The First Potion Moon — Under the creaky witchwood trees, Sable tipped three dew drops into the iron pot and listened: plip, plip, plip. Read the full story →
Under the creaky witchwood trees, Sable tipped three dew drops into the iron pot and listened: plip, plip, plip. She wanted one answer—why the moon kept hiding behind cloud-curls whenever ghosts asked it questions. The brew smelled like wet leaves and lemon peel, but it only burped gray bubbles. Then something silver fluttered onto her spoon.
It was a moon-moth, with wings softer than cobwebs and eyes like pinpricks. “Don’t stir down,” it whispered. “Stir up.” Sable leaned close, curiosity fizzing through her like soda. “Up how?” “Like you’re winding a secret into the sky.”
So Sable stirred in tall loops. The steam stretched thin, caught sparks from the fire, and carried them upward until little stars rode the swirls. The moon peeked out to read the sparkling question and has done so ever since; that is why potion steam rises in starry ribbons. Next time you spot those curling sparks, keep watch—one may still be carrying Sable’s question from the creaky witchwood trees.