The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the leaded glass of the shop windows in Undermere. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of St. John’s Poppy . You, the proprietor of , sat behind the heavy oak counter, stroking Hellebore the cat as he purred in the shadows.
A bell chimed. A woman in a sodden grey cloak stepped in, her eyes darting toward the back shelves where the more "particular" specimens were kept. File: Strange.Horticulture.v1.1.24g.zip ...
The woman took the small glass vial you offered, her fingers trembling as they brushed yours. "Be careful, herbalist," she warned before disappearing back into the fog. "The plants aren't the only things growing in the dark." The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against