Scarlet’s POV
“Scarlet, come with me,” Elizabeth said, her aged hands working patiently over a mortar and pestle, grinding herbs with steady and practised motions. Her voice, though soft, carried a certain authority that made it impossible to say no.
She passed me a paper. “Read me this prescription, child. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
I took the slip and read it aloud slowly. As I did, I noticed her struggling to crush the herbs. Her fingers trembled with the strain, and without thinking, I leaned forward and said gently, “Would you like me to do that for you?”
She paused, then gave a small nod, stepping aside. I rolled up my sleeves and took over the task, following her directions carefully as she guided me through the process, what herbs to add, how much to grind, and when to stop. She gave orders with the ease of someone who had done this for decades, and I obeyed without hesitation, grateful for something to focus on that wasn’t my aching heart.
“You helped me a lot today
