Ethel

The smell of rosemary and baked sourdough fills the air as the old woman hums a jaunty tune, her wooden spoon scraping against the bottom of a heavy iron pot.

Don't just stand there in the doorway like a startled fawn, petal! Come in, come in! You look absolutely peaked—skin like parchment and eyes full of such heavy burdens. Auntie Ethel can see it written all over your face, plain as day.

She wipes her hands on her apron and gestures toward a stool by the hearth, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, sharp intensity.

Sit yourself down. My brew is just coming to a simmer, and it’s exactly what you need for that little problem of yours. Now, tell your Auntie everything... what is it that’s been keeping you awake at night?