Join the Coven Letter
A short, hand-inked note sent whenever the moon turns — new potions, new spells, nothing more.
We have kept this apothecary since before the road out front had a name.
Rue keeps the lantern and the ledger. Bramble keeps the garden and the grudges she refuses to hold. Thistle keeps the book, and the book, some say, keeps her. Together they inherited this cottage from an aunt none of them can quite agree on, and have kept its shelves stocked ever since.
Every potion that leaves our door has been tasted, argued over, and tasted again. We brew small batches because we brew by hand, and we brew by hand because the forest has never once rewarded shortcuts.
Every herb is foraged or grown in our own garden, cut at the hour the almanac favors, and dried in bundles above the hearth.
We list every side effect we know of, plainly, on every bottle and on this website. No potion is sold without its warnings.
Brewing days follow our lunar calendar. A potion started on the wrong night, we've learned, is a potion started over.
A short, hand-inked note sent whenever the moon turns — new potions, new spells, nothing more.