She walked in, eyes wet, though it wasn’t raining.
“It’s heavy again,” she said. “I carry all their names. I tried to leave a few behind this time.”
I nodded, quietly brewed Mindleaf Smoke—steeped in forget-me-not and stoneflower.
“Will this help?” she asked, voice trembling.
“Only if you’re ready to forget the names you still love,” I said.
She drank half, winced. “It’s bitter.”
“That’s memory.”
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