“Behind the counter, jars lined with hundreds of vibrant butterflies catch the light, their wings fluttering ever so slightly despite being trapped. Fastolm frequently gazes longingly at them — occasionally whispering to a particular jar, as if sharing secrets with unseen companions. Rumor whispers the butterflies are once-living fey, ensnared by his enchanted net that transforms wary sprites into these potent ingredients. The shop smells faintly of wet earth, honey, and a mysterious undertone of something darker — an unsettling edge beneath the shop’s otherwise serene, sylvan charm.”