The Witch's Candelabra

Chapter 6 - Marketplace Enigma

Braids:

Diary entry:

I'm perusing the cinnamon and lavender today, and there's a special selection available. Saffron, a new addition, has piqued my curiosity—I can't wait to see how it will complement my recipes. My notebook hovers above my head, a sentient companion that flits about with the crows, transcribing my thoughts directly into its pages. You see, we share a profound connection, bound by life and a junction spell. It's constructed from black raspberry, citrus chamomile, and all the while, it's been consecrated by the flames of my candelabra. Naturally.

My pockets chime softly, the sound of my treasures jingling as I navigate through the congested pedestrian traffic, bartering and trading my coin for goods. Everyone around me appears so mundane, drab in their gray attire and top hats. Who are these people? They remain oblivious to the world that surrounds them. It's as if they don't see what's right in front of their eyes.

In this labyrinth of gray, I find solace in my peculiar pursuits, an island of curiosity amidst the mundane. And as I delve deeper into the realms of possibility, I can't help but wonder—what other hidden truths lie beneath the surface of this seemingly ordinary world, waiting to be discovered by those who dare to look?

I'm midway through the spice stalls, indulging in the sensory delight of saffron, and relishing the feel of various spices beneath my fingers, much like Amile does. Suddenly, I raise my gaze, and there he stands—what a twisted twist of fate. It's the man from yesterday, the one who had been lurking around my pawnshop, inquiring about my possessions. And now, he's here, standing right before me.

"Ah, Adelia..."

What a nuisance. "Call me Braids," I retort, correcting him. The dandy, the intruder. I wonder if he truly comprehends what he's seeking. One can never be too cautious. I have no idea how much he truly knows about his grandmother, who might have also been a witch.

***

Another day had unfolded in the vibrant town just outside my hometown. It had been about an hour's walk or a swift ten-minute ride on horseback to get there, where the heart of the usually quiet city had pulsed with life—Saturday markets had been the reason. The bustling streets had been filled with the animated presence of men, women, and children, all eager to replenish their shelves and seize a rare bargain. This market had stocked everything, from local treasures to imported wonders.

Colorful silks and linens had beckoned, fresh meat and fruit had beckoned, and raw metal and last year's fashions had awaited. Even homegrown llamas had graced us with their presence. Whatever your heart had desired, it had likely been found there at some point. Yet, discovering those treasures had been a game of chance. Some items had flown off the shelves, while others had remained one-of-a-kind.

Damian's weekly return to those markets had been no doubt driven by the allure of the unexpected and the promise of exotic goods. Herbs and spices, reliable staples, had always beckoned to those seeking to trade.

Curiously, our paths had never crossed before in that crowded marketplace. Perhaps it had been because one didn't tend to notice just another unfamiliar face amidst the bustling crowd. However, once a face had become known, it had had a knack for appearing everywhere you turned, whether you had welcomed it or not.

That day, as always, I had stood by the spice table, gathering my stash of ingredients for both common recipes and the secret spells I had concocted. With one eye perpetually open for new and exotic foreign spices to fuel my candelabra, I had embraced the opportunity to unlock hidden combinations and unseen spells. An old, well-worn ironbound notebook had rested in my pocket, reserved for recording any novel discoveries at the market. This had been distinct from the list I had maintained at home—a catalog brimming with experiments involving those spices.