Mel Bennett - Autumn Flavor & Witch Essentials :) | PC PLUS |

The front door creaked open, and a gust of wind sent a flurry of maple leaves skittering across her floor. It was Elias, the local blacksmith, looking weary.

She reached for a bundle of dried mugwort, binding it tightly with charcoal-colored twine. This was for the "Threshold Sweep"—a ritual her grandmother taught her to clear out the stagnant energy of summer and make room for the introspection of winter. Next to it went a small, hand-poured candle the color of a bruised plum, scented with patchouli and damp earth. Mel Bennett - Autumn Flavor & Witch Essentials :)

Mel didn't hesitate. She grabbed a jar of her Autumn Flavor base—the toasted spices—and tucked it into a small velvet pouch alongside a piece of smoky quartz from her essentials basket. The front door creaked open, and a gust

Mel sat at her scarred oak kitchen table, the surface cluttered with the morning’s harvest. Her hands, stained slightly purple from mashing elderberries, moved with practiced rhythm. Beside her, a cast-iron pot hummed on the stove, releasing the spicy, grounding steam of what she called her —a blend of clove, star anise, and toasted orange peel that made the very walls of her cottage feel like a hug. This was for the "Threshold Sweep"—a ritual her

"Simmer these in a pot of spring water," she instructed, her voice steady and warm. "Let the steam hit the rafters. And keep the stone in your pocket; it’ll ground that frantic energy you’re carrying. Autumn isn't just about things dying, Elias. It’s about the earth gathering its strength. You need to do the same."

She took a long sip of her own tea, tasting the honey and the sharp bite of ginger. The veil was thinning, the harvest was coming in, and Mel Bennett was exactly where she was meant to be.

"Mel, the forge feels cold. Not 'fire' cold, but... empty," he said, twisting his cap in his hands.