She looked around trying to find the person that had spoken. The place was dim, the only light available was the flames of scented candles throughout ...he small space. That was the smell that she’d noticed when coming in, and not from the glass tubes. ‘What?’ Megan asked. A tiny voice said, ‘The red liquid…it’s called Athalome.’ An old woman sat in a dim corner of the room between two bookshelves. Her body was tiny, and her skin was wrinkled from age. The woman looked to be 100 years old. Her. That stress level was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. Sometimes she wished she could go back and do it all again, but she quickly pushed those thoughts to the side before clocking in. The café wasn’t terribly busy but there were still enough people in there to keep her from getting her own studies done. It wasn’t exactly frustrating – more like annoying – because she had her own finals to prepare for. Passing her finals meant freedom for the summer, and what single girl wouldn’t. More

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