“The shop is a cramped, crooked wooden shack on twisted stilts deep in the ancient woods, its walls covered in tangled vines, hanging herbs, and cobwebs that sometimes move. Babalia, the old owner, mutters incantations under her breath seemingly at random, brewing potions in pots that bubble with unnatural colors and smoke. She has a toad named Wartlock sitting on a shelf who seems to watch customers with unnerving intelligence. The floorboards creak and shift slightly, and the windows rattle as if whispering secrets. Occasionally, when you bargain, Babalia insists you trade a personal trinket or secret instead of gold.”