By Maureen Mooney
Myfanwy had been warned many times, Her father, the Apothecary had repeated ad nauseam, ‘You must never touch, Myfanwy. Once blouted, cannot be unblouted.’
By moonlight, the flask shone lustrous and shimmering and opalescent amongst the dull and dark shelves of beakers and jars of potions and herbs. It drew her to itself like a tide to a moon. She transported it from shelf to table as if it were some fragile beautiful bird and observed it in wonder as her father’s voice within her implored her to stop.
Like a bee to a flower her fingers hovered over the cork.
To uncork or not to….
Nice story.
A very enjoyable read Maureen.