The "District" was a collection of narrow alleys that smelled of roasted coffee and damp stone. There, tucked between a cobbler and a closed-down clock shop, was The Copper Still . Inside, there were no neon lights, only the low hum of a dehumidifier and shelves of amber glass.
The man reached under the counter and pulled out a heavy, unlabelled bottle. The liquid inside wasn't crystal clear; it had a faint, golden tea-tint. He unscrewed the cap, and the scent hit Clara like a physical memory: earthy, woody, and slightly medicinal. It was the smell of a forest floor after a frost. where can i buy pure witch hazel
The clerk blinked. "Try the apothecary in the District. If it’s not in a cardboard box, they don't sell it." The "District" was a collection of narrow alleys
For weeks after the funeral, Clara searched. The local CVS offered blue plastic bottles where "Witch Hazel" was a footnote to 14% alcohol and synthetic fragrances. It stung her nose but lacked the soul her grandmother’s vanity possessed. She tried the high-end boutiques downtown, where glass jars cost sixty dollars and were filled with "botanical blends" of cucumber and aloe. The man reached under the counter and pulled