Potion For The Heart

The halls of the witch’s home were dim, filled with the earthy scent of herbs and candle smoke, the shelves lined with all manner of strange bottles and charms. It was a place I’d come to so often as a boy—when Celine and I would run from the village and hide away, whispering of the quests we’d one day take, the monsters we’d one day face.

But today was different. Today, I was not a boy, and my heart was no longer free. It beat with an ache so deep it hurt to breathe. I couldn’t take it any longer. Every time I closed my eyes, her face appeared: the Empress of the Dark Realm, a creature I was meant to despise. I’d seen her cruelty firsthand, felt her wrath—but in her eyes, I’d seen something else, something that chained me to her like a curse.

“Are you sure about this?” Celine’s voice pulled me back, and I looked up, startled by the intensity of her gaze. Her green eyes searched mine as she held the vial, half full of a thick, glistening liquid. The potion to still my heart, to numb my feelings once and for all.

“Yes.” My voice sounded like it came from far away, hollow and uncertain. “I have to be free of this… this curse.”

She took a long, slow breath, and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of sorrow in her expression. But she smiled, and it was gone. “I’ll give you the potion. But…” she hesitated, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “if you insist on this path, then I want to share it with you.”

“Share it?” I asked, my brow furrowing. “Why would you need it?”

She gave a soft, rueful laugh. “Call it an act of solidarity. If you are to harden your heart, let mine follow. Just half the dose for each of us—it will still be enough.”

There was a sadness in her eyes, but she said nothing else. I uncorked the vial, watching the silver liquid swirl within it. My heart pounded. This was the way. I could be free of the Empress, free of this twisted longing, of the fire that burned me from within.

I poured half the potion into a small glass and handed it back to her, my mind numb as I did so. Celine accepted it without a word, lifting her glass as if toasting.

“To letting go,” she said softly.

“To letting go,” I echoed, though the words felt wrong in my mouth.

The liquid was bitter and cold, chilling my throat as it went down. I felt an icy wave spread through my chest, pulling at the threads of warmth, of feeling, of memory. The ache, the fire—it was fading. My mind became still, quiet, like the surface of a frozen lake.

But when I looked at Celine, something strange happened. I felt… a pang. An echo, barely there but real enough, at the way she looked at me. It was as if I could sense a sadness in her that mirrored my own, a silent plea I’d been blind to for years. And I realized then that maybe, just maybe, I’d been so caught up in the darkness of the Empress that I hadn’t seen the light right beside me.

“Celine…” My voice came out unsteady, but the words died on my tongue. She smiled sadly, the same smile she’d given me so many times before, but this time I could feel her distance as though she were slipping away from me.

“Goodbye,” she whispered. “I hope it brings you peace.”