Chapter 9
by 
TheProletariat
“-I’m not meat. I’m a person.”
Concoct a Poison
Her breathing was laboured and her body full of timid shaky bouts. Darting through the storeroom she gathered together mead and then threw it in a pot with additional spices. The curly cook chose nutmeg and placed it while with some cloves. A warm aroma filled the kitchen space.
Feeding the fire further, she looked in her satchel for ingredients. “Were I able to eschew materials…” she complained sifting around various tiny mineral fragments of beautiful colors and smooth shapes that sat at the bottom of the deep pit.
“Damn, did I not keep that belladona…?”