‘All but Pink’ by Megan W Shaw

“It’s the wrong colour.”

“It’s a nice colour?”

“Nice is not the goal.” I glare at Mabel. “Pink is the goal — bright pink.”

“Well, Dash, you got the bright part down. It’s like I’m looking into the eyes of the Ice Witch.” 

Mabel’s laugh sounds a bit forced, a bit cold. I regret my glare and wish I could hear her laugh as it used to be: light and pixie-like. 

She turns back to her herb prep. 

I stir the glacier-blue potion, trying to think of a fix. I don’t want to waste this batch. Some of the ingredients were difficult to acquire. 

The markers of the recipe were all correct up to this point:

INGREDIENT
grass of a sunny day (2 blades)
coal of a stormy night (1 piece) 
sweat of a lover’s play (⅛ tsp)
scream of a darling’s fright (1 s)
taste of a home-shared dish (20 g)
words of a close-shared wish (1 wish)

METHOD
stir, two rotations
drop, causing a splash
stir, one rotation
sound over liquid
place gently, allowing to sink
recite over liquid

MARKER
sweetgrass green
predawn purple
navel orange
midnight blue
whole-milk white
hollyhock pink

My dear Amorine roasted a chicken for our dinner last night, and a leftover piece made the potion the perfect colour of whole milk — white and opaque, not watery at all. But the last ingredient, the words of a close-shared wish. What went wrong? This blue colour is as far from hollyhock pink as one can get. 

I remove the spoon from the potion. The liquid ripples, causing a flickering effect, as if I’m commanding a blue-white star to twinkle.