Workshops resemble their owners.
It wasn’t just alchemists, but a characteristic shared by all professions that possessed their own spaces. The workshops I had seen so far were no exception.
Leto’s workshop had a somewhat disorganized feel. Papers scattered everywhere, complex formulas and shapes scribbled on them, and unorganized trash that gave the impression it would collapse if touched.
A space where casualness and sensitivity coexisted, perhaps.
In contrast, Senior Elsie’s workshop was impeccably neat. Bookshelves and display stands arranged without a single flaw, a cleanliness that even felt like a kind of obsession.
But if you looked closely inside, an unexpected fact would reveal itself. Namely, that there was no rule whatsoever in the order in which objects were arranged.
In other words, only the owner knew where the items one was looking for were placed.
It was a tricky and mischievous arrangement. Furthermore, it was a workshop that suited Senior Elsie, who didn’t easily reveal her inner thoughts.
And Emma’s workshop was.
“That’s unusual.”
My mind, which had been lost in thought, snapped awake with a start.
Before I knew it, a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of me. Across the table, Emma sat with a faint smile, dressed in…