Three bottles, three burdens—each sealed in glass and bound by memory.
Laudanum for forgetting, Blood Flower for longing, Loss for what remains.
In this gothic still life, the apothecary becomes a reliquary of emotion. The green labels, like moss-covered gravestones, mark each vial with a name too heavy to speak aloud. Glowing hearts flicker behind parchment cutouts, hinting at the warmth that once was, now preserved in tincture and shadow. Twine binds the necks like promises never unknotted, and the cracked wall behind them whispers of time’s erosion.