The Restoration Draught

I found the miniature leather-bound grimoire resting upon the oak table, its palm-sized spine yielding smoothly beneath my touch. With unhurried poise, I parted the parchment leaves until the weathered script of the restoration rite lay revealed. Beside the open pages, I drew a glistening bead of water from a small glass and coaxed it into the ceramic ramekin, moistening the crushed yarrow and cedar bark. The dark herbal dust stirred, exhaling a rich, sharp fragrance into the morning light. Leaning over the vessel, I whispered the cadence—Phasmatos Sanitatem—in measured cadence, then tasted the clear infusion. A calm, grounded clarity settled through me, renewing my strength.