Bitter or sweet, thick or airy, each concoction was an intake of the experience, the trauma, or the chaos of thoughts that wounded the seeker. Before the Potion Lady they would sit, burdened, and wounded by life and its people and its ways. Some of the potions were fragrant, aromatic intoxication. Others were to moisten the dry places, or color the colorless. Most were teas. Occasionally a balm of herbs aromatic and a few sachets. Then there were the candles, rich and lush with Rose and Lavender. Their flickering flames home of Angels, their scent purifying and eliminating anything not of Light. More than anything, the Extracts were the words that spilled from the Potion Lady’s lips. Truth, insights, wisdom of what troubled the Seeker. Truths the seeker did not want, but truth anyway.