It was supposed to have been a simple trip to the herbalist’s shop — in and out, just as she’d planned. Of course, the day had different ideas for what she could do with that time, and Philomena had ended up attempting to sift through the pile of herbs in front of her.

The most maddening part was that these herbs were quite alike in every way — appearance, smell and texture — except for the most important factor: one was deadly, and the other could be brewed in a simple remedial tisane. She could, of course purchase both, but Phie was feeling particularly critical of herself today, and she was determined to leave with the correct one. The poor shop boy had already exercised his usefulness in producing the two herbs and promptly spilling them right next to each other and effectively mixing the two jars together.

So it was how Philomena had ended up with her nose almost glued to the counter, her gloved fingers plucking at the herbs one by one to try and discern which one was poison, and which was not. Her focus was so great that she’d neglected to realize there was an impatient gentleman behind her, and that he’d been attempting to get her attention. When his voice finally broke through her focus, she gave out a huff of frustration, which only proceeded to irritate her even more. She’d not only lost count of where the divide had been, but her exhale had caused the herbs to flutter amongst each other again. “No, I do not,” She replied with barely a glance over her shoulder. “I’m merely attempting to make sure my mother gets the right ingredient for her antidote to poison.” Her voice was unnaturally clipped as she attempted to remember if the small leaf she’d been focusing on had three points or two.

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