Everyone called her “Lady”, although she was only six-and-a-quarter years old. She carried herself with a regal clumsiness unlike any other witch in the three nearest covens. She worked alone with a serious-minded efficiency that drew the attention of her peers.
Lady ignored the gossip because she truly didn’t notice it. She was intent upon perfecting the measurements. A proper potion provides potential perfection, she had heard often enough.
Under a rusty hoe handle, a garden gnome picked his teeth with the stem of a dandelion and observed Lady’s furrowed brow with amusement. He had once believed that he could learn to read the recipe right there on her forehead, but last year he had become a toadstool for six months without explanation, and so he was uncomfortable with that level of absorption anymore. Nevertheless, he did eventually become drowsy, and the dandelion stem fell in his lap as his mouth hung open in slumber.
Lady meanwhile, was starting to lose her concentration as the afternoon headed toward evening. The cauldron before her was beginning to bubble over, and she was getting concerned that her little arms would give out soon. That was all she remembered until her hand came to her cheek and felt the morning dew upon it.