I laugh and say, “I certainly don’t need to be brought back to reality today. I am about as real as I can get right now.”
“Yes, I would say you are,” she says. I feel her feeding the fire with her will, speeding up the steeping process. The fragrant smell of herbs wafts from the pot as the water nears boiling. “That should do it,” Gloriana says. She lifts the pot from the hook with her power and pours the tea into two, small, stone cups crafted with magic, given life by the craft and imagination of the earth’s oldest race.
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