She didn’t drink.
She was no longer in the lab. She was inside a memory: a Venetian glassblower, furious and grieving, shaping this vessel for a countess who had stolen his love. As the glass cooled, he had whispered a curse not of poison, but of yearning . Voluptuous Xtra 1
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Pour something , the carafe seemed to purr. Just a little. Wine. Water. Tears. It will be exquisite. It will be enough. Until it isn’t. furious and grieving