Addison's eyes froze wide as she looked at the shopkeeper's smile.

A joke.

A joke from a woman who had barely let her in the shop for years.

It took a long moment to process and to pull her mouth all the way closed again. "I'm sorry?"

"It's a petal?" Lori responded. She reached out and picked up the small violet ball, flattening it out in her hand as much as she was capable of. Its shape changed, but it didn't look the way it had when it had still been attached to its flower. "It probably would have fallen whether you were here or not. The dang things fall off all the time."

"I thought.." Addison's words trailed off. Clearly, she thought that the herbalist was serious. Everyone was almost always serious where she was concerned since they either had an issue to bring up or another errand to send her on. However, she didn't know how to voice it without further embarrassing herself.

Lori had an eyebrow raised, making her smile look like a smirk. "It's okay. Is there anything you gotta take back with you?"

A turn in the conversation, even though not unpleasant, brought reality back to the room. "No. I have nothing on me anyways."

Lori hesitated a moment before she walked out from behind the counter and to the far corner with the flowers. She plucked one out of the barrels before returning. Once on her side of the bar again, she clipped off the bottom and held it out between them. "Fresh for the old hag."

Addison's hand reached out, shaking along the way, and grabbed it. She didn't have a single idea what Mathilda would use a single flower for or why in all the realms Lori was acting so aloof. "Why?" she asked before she could stop herself. Like independence hadn't stopped at her but had also spread to her lips and hands.

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Lori shrugged, letting her hand drop once she was no longer holding the plant. "You're good business. Next time come with coins." She pulled a chunk of her brown hair out of her face before straightened herself up — returning to her more recognizable posture and facial expression. "This shipment ain't gonna grind itself though," she said, her eyes glancing at the door.

"Hint taken," Addison said. Her jaw clenched, and she was certain her lips would look like a thin line if she could see herself, but as was often the case, she was glad she couldn't. Instead of trying and find a way to resolve the strange conversation, she turned on her heels and walked out the door. She hadn't gotten as much time inside as she had wanted, but she knew she should consider herself lucky. There was a time that the door would have been closed to her immediately without a shortlist and a flash of gold.

She stood in the street, wondering if anywhere else in the village would find the kindness if she held her head up high up enough. She watched as a pair of women walked in the distance, just close enough to see them glance at her and turn to each other. Whispering, surely. They all whispered and pointed, a reminder that even though Mathilda sent a proxy to avoid the scrutiny, it was still dealt. Sometimes, in moments like this, she wondered if regular folk could smell something different on her. Suppose they saw the fairy dust or could feel the heat of hellfire or the smoke that came off the bottom of the cauldron.

Sometimes after she fell through the portals, her nose stung, a mix of citrus and sulfur and decay. The smell didn't change between destinations — it was strangely always precisely the same. If other people could smell the same, they may very well have a reason to give her strange looks. Wouldn't she do the same?

Addison had no way of knowing.

What she did know was that standing there at the edge of the village wouldn't change anything and wouldn't help her any. They wouldn't shelter her, and she couldn't think of a reason that any of them held the token she needed for her freedom. So she set on foot in front of the other and began her trek. Even if she didn't walk in the shops or talk to anyone else, she would still get to — *have to * — walk by a good number of them on her way. The road underneath her sent small jolts through her legs with every step, and her hand was beginning the early stages of cramping as it tried not to hold too tight to her new prize.

The one that she had no idea what to do with.

Her chin was as high as she could make it be, and when she glanced at the tailor as she passed it, she tried not to make a face at the owner as he stood at the door — a sour look in his eyes.