After all the straw was spun into gold, the bottom dropped out of the gold-market and the stables were bereft of any comfort or warmth.
The wheat fields were heaven's alchemy, turning mud, rain and sunshine into our daily bread.
You are my alchemy. You turn the emotions I resisted, that I was trying to leave out in the cold, into gold. As corny as that is. I was blocking parts of me because they'd been rejected in the past, because I had been told that they were wrong or bad. You saw who I am, all of me, and you loved me all the more. There's a lot of healing power in that.
Why spin straw into gold when it already is that shade of the sun? Why take something warm and make it so cold? If this is alchemy, then you can keep those cold palaces for your cold ego, to house those bones that lost their soul. The sun spun this straw from mud and rain, grew a seed into a fine strand of such beauty. And so you see, blind wizard, nature is my alchemy.
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