روايات وقصص ضمن The Forgotten Home Apothecary Book

"Mikayla, I'm homeless now. How about letting me stay with your family and giving me a place there?" Mikayla sounded terrified on the phone. "Mr. Orben, you were kicked out of Sovereign's Apothecary? Does that mean Sovereign's Apothecary has already been…" Theon hissed with deep hatred, "That's right. Andrew destroyed it completely. It's gone." Mikayla gasped. Sovereign's Apothecary had been one of the Owens family's greatest pillars, backed by the all-powerful Divine Alchemists.

Naturally, she had no choice but to return to her room. - Frank soon reached the address Abel gave him. It was an apothecary at the inner reaches of North Morhen. The signboard 'Loggins Apothecary' that hung overhead was very conspicuous, and one could smell the scent of medicinal herbs down the street. It stuck out against the modern architecture of the towering buildings around it but somehow it appeared more peaceful than the rest. It was noon at the moment, and there were plenty of people working inside and out busily.

Magic they feared. I run my fingers across the cracked spines until I find what I’m looking for: Ancient Witchcraft of the Forgotten Era. Bound in deep green leather, barely holding together. The writing on the cover is almost worn off. I carry it to one of the heavy tables near the back and sit. The pages whisper as I turn them, the old ink uneven, some parts blurred by time or water damage. Spells of healing. Curses of madness. Rituals of possession. Nothing I haven’t seen before—

Damon The air in the apothecary vaults always smelled faintly of steel and scorched earth—like too many failed potions had been burned away and never quite forgotten. The torches here were magical, flickering with cold blue fire that cast long shadows across the shelves stacked with sealed vials, ancient herbs, and dust-covered records bound in dragon-hide. It was quiet. That was part of the appeal. No whispers. No rumors. Just science and magic and the possibility of truth.

"Take them away." Having committed a major financial crime, Sophia was sentenced to 20 years in prison. On the other hand, Liam's biological father didn't want him, so he ended up at an orphanage. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. However, James still didn't have Naomi and Celeste by his side. He numbed himself by throwing himself into his work, refusing to take any breaks. One day, he was invited to the AI Summit. When he spotted a familiar name on the technical team name list, his heart seized. He ran his finger over those letters over and over again. It spelled out Naomi Sloane.

Felt poetic somehow, like I was chasing shadows in the forest. And Blackthorn? Prestigious enough to change my life, remote enough to feel like an escape. I zipped my duffel bag shut, the zipper catching on a frayed edge like it didn’t want me to go. Mom stood in the doorway of our tiny apartment, arms crossed over her faded floral dress, eyes misty but proud. “You sure you got everything, baby?” she asked, voice thick. I nodded, slinging the bag over my shoulder. “Yeah. Books, clothes, that ratty blanket you hate.”

Clearly, i have underestimated my mate. But while going through the book shelf, I came across an old book, which piqued my interest. The back ws not really giving anything aside from it being an old, boring look. But while looking through it? It was a detailed book of almost every medical herb to exist, with how to care for it, what is it used for and everything in between. It was also handwritten, my best guess, by AIra's grandmother.

PART 9 Natasya’s footsteps were soft as she entered the house. She missed her study—the one in this very house. It was the place where her father, Mr. Jordan, had spent most of his time. Old memories began flooding her mind. She remembered the first day she introduced Roby to her father. Inside her father’s large study, the atmosphere had been suffocatingly tense. “I do not approve.” Mr. Jordan’s deep voice still echoed in her ears.

The room was dim until Cain moved past her to light a lamp on the heavy central worktable, and the light spread outward to catch on shelved jars, leather book spines, copper instruments gone green with age. A healer's workshop. She'd never seen one — she'd been too young when the Ashford home burned, and whatever her mother had kept had burned with it. But she'd read about them in the books she'd stolen during her years at Blood Moon. She'd memorised the descriptions: the worktable, the drying racks, the journals, the apothecary organisation of a hundred small jars. This was that. This was exactly that. "How long has this been here?" she heard herself ask.