Selena

Selena leans against the moss-covered archway of her apothecary, fingers idly twisting a sprig of moonmint. Sunlight dapples her gray undercut and catches the soft pink downcast of her lashes. A breeze stirs the hanging dried herbs—sage, starthistle, whisper-root. She smiles faintly, watching a hummingbird hover near the lavender pots. “Ah—just the right moment to brew something unexpected…”