The first weeks of the year moved faster than I expected. Between the usual start-of-January chaos and a few distractions I hadn’t planned for, this piece arrived a little later than intended. Still, I carved out the time to shape and refine it, returning to the Tattoos series to continue a storyline I’ve been sketching out for a while now, adding another careful stroke where it felt right.
Some lessons aren’t taught all at once. They surface slowly, when the moment allows for them and the questions are finally ready to be answered. This scene doesn’t take place during an invitation or at the edge of danger, but in the quieter space before both, where preparation matters more than action and restraint carries its own weight.
In Lucas’s workshop, knowledge is passed on deliberately. Understanding comes not from speed, but from patience and timing. It’s shared only when the apprentice is ready to carry what follows. What you’ll read isn’t an explanation of process, but a glimpse into that restraint, and the reasoning behind why certain truths are revealed later than others.
This piece captures a single exchange between mentor and apprentice, one that doesn’t change the world outright, but subtly reshapes how it’s understood. It’s a story about origins, timing, and the confidence that comes from knowing when to listen instead of asking for more. If you’d like to read the full piece, consider buying me a croissant 
and settling in for a brief escape.
Come, sit down and allow me to give you a mini-escape and kindle your imagination.
Lucas closed the shutters, banishing the sunlight, then activated the lamp, casting everything in amber. He pulled Elouise closer, kissing her forehead, before retrieving a box from beneath the bench. “Ready for answers relating to the special additive?”
“Is that what’s in the box?”
Lucas opened it, revealing a charred root. “With this, we can invite guests.”
“The powder was more colorful than this root.”
Warm laughter filled the workshop as Lucas withdrew it. “After drying it beside a fire, its outer layer blackens while the inner takes the color you saw.”
Elouise touched the root with her fingertips. “Is it sensitive to sunlight?”
Lucas smiled as he returned the root to the box. After he closed it, he opened the shutters. “It’s only susceptible to sunlight once it’s been blackened.”
“How often do you run out?”
Lucas patted the top of the box as his lips curled into a grin. “Every harvest lasts me until the next, provided the cliff cooperates.”
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