Alistair did not supply an instantaneous answer, dithering behind the counter for a few long seconds before he ultimately decided to circumvent it altogether, unlatching the gate to approach his patronage proper. “... It’s been at least fifty years now,” Seraphina felt her eyebrows briefly raise to her hairline, but she reeled her expression back in to delude a sense of placidity as the catlike fiend awkwardly scratched his nape, avoiding eye contact. “... Witches are a longer-lived species in juxtaposition to the other inhabitants of this realm because of their distant relation to the ancient elves... so, by the time he was finally at his deathbed, Milo had already experienced a long and fulfilling life... and he admitted then that his only lasting regret was having to leave me behind... given that we demons are cursed to never die.” 

 Seraphina did not consider herself an authority on exhibiting empathy, her tongue thickening in her mouth as she futilely scoured her brain for the correct words. “I... my condolences,” she ultimately settled on, unhelpfully enough. Though in spite of her paltry attempt at reassurance, Alistair broke out into a soft grin and Seraphina wondered if fifty long years of regurgitating the same meaningless routine, festering alone in a rotted mausoleum of a home, terrified of outside connection but desperate for it all the same— 

It would have been nice to have someone say something. The smallest, simplest note of acknowledgment. 

“... Well, far be it from me to harangue you with my personal troubles. I evidently need to take a class on customer etiquette... though if I don’t come up with a new decisive marketing strategy sometime soon, all the effort it has taken to keep this old place afoot... sigh, I really don’t want to be performing third-rate prestidigitation in the streets to keep my coffers full; I know maybe a single solid spell that is guaranteed to turn some heads, but if it’s overdone, people will stop caring. Mrgh,” a twitchy ear and a sunken expression as Alistair clasped his hips and let his eyes fall as he mentally poured over his options. Seraphina felt an unbidden smile find her lips as she patted his shoulder, earning his attention along with a twinkle of optimism.  

“Well, cat boys with glasses are all the rage nowadays, are they not? If so, I’ve got a surefire idea if you’re willing to, ah, get your hands dirty a bit,” she grinned brazenly and finger-gunned one-handedly. “By that, I mean, people specifically like their cat boys in fluffy maid outfits. I happened to spy one in pink while I was strolling through town earlier decked out in all this gorgeous lace... I almost regret not picking it up!”  

Alistair’s ears shot straight up in stupefaction as vivid pink spots invaded his cheeks. “Mrow—!? That... that sounds a bit undignified, miss!”  

The elvish girl hid her teasing chortle behind her hand. “I’m only poking a little fun... but it’s definitely something to consider if you find yourself backed in a corner financially, sometimes you need to be willing to prey on humanity’s intrinsic temptations if you want to make your mark... even if it means sacrificing whatever remains of your pride in the process. But I digress,” Seraphina reached over to retake the vial she had meant to inquire about before they got sidetracked. “You have a customer now, don’t you? I’d say we should make the most of it... even if I don’t have much to offer in the way of concrete support, this is my first time... ahem, I can foresee my younger self leaping with excitement if... she was standing in my shoes now. I’ve always had a love for magic, and this place... it breathes with it. It’s... unbelievable.” 

Alistair melted into an appreciative grin. “Of course! I’m just happy that I can be of service. Oh,” he reaccepted the concoction from her and at that moment, the elephant in the room was at last taken note of. “I almost forgot; would it be all right if I asked for your name?” 

“Of course,” Seraphina smiled. “It’s... Seraphina.”  

“Seraphina! What a wonderful name,” Alistair gave her hand an exuberant shake; his tails bouncing gleefully. Once he withdrew, he returned to the subject at hand and reinterviewed the labels on the vial, then looked up at Seraphina as a quizzical look cemented itself on his face. “... Heh, well... unless you’re interested in looking like the equivalent of a big fuzzy bear, which I sincerely doubt is the intention, I think we should hold off on this particular remedy. But if it’s restoring what might have been lost, I have something else in mind. Follow moi!”  

The cattish demon stowed the misused vial in his pockets to doubtless be resorted later and unhooked the gate to invite her behind the counter, then shepherded her to a secluded storage room. Shelves of miscellaneous remedial items while every other available space was prettily bedecked with a variety of colorful, cat-themed knickknacks and potted plants, miniature bouquets and cacti that Alistair was likely nursing in his free time, and Seraphina wondered if he has ever tried to take care of a lily or if the usual sentiment applied in this situation. Her thoughts escaped from her when Alistair bent down to snatch a concoction from the bottommost rack and backed out on his knees. 

“Here you are,” he stepped back up and forked over the phial. “It’s a tale as old as time, really. We’d have young witches, students still in the middle of honing their craft who’ve accidentally singed off their hair while trying out their first big-time fire spell... and bad haircuts, too, which I imagine is the particular dilemma you’ve run afoul of. A Potion of Minor Restoration, but don’t expect that it’ll have much of an effect if you happen to accrue a grievous injury or need to mend a broken heart; it’s purely for cosmetic purposes. Of course, if you are in need of healing, I could throw in a few freebies on top to aid you on the road.”  

“No, this is... it’s great,” Seraphina had to be careful, she knew, as to not let her emotions spill over, but she couldn’t help but crack open as glee penetrated her meticulously crafted facade, cradling the small vial to her chest like it was the Holy Grail. Alistair took note of her reaction as understanding softened his expression, and he promptly excused himself to finger through the racks again.  

“... You know, I think you and Milo were pretty alike,” he told her. “Unless I’m misunderstanding the situation, of course... but if I am on the right track, then... I should tell you that the main reason why Milo more or less dropped out prematurely was because he was forced to be someone he was not when he initially enrolled. Times have predictably changed since then and the regulations have eased up a bit, but... it was hard for him to make amends with the fact that the people he had once idolized struggled to dish out the same measure of self-respect. He studied ‘til his fingers blistered in his desperation to prove himself but even then, they refused to look him in the eye... refused to call him by the name he preferred and refused to accept that he could be anything beyond what they expected him to be.”  

Alistair returned with an armful of tinctures. “... Thankfully, people were less judgmental here at home... he had already made something of a name for himself in the neighborhood, and when he returned with the intention of steering the reins of his own life, everyone accepted him and learned to adapt over time. He started practicing medicine full-time and derived a semi-successful career from it, and he was able to use his knowledge to help not only himself but... other people in the same situation who felt as if the Embassage had failed them. It‘s only a fledgling community... but they’re all looking out for each other, nonetheless. I think that’s beautiful... how mortals can find the strength to be strong for themselves even when the odds are stacked against them.”  

“... Well,” Seraphina unequipped the vial and returned it to the hidden pocket in her skirt, then fondly reached out and gave the top of his hat a pat. ”... I want to think that the main reason why Milo was able to persevere despite... The disapproval he was forced to endure…. was because he had you by his side since the beginning, Alistair. As someone who can empathize,” she recalled her hand to sit against her chest. “... Whether it is a hundred people or just one, I assure you that it makes all the difference regardless… after all, all we truly desire is the right to say that we safely have a place here.”

“... He might have been the one to save me instead of the other way around if I can be honest,” Alistair wordlessly redirected her to his workstation wherein he dumped and neatly categorized the products. “I... he never denied my personhood and treated me like... I was his family... and until that point, I was... I was alone... but he reached his hand out and continued to hold fast even when my presence might have been nothing more than an encumbrance... and he ultimately gave me the blessing of being able to carry on his dream. It must have been fate,” he twirled to the left, beaming at Seraphina like she was the sun incarnate. “... That you and I met, Miss Seraphina. And I think... Milo would have wanted me to help you.”  

Alistair then motioned toward the medley of solutions. “I’m going to cut you a deal,” he raised his index finger. “I suspect that you’re planning on traveling to Saintridge once the road reopens, right? I want you to help me advertise Milo and Alistair’s Apothecary, and I’ll do it the... proper way this time with all those forms and whatnot, but even if I do distribute my adorable little face all over the city... Milo’s ultimate dream was for his voice to reach every corner of Yatyre, and I don’t want to give up on our original plan to hire more people, diffuse our goods to the furthest reaches of the land, open up branches in the New Capital... but if you demonstrate the effectiveness of our products, and I also personally think that a charming young lady like yourself would make for the perfect mascot, then... you know, it’s a two-birds-with-one-stone situation. I revitalize our dying business... and I can also help you become the person you want to be, too. Honestly, even if our old store ends up kicking the bucket... I’ll feel content knowing that his memory was able to touch someone’s heart regardless.”  

“I,” Seraphina found herself a little lost for words, stiffening as the demon gauged her with hope and fondness in his eyes and it was unnatural. Goodwill doesn’t exist in this world; it was like a proverb to her: a lifestyle she became unwittingly endeared to, denouncing the off chance of kindness as a would-be pipe dream and rationalizing that it was easier, that it was expected to withdraw, shun— live as if she was no better than the undead, mechanically undergoing the motions, forswearing what it meant to be human— to experience love and joy. It had always felt necessary and instinctual to put her personal grievances on the back burner even when this loathsome skinsuit oftentimes felt so tight that she struggled to breathe, but she could not complain. She could only bow her head in compliance and make amends with her purposelessness.  

Peace felt like such an unnegotiable, farfetched expectation.  

“... Though, uh... I’m not necessarily sure how these formulae will translate to, ah, a pureblooded elf,” Alistair remarked as he reevaluated his kit, rereading the labels. “I mean, biologically speaking, outside of your natural adeptness for magic and your extended lifespans, your hormone levels realistically shouldn’t deviate too much from your half-elvish kin. But if you’d prefer to be on the safe side, I could run some more tests...” 

“Alistair," she caught the demon by the shoulder to reroute his attention; her face brimming with a wide, genuine grin. “... I can’t articulate how grateful I am, I... really... thank you so much for this opportunity... no one’s... no one has ever looked out for me like this, and... sorry,” her throat afire, Seraphina withdrew to dab her eyes with the cuff of her shirt. “I’m all right. I’m more than all right,” untapped, suppressed energy bursting through the proverbial floodgates, she bequeathed her newfound acquaintance with an upraised thumb and a wink. “I’ll spread the honorable name of this apothecary far and wide; you can count on me!”  

Alistair’s tails perked up as pure elation subsumed his features. “Oh, Seraphina, thank you! I... I really wish you and Milo could have been able to meet, but... I’m not going to wait around anymore for a miracle to happen; it’s high time that I’ve taken my destiny by the reins,” he determined as he pumped his fists. “Oh, right! Seraphina, since you may be stuck in Bluefield for the foreseeable future, do you have a place to rest your head?” 

“Ah, well... we weren’t planning on overstaying our welcome initially, but with the road closed... and our coffers in a regrettable state, I’m afraid I was just going to make peace with using the last of our camp supplies and convene on the outskirts,” Seraphina confessed.  

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we? Far be it from me to allow one of my dear employees to get away with undermining their health. As an apothecary, the very notion sickens me. All right,” the demon jumped, a spontaneous burst of light foretokening his retransformation as he landed with cattish grace and thus returned to all fours. “I have a spare room upstairs. Well, it used to be Milo’s, but since it’s more or less collecting dust... until Saintridge reopens its borders, mi casa es su casa!”  

Seraphina briefly exchanged a doubtful glance with her familiar then returned to the catlike fiend as swift paws raced to the threshold. “I... are you sure, Alistair? I wouldn’t like to impose...”  

Alistair looked back over his shoulder. “You aren’t an imposition at all! The honor is all mine, honestly. Now, grab your luggage; I’ll escort you.”