Miko held the pestle in her hand, grinding the medicine with irregular taps.
Sweat beads slid down her forehead to the bridge of her nose, quickly gathering into a drop at the tip of her dainty nose.
Drip, the sweat bead fell onto the table.
She timed her grinding to her heartbeat, calculating with each breath the grinding motions, and was even strict about maintaining the correct incantation tones after each step.
"Potion making is an extremely profound and stringent art. How could you do it whimsically based on what you feel inside?"
She stopped the work in her hands and couldn't help but grumble to herself.
The last time they discussed potion brewing, Lind actually used something called "idealism" to judge it, which irritated her for a long time.
