September 9th, 1895 — Noble's Workshop, Bartonburg

The late summer sun was only just beginning its descent as Rosalie let herself through the garden gate and walked the familiar path towards Noble's workshop. She had hoped to avoid this — had tried to circumvent this by brewing her own potions. Only, her hands wouldn't stop trembling long enough to properly complete the wandwork required and, with no end to this mist in sight, it was unlikely her nerves would settle anytime soon.

Even if the mist did dissipate, there was no telling if those lost to it would return.

She hesistated for only a singular heartbeat before knocking on the closed door. Supper was likely being served now in most households, families gathered around their wide tables would be beginning to offer their thanks for having been spared this latest tragedy. The Hunnifords hadn't been so lucky, though when were they ever? Her fist knocked thrice on the door, her hesitation forgotten due to the panic welling in her chest.

"Mr. Greengrass?" Rosalie called out when she didn't hear footsteps heading towards the door. Part of her was tempted to try the knob and let herself in. She'd helped him often enough to know where his finished batches of potions were, and surely he trusted her enough to know she would never steal from him. She just needed her hands to stop shaking. She just needed to sleep without screaming. "I'm sorry to bother you at this late hour," Rosalie called again after knocking once more.

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