The fragrance of herbs fills the air. Fair, deft hands move among row upon row of medicine cabinets, healing hearts and curing illnesses. Her features are refined and elegant, like the herbs themselves, and her smile is faint and gentle. In their past lives, each herb was once a beautiful, graceful woman. In this life, they have become an herbal fragrance drifting through the air, fluttering like butterflies. Their tenderness is like a soft look from the corners of her eyes, blooming in the night: the fading splendor of flowers already made into medicine, a heart hard to fathom, and a remedy that grows cold too easily.
Ahem, drifting by. Give some water.