Novel & Cerita The Forgotten Home Apothecary Book

Neutral Ground The apothecary looked like it had been dead for a century. Its wooden shutters sagged inward, nails bent with rust, and the faded sign above the door (Elderwick Remedies) hung by a single chain that groaned whenever the wind pressed against it. Dusty glass jars lined the window, filled with herbs that had long since rotted into powder. I tightened my cloak around my shoulders, every step up the cracked cobblestones screaming louder in my head than it did in the air.

Silence followed… heavy, thinking silence. Each of them turned inward, rifling through memory, contacts, old dealings… anything that might even come close. “There used to be an apothecary near the water tribe,” Harry said at last, the words slow, pulled from somewhere half-forgotten. “The healer there was from the East Kingdom, but he was a bit…” “Shifty,” Matthew finished, a faint frown forming. “Not wicked… but not kind either.” Zelda looked up immediately. “How far?”

Astrid continued to cry as she walked into the shop, the guards watching her with pity. “Where did you learn to cry on command?” Kemp asked her quietly as he escorted her into the rear of the shop. “Don’t look too closely, but I think I sprained one of my fingers.” “Fascinating,” Lakon said with excitement as he began flipping through the pages of a book he had picked up off the floor. “All of these are written in code.” Sigwulf groaned as he looked at the books that filled the rear wall of the shop and the others that were strewn about the room. “And we still need to take all of these back, along with the body.”

My own children, and my fiance. I kept pacing between the shelves, my eyes scanned every title and books. There had to be another way. There had to be something, anything that didn’t involve… him. And then, tucked away in a dark corner behind a pile of tattered scrolls, I found it. A small, black leather-bound book with crimson stitching, worn with age. “The Lost Remedies of Asterfell.” My pulse jumped. This was different. I opened it carefully, the pages brittle beneath my fingers. Dust filled the air, making me cough, but I barely noticed. My eyes darted over the faded, nearly illegible ink until I found a heading that made my heart skip:

She asks curiously “That’s about the only kind of books in the shelf now.” There have been few things in my life done for the joy of them. Perhaps in the time before going to SeraphFall manor, there were things I enjoyed doing, but those memories are lost on me. Even going to the Sigmond Manor today, I simply knew where to go, but there were no memories of the years spent living there. “It’s not poisons themselves, but the apothecary knowledge related to them that I would prefer keeping in my mind.” I tell her calmly “I’ve tampered with quite a few poisons and experimented with their mixtures.”

FIONA'S POV. I had learned a long time ago that the most dangerous truths were never stored in vaults. They lived in forgotten places, buried beneath obsolete encryption, archived under false names, traded quietly between people who understood that memory itself could become contraband. The archivist’s shop did not exist on any map. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a decaying bookstore wedged between a shuttered pharmacy and a tailoring stall that never seemed to open. The sign above the narrow entrance had long since lost its lettering, leaving only faint ghosts of what might once have been gold paint.

"What are you wearing?" Zoe said with disdain as she turned her head to glance at Amber who was just sliding down the staircase of the living room. "That outfit is hideous." Amber paused midway down the stairs. Morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Shaw mansion, illuminating the polished marble floors and expensive furniture that filled the living room. Everything looked exactly as she remembered from childhood. Elegant. Luxurious. Cold. Especially the people living inside it.