Incantation: Morgana

 

Morgana Blackwood's laboratory reeked of burnt sugar and ozone, a testament to her latest "revolutionary" potion attempt. She slumped against her bubbling cauldron, vodka bottle dangling precariously from her fingers as she took a long, unsteady drag from a fat joint. The room spun pleasantly—cobwebbed jars of eyeballs became disco balls, and her taxidermied raven, Gary, seemed to nod in approval. "Peak efficiency," she mumbled, ash tumbling onto her teal dress. A giggle escaped her when her half-lidded gaze landed on a wilting moonflower; she blew a smoke ring at it like a drunken blessing. 

Her flushed cheek pressed against the cool metal of the cauldron as she fumbled with a vial of luminescent newt spleen. "Stupid... gravity," she slurred, watching the green liquid slosh over her knuckles. The spill hissed where it met a puddle of earlier failure, eating through the floorboards like acid. Morgana didn’t flinch—just took another swig, vodka mingling with the cherry-flavored resin on her tongue. Gary’s glassy eyes judged her from the shelf. "Oh, shut up," she hiccuped, waving the joint at him. "You’re just jealous... of my... vision."

The evening had started with Morgana sober—or as sober as she ever got. She'd meticulously measured stardust filaments under a magnifying glass, humming a tune while her moonflower perked up in anticipation. But by sunset, three spilled volatile catalysts and one shattered beaker of fermented dream nectar later, her lab coat was discarded in favor of vodka-drenched sleeves. Now, swaying before her newest concoction—a swirling vortex of violet and acid green—she jabbed her joint toward Gary. "Witness... my magnum opus!" The raven remained unmoved as Morgana's heel caught the edge of a dissolving floor tile. She stumbled, the vodka bottle slipping— 

—only for her to catch it against her hip, sloshing liquor onto her dress. "Ha! Reflexes like a... like a caffeinated squirrel," she declared, righting herself with a dizzy spin. The potion hissed, emitting glittering spores that made her already flushed cheeks glow. She didn't notice the tendril of smoke curling from her hat's brim until Gary's glass eye reflected the smoldering lace