy that felt both comforting and eerie.

  Rue's hand reached for the jar, her fingers trembling with anticipation. It seemed to pulse with life, its surface cool and inviting beneath the dust. She reached for it, her fingers trembling with the thrill of discovery. As she lifted it, something caught Rue's eye: Her name was written on the label, worn and faded.

  Her heart skipped a beat, a mix of confusion and curiosity rising within her.

  Granny Thorn's form stepped into the view at the end of the row of shelves. “Do try to keep up, girl. Best not to get lost in all these corners. They're deeper than you think.”

  “What's this?” Rue asked, turning to her with wide eyes.

  Granny's firm expression changed instantly, replaced by something Rue couldn't quite read. Surprise? Alarm? Whatever it was, it was gone in a flash, replaced by Granny Thorn's usual composure.

  “Oh, just an old thing,” Granny Thorn said, her voice too casual. “Let's not worry about it now.”

  Rue was too intrigued to let it go. “But it has my—”

  “We'd best check the back shelves,” Granny Thorn interrupted, her words hurried. She disappeared deeper into the cellar, once again leaving Rue with more questions than answers.

  Rue's thoughts were a jumble of wonder and uncertainty. What was in the jar? Was that her name on it or was it just something Granny Thorn regretted? Rue stood frozen for a moment, the jar still in her hands. The space around her felt different, larger and more daunting without Granny Thorn's presence.

  Nevertheless, she placed the jar back on the shelf, her fingers lingering on the glass. Clearly she would not be finding out about it today.

  Granny Thorn's footsteps echoed from the far reaches of the cellar, her figure barely visible between the towering shelves. Rue's pulse quickened. She'd better not get lost again.

  The rest of the day continued on as it had; Granny Thorn giving directions and Rue writing labels and sorting jars. Rue found herself humming the song from her childhood to herself as she worked. Every new shelf brought with it the expectation of finding the grimsap jar again. It seemed to be the only strange jar she hadn't found, but it never appeared.

  Then, Granny Thorn's voice from behind her finally broke the spell. “That's enough for today.”

  Rue jumped, she was so focused on her work she had forgotten the other woman was there wit her.

  “We should leave this lot for another time,” Granny Thorn continued, taking Rue's arm with gentle insistence.

  Rue's mind raced with questions, the melody still playing in her thoughts. “But I was just—”

  Granny Thorn's grip was steady, guiding Rue away from the tempting secrets of the cellar. “By my count, the sun has already gone down. I need to rest and you have to scribble in that diary of yours, right?”

  Rue's protest faltered, her resolve weakened by Granny Thorn's calm authority. She allowed herself to be led back through the labyrinth, the vastness of the space both daunting and thrilling.

  Her mind spun with the day's discoveries, the mysterious jar with her name and the haunting tune at the top of the list.

  The cellar seemed endless, its secrets layered and complex. Rue felt the pull of each one, her curiosity a force that refused to be tamed. There were so many threads to follow, so many questions demanding answers.

  Granny Thorn's presence was a steady anchor, her silence leaving room for Rue's thoughts to run rampant. The old woman's evasions only deepened the intrigue, leaving Rue more determined than ever.

  Together, they climbed the stairs, the familiar world of the cottage a comforting contrast to the mysteries below. Granny Thorn locked the cellar door behind them, the sound a reminder of all that was left unexplored. Rue felt a mix of frustration and excitement, the promise of more secrets yet to come.

  ?.??* :?????°?????. ?? ?????????: *.???

  The evening was cool and inviting, the garden bathed in the soft glow of twilight. Rue settled under the apple tree with her journal, the day's events spinning like a whirlwind in her mind.

  Her pen flew across the pages, each word a reflection of her burning curiosity. The jars, the symbols, the haunting melody—all of it connected, but how? Rue's imagination was a wildfire, consuming her thoughts with an intensity that left her breathless.

  She sketched some the strange markings she'd seen on the jars, the patterns vivid and intriguing. Each line was a question, each curve a riddle begging to be solved.

  Rue's heart was light with hope, her mind alive with the thrill of the unknown. She had barely scratched the surface, but already she felt the pull of the world she longed to understand.

  Rue sat back, her eyes on the stars and her thoughts on the mysteries that filled her with such wonder. The night deepened around her, a blanket of possibilities wrapping her in its embrace.

  She closed her journal with a satisfied sigh, her resolve as bright as the silver wind. There was so much to uncover, so many secrets just beyond her reach.

  Rue felt the thrill of it all, the secrets, the surprises, the magic of life in Bramblehook. Tomorrow would bring new mysteries and new joys, and she was ready for every one of them.

  Or so she thought...