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wither & storm is tucked into a quiet little corner of a quiet little village nestled in the countryside. it leans a little to the left, as if the building was listening to those who passed by, and the sound of soft twinkling can always be heard from the handcrafted wind chimes, even when there’s no wind. passersby often pause, drawn by the crooked sign that hangs from a mulberry coloured iron hook, of a raven sipping from a porcelain cup patterned with lightning sparks. it isn’t the kind of shop one looks for; no, it is a shop that people find when they need it most.
inside, the air always smells of lavender, bergamot, and old wood. the shelves are lined with jars labelled in faint ink (starry night chamomile, whisper’s bloom, fae’s fortune), though only half of them contain anything drinkable. the rest hold buttons shaped like moons, bones strung on red thread, vials of stardust. there are other oddities too: porcelain dolls with cracked limbs and missing eyes, wind-up music boxes that only play when the holder feels a certain emotion, paintings that change subtly every time one blinks.
imogen steps inside the shop, brushing the hay from her sleeves and taking off her hat. pate rests on her shoulder, chattering about the horses outside. her boots thud against the wooden floors as she hums in response to what he’s saying, and the scent of petrichor trails after them.
“laud?” she calls when pate pauses, putting her hat on a hook and pushing her glasses up her nose. there’s a rustle from behind the curtain that leads to the backroom, followed by a clatter of metal and a dull bumping noise.
“i’m fine!” comes the quick response, “that was supposed to happen!”
laudna emerges only moments later, her hair a mess of ribbon and paintbrushes she’s likely forgotten are there. her face lights up when she sees imogen and pate, her smile wide and lopsided as she looks between them both.
“good morning, darling,” she says to imogen, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “did marzipan try to bite you today, or did she let you brush her mane?” pate launches himself off of imogen’s shoulder, hovering in front of laudna and letting her brush her fingers across his back.
“she tried to bite me!” he announces, sounding scandalised.
“yeah, ‘cause you were flappin’ around in front of her like some li’l bug,” imogen teases, her attention taken by a new trinket on a shelf. it’s a little sculpture of a raven, no bigger than her thumb, that turns its head as she studies it. “this new?”
“mmhm! a travelling wizard swung by a bit after midnight, i gave him some tea and he gave me that and a mirror i’m pretty sure is cursed. that’s what i was working on in the back.”
imogen laughs quietly, stepping around the counter. they move around each other easily, a dance they’ve long practiced, setting out saucers and taking tea leaves from labelled tins. imogen watches as laudna places mugs on top of their saucers, waving her fingers and levitating them so that they instead floated upside down.
“no dust collectin' in 'em,” she says, before waiting.
“no cup edges touching anything,” laudna finishes. it was a daily ritual at this point, a quiet reminder that they worked together on everything, from the management of their shop and home, to the small things like how they put the mugs away.
tea in hand, they settle together on the antique loveseat by the fireplace. laudna curls into imogen’s side, tucking her feet beneath her, whilst imogen rests her head atop laudna’s. pate curls up on the cushion to their side, and he’s still for merely a second before falling asleep.
“no dreams last night?” laudna asks softly.
“only good ones,” imogen replies, “of home an' friends.” outside, the evening clouds start to gather into a pleasant, grey-hued gloom. it’s imogen’s favourite kind of day, when rain hovers like a promise and thunder sounded more like a lullaby. the kind of day she only found at laudna’s side, perfect for tea, stories, and half-finished art projects.
“we should invite everyone around again,” laudna hums, stirring her tea with a spoon that tried to bite her.
“only if chet promises not to bring another of those toys.” imogen glances up at the ceiling, which is still covered in faint splatters of paint from when the toy had exploded in their faces.
“he was experimenting with chaos art,” laudna says with a smile.
“the ceiling dripped paint on us for four days.”
“and you looked just as lovely in yellow as you did blue.” imogen rolls her eyes, but she smiles regardless.
they sip at their tea and watch the lanterns above flicker on, glowing with a soft pastel light. the lights are a little late, it is already dark outside, but wither & storm seemed to follow its own peculiar rhythm, and neither laudna nor imogen would change anything about it. laudna would open when she felt it was needed, which meant dawn somedays or midnight on others, explaining that the shop knew when somebody needed her. imogen handled the horses and the garden, but she also crafted enchanted stirrups, taught the occasional spell and sold hand-carved charms from a drawer labelled for luck! (maybe!). it doesn’t make the most money, exactly, not when laudna had a habit of accepting anything other than money, but it was enough. and they were together.
the door chimes. it opens on its own, and a pale child wanders in; a little elven girl with wide eyes and leaf-green hair. she points at a brass beetle on the shelf and says nothing, grinning at laudna with teeth that were a little sharper than usual. laudna unfurls herself from imogen’s side, matching the child’s grin.
“that one? good choice. his name is ceviche. he’ll tell you the time and—”
“on tuesdays only, he’ll tell you secrets,” imogen finishes, appearing soundlessly at laudna’s side. the girl’s grin widens and she giggles, placing a silver acorn and four buttons into laudna’s extended hand. ceviche scuttles up the girl’s arm and settles on the end of her nose, and she dances back towards the door.
“professor princess fearne calloway, fey scion of the ancient flame, will be with you tomorrow,” she says as the door closes behind her. laudna busies herself with putting away the buttons, slipping the acorn into her pocket, whilst imogen sighs.
“so fearnie is comin’, then. sent a li’l girl to do her messagin’?”
“oh, i think the little girl was coming anyway, fearne just saw a chance to pass a message along. at least the little one got what she needed.”
“‘m’glad we get t’be what she’s lookin’ for. our strange shop really is helpin’ people, huh?”
“it really is!” laudna says excitedly, and the lanterns dance merrily above them as if agreeing. behind them on the wall, an old portrait yawns itself awake, and the bell over the door chimes again.
it seems they are needed tonight.