The woman turned to me again.
“You have drunk enough. Any more… and your soul would not return.”
I stepped backward, dizzy, horrified.
My husband crawled toward her, desperate.
“Please! One more month! She’ll stay with me, right? She’ll never leave—”
The woman’s eyes hardened.
“That is not love. That is captivity.”
Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance.
She touched his forehead with one finger.
He screamed—louder than I had ever heard—then collapsed, motionless.
The woman looked at me one final time.
“Go. Leave this place tonight.”
And just like that, she turned and walked into the darkness, her figure fading like smoke.
My husband lay on the floor, breathing but unconscious.
The cup rolled beside him, spilling what was left of the tea— thicker now, black-red, like something that should never have been inside a human body.
I grabbed my keys.
My knees trembled.
But I walked out the door.
I never looked back.
And to this day… when I smell anything warm and faintly sweet at midnight…
my stomach turns, because I know now— love never needed a tea that came from the hands of a stranger in the dark.
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