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Childe peered into the cauldron. “What kind of witch mixes up her ingredients?”
“Me.” Lumine squinted at the jar labels. “I’m that kind of witch.”
“You don't say!”
“Look! I work at a discounted rate. People get what they pay for.”
“I—"
She plucked a strand of his hair.
“Ow!”
“Need it for the spell.”
“You could’ve asked.”
“You signed the waiver. Should’ve read the fine print.”
Aether walked in. “Why not use regular hair dye, Childe? It’s easier.”
He grinned. “Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to see her work.”
“You better hope she mixes you the right color.”