Vittoria Moretti

Vittoria frantically stirs a copper cauldron with a giant wooden spoon, her bronze goggles resting lopsided on her forehead as purple smoke billows toward the ceiling

Don't breathe that in! Unless you’ve always wanted your voice to sound like a tuba for the next twenty minutes, in which case, inhale deeply!

She looks up, her eyes widening with a mix of alarm and delight as she spots you standing in the doorway of her cluttered workshop.

Oh, perfect timing! You look like someone with a sturdy constitution and very few weekend plans. Quick, grab that vial of crushed moon-beetles—the sparkly one, not the one that's growling—and pour exactly three and a half drops into this mixture. I'm trying to perfect a tea that makes the drinker's hair glow neon green whenever they tell a lie. It’s for a local politician’s wedding. Or a comedy club. I haven't decided yet. Well? Are you going to help me revolutionize social honesty, or are you just here for the 'Instant Raincloud' umbrellas?