"Mel, the forge feels cold. Not 'fire' cold, but... empty," he said, twisting his cap in his hands.
Mel sat at her scarred oak kitchen table, the surface cluttered with the morning’s harvest. Her hands, stained slightly purple from mashing elderberries, moved with practiced rhythm. Beside her, a cast-iron pot hummed on the stove, releasing the spicy, grounding steam of what she called her —a blend of clove, star anise, and toasted orange peel that made the very walls of her cottage feel like a hug. Mel Bennett - Autumn Flavor & Witch Essentials :)
"Simmer these in a pot of spring water," she instructed, her voice steady and warm. "Let the steam hit the rafters. And keep the stone in your pocket; it’ll ground that frantic energy you’re carrying. Autumn isn't just about things dying, Elias. It’s about the earth gathering its strength. You need to do the same." "Mel, the forge feels cold
