The sun that poured in the window of the small inn room seemed far too cheerful and bright for the mood that she was in. Laele groaned as she awoke, turning onto her side, away from the songs of birds outside, and the warmth of the sunlight that spilled out across the room. It didn't warm her, like it did most mornings. Her skin was raised in goose-flesh, even beneath the thick flannel of the nightclothes she wore. It was a deeper sort of cold, making her bones ache and her muscles cramp. It was a cold that had settled deeper within her, not surfacing often, but still hiding below the surface of happiness she allowed herself to show.

How many nights was it, now, that she woke that way? How many nights was it, that she had the same dream? Laele shivered unbidden, curling up beneath the covers, folding her arms over her chest with her hands gripping at her upper arms. She always slept to one side of the bed, now. It was something she'd noticed, but never thought anything of - Except on mornings like this. But the second pillow was untouched, and the space beside her was empty... Just like it had been, after that night.

She still didn't understand. Everything had been so remarkably normal, after that. Surely, she thought, today would be normal, as well. Her fingers were still stained from her efforts the day before, red and yellow splotches her only lingering testament to the craft she so desperately sought to master. The pungent smell of the crushed herbs still remained, though it had weakened considerably. Watermelon, he'd said. The white ones taste like watermelon. And the yellow ones, they're like lemonade. Her muddy green-hazel eyes squeezed shut, and she forced the sound of that voice from her mind. She knew she would hear it again, haunting her dreams, and every waking moment, making it that much harder to face him again. Finally, she gave in to the call of the morning sun.

The contents of her cart rattled noisily as the day's outfit was retrieved. It hadn't been easy for her to haul it up the inn's stairs, but there were too many precious things stowed inside, to have left it sitting anywhere else. Countless bottles of colorful liquids, each sorted into a box to hold them in order. Two hundred blue bottles, four hundred white. Eight hundred red ones. They tasted like some sort of fruit punch, the red ones did - Or at least, that's what she'd been told. It was what he'd told her. Laele looked at all of them appraisingly, and released a sigh before turning her back on the bottles she'd spent countless hours filling.

She'd never tasted the potions she made, herself. The first one she ever made, she had given to him. And every one after that. After all, an adventurer needed them more than she ever would. Every adventure she'd ever been on, she'd spent the entire time hiding behind somebody else. After all, Laele couldn't fight. She couldn't cast spells, or handle a weapon with any sort of efficiency. She couldn't tend anyone's wounds, like the acolytes or priests she sometimes accompanied, and her potions offered little relief. In a word, Laele was useless. And yet she was determined.

She tugged the laces of her boots one last time, firmly, before she tucked the loops into her boot-tops. Her curiously green hair was still braided, messy after a night's sleep, but still good enough. A moment to ensure her potions were settled firmly in their boxes, and then the day had truly begun. The rattling and heavy thud that followed caused the innkeeper to start, but a glance toward the stairs to the second floor answered the question before he asked. One step at a time, the cart descended from the upper story, the small Alchemist following behind it. She eased it down backwards, one stair at a time, and winced at the harsh thudding that came from the cart's wheels, with every drop. Shades of crimson rose into her face, but Laele never turned her eyes toward the people she knew were staring.

Laele turned her cart around awkwardly, when she reached the bottom of the stairs, kept her chin up as she nearly marched across the room. She turned her key over to the innkeeper with no flourish at all, and murmured a shy thank-you. Rarely did she stay in the same place, two nights in a row. Today she awoke in in the capital, tomorrow, perhaps it would be some city on the border. The wheels of her cart caught on the threshold of the door as she tried to leave, and she gritted her teeth as she hauled it over, causing her to stumble out into the busy streets of the capital city. Though it was early, the streets were already lined with vendors. Some of them had likely camped out where they were, to ensure their spot for the next day. Laele paused to adjust her gloves, before she grasped the wooden handles of her cart, and tugged it along behind her, off in search of a secluded place to work. An Alchemist's job was never easy, but more importantly, an Alchemist's job was never done.