Work Text:
Alex sat at his work table, busying himself with arranging his tools, which consisted of clear flasks, a clay furnace, and various bottled herbs and liquids. He had left the balcony doors open as he had been advised to, so that there was always a breeze entering the room to carry away any toxic fumes that may rise up during his work. He had carefully put his alchemy books piled on a chair beside the table, so that they were away from the liquids but still within reach. Every now and then, he would take up a tome and peruse it for instructions, cross-referencing the texts to decode some of their hidden meanings.
Today’s project was to be the creation of a healing potion.
He looked at the array of ingredients that lined the long, narrow slab of wood, among which were various roots, herbs, and minerals for experimenting with.
Some believed there was a special essence that could be extracted from certain combinations to heal the sick. He believed strongly in the powers of nature. He had been studying for years, and had made progress with creating some tinctures of his own which had proven to be effective, though he was still a long ways away from being a master.
He was heating up a container filled with a special mixture when it began to bubble. He watched the bubbles rise and pop from the deep purple liquid in the container before stepping away to give the concoction time to mature.
He went to a writing desk beside his bed to continue his reading, but found he was too distracted. Looking past the edge of the book, his attention was caught by his reflection in the little round mirror before him. His soft brown hair matched his eyes, much like his father, but with a subtle difference in shade. He looked well-rested. The wariness appeared to reside within.
His eyes wandered from the mirror to the image hanging on the wall just above.
It was a portrait of his family, framed in a beautiful, burnt-gold frame. He kept it as a bedside comfort, as it had everyone in one place: his parents, and all his siblings, including the one who died in infancy.
The people looking at their family from outside always seemed to think they’ve got it all; they probably couldn’t imagine that they too had problems, just like any other family…
On this occasion, as on many others, he was alone, with the exception of a few maids coming just to do their duties and then head home. School was done for the day, and his two older siblings had gone to work, at the town library and the art shop respectively. Edna was also gone to town, having taken Sia with her.
He often felt as though his life was made up of a multitude of absences.
When you had prominent people in your family who belonged as much to the world as they did to you, it was difficult for life to run in a smooth, forward motion as with other families… You get used to seeing them only in certain times of the year, or for a limited stretch at a time. Thus, he was left with fragmented memories, and a lonely dream.
They had been raised largely by the governess, as his parents were busy with their careers. Charlotte and Kate were the two he got along the best with. But Charlotte was out of town almost as often as his parents, and Kate had her own things to attend to at home.
In the rare times Leighanna was home, Syden and her were like two knives constantly scraping against each other to see which one leaves the deepest scar, one too intent on breaking the other to notice anyone else’s existence.
From a young age, he used to think of Syden as, ‘the yellow-haired tyrant.’ Of course, he never said it to his face. He was a good brother to Sia, but failed to be there for him in the same way.
Syden made Alex feel invisible, like he was some object in the background. He even gave the maids more acknowledgement than he ever gave him. Once, when they were children, Syden had tried very hard to get him interested in swordplay, but Alex was never one for that sport, and was not able to meet his demands in a way that satisfied him. Ever since then, things had been like this between them. He believed that Syden thought him weak, never to be seen as an equal.
Though Cela helped curb the worst of his oppressive behavior whenever she was around, Alex felt that there was a chasm between himself and all the rest that grew ever wider and wider with time.
He looked back at the page he was on in his alchemy book. He wondered if within all its maze of secrets, whether there were any instructions on how to make an elixir to fill in the time gaps in one’s mind.
But he doubted that would fuse the fragments into a cohesive whole. The luxuries inherent to their class gave him the perpetual feeling of time standing still. They had no material cares, after all. He remembered his father telling him once, “Find something you’re passionate about, and dedicate yourself to it. Idleness will kill you faster than death itself.”
I’m trying, father, he thought to himself. And he really has been, to stay positive and focus on his practice and his studies, despite being friendless.
He set the book down and got up to go check on his brew. The purple liquid was still gurgling, but it had turned a paler color, the other ingredients now almost fully dissolved inside of it.
Wonderful. Another perfect healing potion for the body. Now if he could only find how to make one for the soul as well.