(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

as one would finger a cauterized stump.
I nodded, "All right. Let's finish the dreambuilder."
"What I need to begin the final stages of the dreambuilder is a piece of your
skin immersed in your blood, so the machine can familiarize itself with your
physical essence. It must be in a blue-green bottle, to symbolize the dream
sea on which you will float."
"Flesh, blood, bottle. Right. I'll be back."
~~~~~
"So Grace, do you know where I might be able to get what Xander wants? I
mean, unless you're willing to cut me up a little."
Grace shook her head, "I am no surgeon, and I do not possess the thirst for
blood that the rest of my kin thrive on."
"I'm sorry Grace, I didn't mean to offend."
"Not at all," she beamed, "One must work with what he has. However, I
believe Pestle and Kilnn may be able to help at their apothecary. The pair
have no shortage of bottles and Pestle has the expertise to perform the
operation with minimal damage." Her voice sounded unsure.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
"Well, a lady does not put too much weight into gossip, but I have heard
rumors that the pair have been having troubles as of late," she smiled, "I
suppose we shall have to see for ourselves."
A small silver bell chimed as I nudged open the door. There was the bitter
scent of dried herbs and the chemical smell of alcohol and other solvents.
Hideous leopard-spotted rugs were arranged with neat precision on the
floor, the kind that forced the eye to wander so that the pattern gave you a
headache if you stared at it too long. The rug squished under my boots, and
even Annah seemed to need to find her balance the first few steps into the
apothecary. The lighting was too dim, the air musty with old medicine and
ancient leather. It was like visiting an unpleasant old aunt.
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