The Hand That Mocked Them

Hieronymus was making painfully slow progress. He was afraid his master would be displeased if he moved anything else.

Kivvien glanced up to see Hironymus picking through the mess, not truly cleaning any particular area. "Were you taught to clean, Hieronymus?"

"I can't move this stuff without permission," he said miserably. "Master likes things to be where he left them."

Kivvien sighed. "At least try to clear paths between the rooms." It was really just something to keep him busy.

"Isn't there anything else I could do to help?" he asked. "I really, really shouldn't be moving things around without his permission."

"Just stay out of the way."

He dipped his head and retreated up the loft stairs to his carpet scrap, where he slid out of his leg prosthetics and curled up.

Many hours past with Kivvien toiling away at the salve. The sun went down and he had to cast a spell to illuminate the room, so as not to get detailed looking for a lamp. Slowly he added the boiling water to the mixture, and slowly it thickened into paste, absorbing more of the water than it seemed possible.

He cast one final spell and let it rest, bubbling and spitting in it's covered bowl.

Hieronymus had napped for most of the few hours, them wandered down into the study to read. He stayed out of the way as promised.

Kivvien wandered about, observing the various books and notes that littered every corner of the cottage.

Many of them were journal entries pinned to the walls and floor, as well as notes on homunculi, anatomy, demons, and their relationship to the occult.

It was all very facinating. There were many angles Kivvien hadn't even thought to explore detailed on this madman's walls.

Hieronymus eventually came down from the loft. "...How are things going?" he asked timidly, coming up behind Kivvien.

"The salve is done, it simply needs to rest for a little while before it's useable."

"And then he'll be up in a few hours? Will he have changed in any way?"