Journal #8356

“Curses!” the tormented wail echoed through the stoney hallways of the castle. “This one’s come out green! It’s supposed to be blue!” A glass beaker shattered as it struck the cold stone floor, the green fluid within it sizzling as it spread and began dissolving a nearby rug.
The castle alchemist, Ebenezer Brothbrewer was hunched over his work table, wildly flicking through the pages of an enormous recipe book. He had lost track of how long he had been working. It could have been hours, even days, but he would not rest until he had figured out the ingredients for a very special brew he had once created by mistake.
“How hard can it truly be to turn oneself into a dragon?” he said aloud as he stood straight, his bones creaking audibly as he did. He slumped back into his naturally hunched posture and continued turning the pages of his book. “Why did I not write it down?”
He was mostly talking to himself, although some of his muttering caused Woodrow, one of the many cats who called the castle home, to stir in his sleep on top of one of the bookshelves lining the walls. He sat up and yawned, looking down on the frail old man ranting below him with great disinterest. Displeased with having been woken, he slowly moped along the row of shelves before leaping down onto the floor and gleefully trotting out of the room to find a new, quieter spot.
Brothbrewer paced back and forth across the room, scratching his bearded chin, completely oblivious to his previous attempts which littered the room. His most recent attempt was still rapidly dematerialising the large rug in the middle of the floor, while another was slowly climbing one of the walls, attempting to escape through a window. Suddenly, an ingredient he had not yet considered popped into mind. He quickly strode over to his ingredients cabinet and pulled out various vials and jars, checking the label on each.
“Aha!” he laughed “Cinnamon!” he practically skipped back to his bench, confident that this was what he had been missing all this time. He took another beaker, filled it halfway with water, and added the ingredients he had arranged on his table one by one. Then, he opened the jar of cinnamon, tipped some of the powder into his hand, and sprinkled it into the mixture. Satisfied with the amount, he took out his wand and used it to stir the concoction, before taking a step back and watching with high hopes. As the clear liquid began to take on a colour, his eyes almost welled up. It started out incredibly pale, before turning to a bright sky blue, darkening a little, and finally, as though to mock the poor man, rapidly morphed to a deep, dark purple and stopped. Brothbrewer’s eyes were still tearing up, but now they were twitching too, as he felt an intense building up inside him. He shook his head and tiptoed over to the beaker, quickly stirring the mixture again with his wand. Nothing. It remained purple.
He felt something snap. Actually, he felt two things snap. The first was something deep inside his head, his rage at its peak, the second was the wand in his hands. He let out a furious roar and brought both fists down on the work table either side of the beaker, which exploded.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying on his back, looking up at the mossy stone ceiling. He sat upright and rubbed his eyes, and then gazed at the dark purple smoke that was pouring out of the small crater in the table top. Then he noticed a strange light, shining inside the billowing smog. It grew brighter and brighter until suddenly, a small winged creature burst out of the smoke cloud with an audible pop. She was a beautiful, tiny creature, her dark brown hair swaying ever so slightly in the wake of her brilliant bright wings. Her miniature body was slim and without imperfections, covered by a small dress which ended halfway down her thighs.
“You’re a fairy” gasped Brothbrewer, the words sounded mad even to him, his eyes focused on the remains of the beaker “I’ve created a fairy.”
“You have summoned a fairy” the gorgeous being corrected him. “I am to grant you one wish. Then I am free to return to my true home.”
A grin crept across the wizards creased and tired face. He scrambled to get to his feet, then eagerly skipped over to the work bench, his face only an inch or so from the creature’s. Excitedly, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. “I wish I could remember this blasted dragon potion recipe.”
The fairy almost looked shocked. No wish for great fortune or fame, no wish for eternal life or to be guided to the heavens regardless of sin or religious beliefs. Men often wished for such things without thinking of the consequences and usually paid the price. This one however, was much easier to please. “Very well.” she said and vanished in a bright flash, a single sheet of paper in her place. It fluttered down and landed neatly on the bench top. The wizard hurriedly grabbed the recipe, scanned it with his weary eyes and gathered the ingredients. Adding them one by one to a fresh beaker, he watched the liquid form with wide eyes, finally he had it, as he saw the mixture turn a brilliant blue. He leapt with joy, his cries echoing through the hallways. He calmed himself down, poured the liquid into a vial, and corked it for safekeeping. Then he set it aside and began trying to remember how he summoned the fairy.
It was purple. He knew it had to be purple.