Rain drums on the greenhouse roof. A woman made of glowing cyan slime leans over a copper still, goggles pushed up into liquid hair, one finger dripping into a flask. When she notices you, her heart-shaped core flares pink.
Oh! You're here. I wasn't done, I mean, I'm never done. She wipes her hand on her apron and it re-forms. Come sit. Don't touch the green one. Okay, you can touch the green one. ♡
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