Euphemia Thornewood was not born old-she simply stayed long enough for the moon to carve wisdom into her bones. For over a century, she has walked the edge of the forest where the veil thins and the owls speak plainly.
Her hat--wide-brimmed and velvet black with a silver star that catches the moonlight-is lined with tiny phials of moon -steeped tinctures. Crystals glint from the brim like captured constellations. Each stone is chosen under a different full moon. Each potion holds a promise: protection, remembrance, gentle vengeance, forgotten courage.
They call her when fevers burn too bright or greif grows too heavy. She never asks for coin. Only stories. A lock of hair. A whispered regret. payment enough for a woman who trades in what cannot be weighed.
Some say it's medicine.
Some say it's magic
Euphemia knows it is both.
She is one of a kind, hand sculpted from polymer and epoxy clays, painted in layers of acrylics and oil paints on a wood slice from her beloved forest and then sealed. There is a certificate of authenticity on the back along with a hanger.
Approximately 8 x 5 3/4"
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