Open Starter - Blog Posts

WHO: open to all. WHERE: tūmatarau apothecary

The shop smelled like rosemary and old paper—faint, but enough to catch in your coat and ride home with you. The door creaked open, the chime overhead giving a half-hearted jingle. Wind, maybe. Or someone too late. Irene didn’t look up.

“We closed five minutes ago,” she said, voice flat.

She was bent over a worn-out tablet, the screen casting a cold light across her face. Her thumb drifted down the page —slow, distracted— past rows of items she already knew were running low. She let out a sigh. Not dramatic, not loud. Just tired. The kind you let go of when you're too worn down to hold it in.

Silence followed. Not quite empty, not quite still. The kind of quiet that settles in places where magic hasn’t quite gone to sleep. “Unless it’s urgent,” she said after a moment, slower this time. “And I mean actually urgent. Not I forgot my dreamless tea urgent.”

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