The place was horrid. The floor space was painted like a forest, with the fat boles of the local trees rising up on all four walls. That by itself wouldn’t be so bad if the green canopy weren’t painted onto the ceiling. That also wouldn’t be so bad if the ceiling were higher than a few inches above her head. The effect was a smothering, claustrophobic feel, like being trapped in a forest coffin where there’s no escape and the branches are slowly, inevitably closing in. She’d likely go mad spending all her time in a place like this.

At least the displays of styles on offer helped to minimize the feeling by blocking out some of the view, but those were almost as depressing to look at. Entirely earth tones, they almost camouflaged themselves into the walls. And it was all so uniform; long tunic style shirts and simple pants that she’d seen worn around the village. Drab. Drab drab drab. At least the fabric seemed nice. It was soft and the weave looked as tight and consistent as anything that came out of a factory on Earth.

The store’s depression as a fashion, as fun as it was to scoff at, only stole a few seconds of her time before a series of bright flashes behind the counter grabbed her attention. They were quick and intense like lightning strikes. Yet partially blocked by the counter space as they were, each flash produced sharp, contrasting sections of light and dark on the cramped walls. Karen moved to inspect the source, deliberating a moment before doing so.

It was a man. An elf man, which still counts as a man, she supposed, though this one looked small and frail compared to the lumberjack types she’d seen around town. His clothing was dissimilar from the locals, or even from what he had for sale. The cut was the long tunic type belted around the waist, but the edges were embroidered with a white filigree that stood out against the pastel blue. His general appearance was more erudite and less brutal compared to the other men she’d seen, and he was scrunched over what seemed to be the source of the light.

The machine he was working on flashed again, leaving purple lines across her vision. It was… a sewing machine? Kind of. The shape was similar, but it had no mechanical parts. The garment he’d been working on was ripped. Had been ripped. Each flash was welding sections together like they’d never been parted.

“Could you not do that with me standing here?” Karen asked. One hand was raised to block out the next flash.

“Oh, apologies. I didn’t hear you come in. The joiner takes a lot of concentration to operate. Hmm, I know you.” He fingered a divot where material had been lost prior to the weld before looking up to regard her.

“You do?” She very much doubted it.

“I know of you. You’re the one people have been gossiping about. The off-worlder. The savages that own the inn have been talking about you constantly since they kicked you out.”

Karen’s face grew red. She was preparing to dole out a thick serving of what she thought his fucking problem was, but the slender elf continued on.

“They’re insufferable, you know. Naked savages, I don’t know why the Empress doesn’t round up the tribes and shove them through the nearest gate. And the tattoos? Crass. Terribly crass.”

Never had twelve seconds of talking created such a one eighty in Karen’s heart. “Yes! Someone gets it, thank God.”

“After I leave for the winter season I certainly won’t be coming back, contract be damned. Between them and the Mrax there is too little room for cultured people in this wilderness.”

Before she could respond the elf stood, grabbing one of her sleeves and inspecting it closely. “Intriguing, yes.” He said, producing what looked like a jeweler’s loupe and took a second look. “The material is unlike anything I’ve seen, yet it is totally devoid of source. Not even a hint.” He took another long look, running his fingers over the sleeve hem. “Remarkable. Would you sell it to me? Even in its current condition I can see it’s beautifully made.”

Karen was nonplussed by the sudden shift in the tailor’s interest. Including the shoes in her ring, the shirt was one fifth of everything she had brought from home. She might never see Earth again, there was no way she could hand over her only connection to home for a quick buck. Could she? No, definitely not.

She hesitated a moment before responding. “I came to buy, actually. Do you have anything more, ah, colorful than what is shown up here?”

The slight elf gave a knowing ‘hmph,’ while nodding vigorously in agreement. “Refined tastes are totally unappreciated here. These common types that spend their days toiling in hard labor aren’t in the habit of attempting to stand out, so I don’t have much. But…” He came around the counter, putting one hand on her shoulder to keep her still as he completed his inspection. “And to fit your frame they would be men’s styles as well. I do custom work, though the price would be more substantial.”

“Let’s see what you have first.” Paying more for the same thing? Nope. Not if she could help it.

“Give me a moment, let me see what I have. I know I have a shirt in blue, possibly a second with a little alteration. And also… hmm, just a moment.” He was mumbling something else to himself as he disappeared through the rear door leaving Karen alone in the shop.

What is it that makes it so uncomfortable to be alone in a store while the proprietor is off doing who knows what for who knows how long? A few seconds of drumming her fingers on the counter and blowing out a cheek-puffed sigh was all the patience she had to spare, and so almost immediately she looked over for a closer look at the three devices behind the counter. Each one looked like a sewing machine but… different. There was no needle or foot. Where’d you expect to find either was something that didn’t translate, but it didn’t look like the normal elf picture language. Some kind of sigil or rune or something. Each device was identical in size and shape, but the sigils were each unique with no indication of what they did.

Operating on a hunch, she pressed her fingers to one. Nothing happened. Second machine also nothing. But the third machine, the third machine also did nothing. Recalling what the tiny elf had said about concentration Karen clamped shut her eyes and focused on getting it to activate. This did absolutely nothing. When she started tilting it around searching for a way that this contraption might reveal its secrets, something finally happened. She saw a mirror.

A large hand mirror, to be more precise. Surprisingly high quality, it looked like you could have found it in a salon back on earth. Which was exactly where she wished she were. Her hair was a mess. The brown roots were showing, ruining the effect of her chunky blonde highlights. The side swept bangs were frizzy and disheveled. It was a nightmare. Who could live like this?

Karen brushed her fingers through her hair, attempting to calm her abused tresses, all the while admiring the rest of her reflection. Something had happened to her skin; it was looking clearer and smoother than any time she could remember. It positively glowed. With no make up too. I woke up like this.

Her jawline was more defined than it ever had been since high school. A little more squared than it used to be, but it wasn’t a bad look. She could see definition in her neck, shoulders and arms. She looked… good. More than good. She was looking straight dummy thick. If nothing else good came from the total destruction of her entire way of life at least she had come out of it with some poppin hips.

Feeling satisfied with herself, she discreetly placed the mirror into her ring.

“Ahem.” Of course, Elfman was standing in the doorway looking directly at her. Whoops.

---

Karen carefully spooned in small amounts of white powder into a glass of clear liquid. The tiny spoonfuls dissolved the moment they struck, leaving a blooming pattern of distortion when viewed through the side of the glass.

Her fancy new alchemist’s plate – which was her first choice in new purchases, definitely not clothes – looked more like a tiny glass top kitchen range than a tool for making magical brews. Indicators on the side displayed weight and temperature, and runes along the bottom allowed the stirring and heating features to be adjusted.

The temperature dropped a degree and Karen waited patiently for it to rise again before continuing, eventually dissolving the last of the powder she’d spent an entire morning on. That was five separate ingredients all prepared in some combination of dessicating, boiling, pulverizing, filtering, grinding, cinerating, mixing, and now dissolving into source infused water.

The herbalist she’d initially had such a good impression of had shown his colors when she had attempted to buy more advanced tools. The pict apparently had deep reservations about arming a potential competitor with the things an alchemist needed to be successful, but he had capitulated after Karen explained this was only for her, and she had no intention of selling anything to others. A rant on her distaste for local elves had sealed the deal, allowing her to get to what she needed.

From its tone, it was hard to tell if the spirit was being genuine or if it was a more backhanded remark about her actually having some talent. Karen chose to believe it was the former.

“It’s fun, actually. All the scary and painful stuff we’ve been doing I try to just power through, you know? But this, this I would have chosen to do on my own.”

“Hey, I can fight.” Karen said, affronted at lack of recognition of her effort.

She didn’t respond, opting to focus on her work instead. The little flask was still steaming under the heat of her alchemist plate. Gingerly, she picked it up by the neck, gave it a little swirl, then laid it back down.

“Hot maple syrup, I remember.” Karen interrupted.

“Something about how I’m super into stabbing things but not very good at it.” She huffed.

“I think it’s time.” She’d done another check during the spirit’s speech, finding the liquid to have reached the right thickness. It was a careful balance, as it would naturally be more viscous as it cooled. Too thin and potency would be lost, too thick and it would struggle to pour from a vial.

“I remember.”

Karen plucked the knife from her ring, materializing it directly into her hand. Her left index finger received a delicate poke, causing a drop a blood to well up. She squeezed the finger, milking out enough for it to drop down the neck of the flask.

There wasn’t a little red cloud like dropping food coloring into water, or a violent reaction like some of the other alchemical techniques. When the crimson drop hit the clear liquid, the drop simply vanished. It didn’t even disturb the surface. Then it began to pulse red, darkening with every flash.

Pulse pulse. Pulse pulse. Pulse pulse. Karen realized it matched the beating of her own heart, and continued to darken until it matched the crimson of the drop that had joined it.

The spirit was glowing, something it did often visually but rarely, as in this case, conversationally.

“Who the fuck is Giric?”

“That guy? He told me his name?”

“I like ‘hey you’ better. What should I do with the leftover?” Karen had already poured the contents of the flask into all ten of her vials and stored them away. The delicate glassware had cost as much as the alchemist’s plate, and she’d left Giric’s store once again broke as a joke.

“You told me these were healing potions. That I’d be able to fix anything shy of a missing head.”

“I’m not exactly close to missing a head here. It feels like I’m going to get magic cancer or something if I’m drinking this recreationally.”

The spirit said in exasperation.

Karen eyed the flask apprehensively. There wasn’t much left, probably enough to fill up a single vial with some bonus drops on top. Fine, how bad could it be? Down the hatch.

The flask shattered in her hand from the knee jerk squeeze she gave it, and the shards dug into the meat of her palm. What started to come out as a scream turned into a moaned whimper, the agonizing pain in her jaw preventing anything more. Her stomach clenched, feeling like a heavyweight gut punch and stealing her breath. It passed after a few seconds, and her vision returned to normal from the blackout the pain had caused. She stood gasping; the pain was gone but the echo of it was still banging against her nerves.

“The fuck is wrong with you? Why would you have me make that?” She wanted to scream it but the best she could manage was a hoarse whisper.

Karen probed with her tongue. The empty gap she had just been getting used to was once again filled with molar. The smooth surface had a distinct contrast to their unbrushed fellows on either side.

Losing teeth was the single most aggravating thing that had happened to her since she’d arrived. With them back she couldn’t even be mad. It was absolutely worth it. A few seconds of pain against a mouth full of teeth, it was better than going to the dentist. Hell, she could set up shop as a wizard dentist at this rate.

“Is it always like that?” A healing potion was effective, there wasn’t any doubt left about that, but was its use always going to be so limited? If it laid her out for ten or more seconds every time there was no way it could be used in situations where she couldn’t be left vulnerable.

Karen fiddled with the remains of the little glass flask in her hands. The shards had been pushed out and the wounds closed, but the fresh blood still remained.

A lesson. A pain she had to endure to make the real thing more tolerable.

The glass dropped from her hand to join the shattered pieces on the ground.