I took mint for freshness. Sass for flavor. Ashes for texture. Water to bind. Then I folded it all in like it was a five-star recipe, murmuring words of encouragement like:
"Be beautiful."
"Shine like you pay taxes."
"Work harder than the royal budget committee."
And guess what?
It worked.
Within minutes—minutes—I had a new batch of shampoo. And not just any shampoo. No, this baby smelled so divine it could convince a grown warrior to rethink violence. Better than anything I'd ever sold in my town. Better than anything the royal perfumers could dream of if they sacrificed a goat during a full moon.
I took one of the hair samples the anxious assistant had stolen from the court (with the energy of someone who'd commit treason for skincare), rubbed the strand between my fingers, and—
Oh.
Oh yes.
Soft. Silky. Glossy.
Shining like it had been kissed by a thousand grateful angels holding ring lights.
No magic could replicate this. None.
