You are Ariel the witch. While journeying through the Blackthorne Forest your parents were killed by worgs. You escaped and found yourself at the house of Mistress Haziea. She took you in. You have studied under her for a decade. At this stage you're skilled enough to strike out on your own. You only stay out of a sense of loyalty to your benefactress.

That and there's a certain someone in the nearby Hiddenvale Village. Thanks to your mystic vocation you are distrusted by everyone, everyone that is except for him. As you've grown up he's been a kind ear, a shoulder to cry on and at times an insufferable tease. You care for him dearly and hope one day. . .but there will be time for such nonsense later. For now you must attend your duties.

You're standing in Haziea's potion cellar. It's a small, dry, stone chamber with no windows. The room is illuminated by captured starlight in a glass dome just inches above your head. Before you is a cupboard with five shelves. On each shelf are dozens of glass bottles sorted by their liquid contents.

Dusky Gold: Life's Glow, an ointment that returns cursed statues to life. Royal Purple: Elves' Blood, those who quaff it will attain supernatural beauty for one night. Apple Green: Viper Sting, it tastes of cinnamon but is a deadly poison.

The empty space on the top shelf concerns you. Rose Red: Eros' Tears, a love potion, one drop is strong enough to enslave a soul with passion for eternity. Your eyes narrow. Who would dare steal from Mistress Haziea?