ENTRY 010: LOVE IS JUST A FOUR-LETTER WORD

Dear Diary,

Love may conquer all, but it sure doesn’t pay well.

The elf alchemist claimed her potions were “top quality,” which is alchemist-speak for “I couldn’t sell these anywhere else.” She placed a crate of small glass vials on the counter, each filled with a glowing pink liquid and labeled with swirling, romantic script: Potion of True Love.

(Side note: they always promise you "true love". I've only ever seen one Potion of Unrequited Love.)

In general, I’ve made it a policy not to stock love potions unless it's a holiday season. But it was a slow day, and I figured if nothing else, they’d make for decent paperweights.

I bought the crate at a steep discount, and the elf left with a triumphant smile.

Of course, chaos struck before I even managed to shelve them.

While inspecting one of the vials, I fumbled, and it slipped from my hands. The fragile glass shattered on the counter, sending a spray of glowing pink liquid everywhere.

(If there's one thing I noticed, it's that the more hazardous the contents of a vial, the more fragile the glass is.)

The liquid oozed across the counter in a pink puddle, filling the shop with the overwhelming scent of roses, marshmallow and strawberries. I barely had time to grab a rag before the enchanted broom sprang to life, eager as ever to do its job.

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“Wait, don’t—” was all I managed to get out before it dove into the mess.

The broom swirled its bristles through the potion, spreading pink droplets everywhere like a lovesick sprinkler. I tried to wrestle it away, but it wriggled out of my grip and froze mid-air. For a moment, everything was still.

Then it quivered.

And then it turned toward me.

It swooped forward, its bristles glistening with potion residue, and tried to kiss me. The broom was relentless. I managed to pin it against a shelf but in the process I made the mistake of breathing in too deeply.

There must have been some droplets still on the broom. I have no other explanation for what happened next.

At first, I didn't feel any different. I finished clearing the counter, made a few sales, and was halfway through tallying the day’s profits when Korgath walked in from the backroom, carrying a stack of cursed helmets.

And, well… he looked different.

Had his tusks always been so… symmetrical? And the way his muscles flexed as he stacked the helmets—was that new?

Korgath frowned, his towering frame taking up most of the doorway. He looked at the broom, still pinned against the shelf, then back at me.

“Problem?” he grunted, noticing me staring.

I quickly turned back to the ledger, my ears burning. “Nope. No problem. Just… uh, thinking about inventory,” I blurted, my voice several octaves higher than usual.

It wasn’t until I caught myself doodling little hearts in the margins that I realized what had happened. I was crushing on my seven-foot-tall, eternally grumpy employee.

Korgath must’ve sensed the change in the atmosphere. “I’ll be in the back,” he said and promptly left.

I nodded, trying to avoid staring at the way his armor glinted in the daylight. Was it always that shiny? And his tusks—did I mention his tusks? I did, didn't I?

And while my heart was doing cartwheels, the broom was still desperate for my attention, banging on the wall as if to say, What about me, dear?

So that’s it. Love potions are officially banned from my shop. As for Korgath… well, let’s just say I’ll be spending the next few days avoiding direct eye contact just in case.

Yours in profit,

Garren