Everyone in Rosehollow knew that Madame Cyrene’s apothecary was harmless.
Mostly.
Her teas were comforting.
Her salves healed burns.
Her herbs helped with sleep.
Her candles made rooms smell like childhood summers.
And yes — sometimes, if you asked gently and paid honestly, Cyrene created things that touched the edges of magic.
Whispers.
Hints.
Possibilities.
Never anything dark.
Never anything dangerous.
But magic is tricky when used on the heart.
And Liora Hensley was desperate enough to forget that.
Liora had been married to Camden for nine years.
Nine years of sweetness and frustration.
Nine years of quiet Sundays and small arguments about who forgot to buy milk.
Nine years of a love both gentle and flawed.
But recently… something had gone dim.
Camden had withdrawn into himself.
His once-dazzling laughter faded into silence.
He rarely touched her anymore — not because he didn’t want to, it seemed, but because he’d somehow forgotten how.
It was like living next to a locked door she’d once walked through freely.
One night, after another quiet dinner and another “I’m just tired, Li,” she sat alone in the living room, hands twisted in her lap, and whispered:
“I miss us.”
A small ache cracked open in her chest.
She didn’t want a new husband.
She wanted her husband back.
She wanted Camden from their early years — playful, warm, adoring — the man who used to kiss her wrist just because it made her blush.
She wanted laughter.
She wanted us.
She wanted him.
So she went to Madame Cyrene.
The apothecary smelled of lavender, cedar, and possibilities.
Cyrene was ancient as riverstones and twice as patient. Her eyes were a soft gray, like smoke learning to be light.
“Come in, Liora,” she said without turning. “Your heart is making so much noise I heard it from the street.”
Liora’s cheeks warmed. “I… need help.”
Cyrene led her to a cushioned seat. “Love help?”
Liora swallowed. “Yes.”
Cyrene gave her a long, searching look — not unkind, but deep enough to see the truth under skin and bone.
“You want a potion,” she said.
Liora nodded. “Something to bring Camden back. To fix what’s drifting.”
Cyrene exhaled slowly. “Love potions are not for making someone love you. That is forbidden magic.”
“I don’t want to force anything,” Liora whispered. “I just… want to remind him of what we had.”
Cyrene studied her.
Then nodded once.
“I can make something gentle,” she said. “Not to change him — but to reveal what is hidden. To illuminate what the heart has dimmed.”
Liora’s breath caught. “Yes. Please.”
Cyrene stepped into the back room, gathering herbs glowing faintly in the dim light: moon-thyme, dawn petals, heartmint.
She returned with a small glass vial. Iridescent. Warm.
“When the moon is highest,” she instructed, “mix three drops into a cup of tea. Then sit with him. Look at him. And listen.”
Liora held the vial carefully.
“Will it fix us?”
Cyrene shook her head.
“No potion fixes. Potions reveal.”
She touched Liora’s hand. “Are you brave enough for truth?”
Liora hesitated.
Then nodded.
That night, the moon hung bright and swollen above the house.
Liora made chamomile tea.
Her hands trembled as she uncorked the vial and dropped three shimmering drops inside.
The tea glowed faintly.
She carried two cups into the living room.
Camden sat on the couch reading — or pretending to read, his page unturned for ten minutes.
“Tea?” she asked softly.
He glanced up, tired but grateful. “Thanks, Li.”
They sat close but not touching.
Liora watched him take a slow sip.
The potion shimmered through the steam.
She held her breath.
“Camden?” she whispered.
He stared into his cup, brow creasing.
Then he put it down carefully.
“Liora…” His voice shook. “I think something’s wrong with me.”
Her pulse spiked. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed his chest slowly, painfully. “I haven’t been myself for months. And I didn’t know how to say it.”
Liora’s eyes filled. “I know. I’ve felt it.”
Camden exhaled shakily. “But it’s not you. God, Li, it’s never been you.”
Her heart trembled. “Then what is it?”
He looked at her — really looked — with eyes full of a sadness she had never seen.
“I’m forgetting things.”
Liora stilled.
“Small things at first,” he whispered. “Words. Steps in a recipe. Where I put my keys.”
She swallowed. “That happens to everyone.”
“Then bigger things,” he said, voice cracking. “My father’s old stories. Names of coworkers. The song we danced to at our wedding.”
Liora’s breath caught.
That song was sacred to him.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he whispered. “So I hid it. I pulled away. I didn’t know how to be close while feeling like pieces of me were disappearing.”
A tear rolled down his cheek.
Liora pressed a hand to her mouth.
Camden continued, voice trembling like broken glass:
“And then… last week… I forgot how we met.”
Liora gasped.
Not in anger.
But in a grief so deep it made her dizzy.
Camden took her hand gently — the first touch in months.
“Liora… I didn’t want you to think I was falling out of love.”
She sobbed. “Camden, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m terrified,” he whispered. His voice broke completely. “And because if I told you… I didn’t want you to look at me like a stranger.”
“Oh, Camden…”
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him as his body shook with quiet panic.
They held each other for a long time.
The potion glowed softly around them, illuminating the truth between their hearts.
Liora whispered into his hair:
“You’re not disappearing. You’re right here. We’ll face this. Together.”
He clung to her like a man who’d been drowning.
And the magic shimmered — not fixing, not forcing, but unraveling the fear that had kept them apart.
The next week was full of doctor visits.
Tests.
Bloodwork.
Scans.
The diagnosis came gently:
A reversible deficiency.
Something treatable.
Not a degenerative disease.
Not the worst fear.
Just something that needed care.
Camden cried with relief.
Liora held him tight.
They walked out of the clinic hand-in-hand — truly hand-in-hand — hearts lighter than they’d been in months.
That night, Liora returned to the apothecary.
Cyrene smiled knowingly.
“You learned what you needed?”
“Yes,” Liora whispered. “He was never falling out of love. He was falling out of himself.”
“And now?”
Liora nodded. “Now he’s coming back.”
Cyrene patted her cheek.
“Love grows strongest not from magic,” she said, “but from truth.”
Liora smiled softly.
“Then we are becoming strong again.”
And at home, Camden waited for her.
Tea ready.
Blankets prepared.
Eyes full of hope and apology and tenderness.
Liora curled beside him.
No potion needed.
No magic required.
Just two hearts rediscovering each other in the soft light of honesty.