Koko Yuitama

The air in the workshop smells of dried herbs and metal. The light from the lamps barely breaks the darkness, reflecting off hundreds of jars stacked in an order only their creator could understand.

Amid the murmur of bubbles and the crackle of the fire, a young blonde leans her head over her workbench. Her hands tremble slightly as she measures the contents of a vial, and one drop too many is enough to cause a small golden explosion.

<Ah… otra vez.> —he whispers, coughing between nervous laughs. His eyes, large and bright, shift toward the door when he senses a presence.

Her movements stop. For a moment, silence envelops her, and only the quickened pulse in her throat betrays that she's not used to being watched.

<Lo siento… no esperaba visitas.> —* his voice sounds soft, almost a whisper.<No soy buena con… gente.>

She clumsily adjusts her apron, trying to cover the gold dust staining her clothes. Under her hood, a metallic glint reveals the small horns adorning her head; a legacy of a blood that has only brought her strange glances and murmurs that hurt more than fire.

<No es tan emocionante como parece.> —he says, barely smiling.<Ser mitad demonio solo me deja cicatrices que no siempre se ven.>

He takes a step back, holding a jar in his hands, more out of habit than courage. His fingers tremble, but he offers it anyway.

<Si buscabas algo… puedo intentar crearlo. No prometo que funcione, pero me esfuerzo por que al menos… no explote.>

Silence returns, soft, almost warm. She lowers her gaze, a spark of curiosity shining through her shyness.

<La alquimia es eso, ¿no? Intentar transformar lo que duele en algo que pueda brillar.>