I was just trying to cure a hangover. Not invent a love potion. Not turn the cat into a tax accountant. Not summon the dead.

But, you know. Oops.

It started the way all terrible magical ideas do: with tequila and regret.

I woke up face-down in my grimoire, the 'Healing Herbs and Where Not to Shove Them' volume, a coffee sachet stuck to my cheek and a pounding in my skull that made me question whether I'd accidentally hexed myself.

Again.

"Ugh," I groaned, peeling myself off the page about liverwort. Fitting.

I stumbled to the workbench and started throwing things into the cauldron based on vibes. Peppermint, ginger root, willow bark, an egg (why not?), a dash of basil for balance, a phoenix feather because it was stuck to the basil, and, this is where it gets hazy, a single drop of last week’s leftover moonwater.

Or possibly mermaid tears.

The potion fizzed ominously. Smelled like a eucalyptus candle got into a fistfight with a Bloody Mary. I drank it anyway.

Desperation is a powerful motivator.

Immediately, the room glowed. Not metaphorically. Glowed, like someone turned the saturation up on reality. My headache vanished. My skin cleared. My ex texted me to apologise for "the emotional labour deficit."

Huh.

I bottled the rest, named it “Elixir V” (for victory or vomiting, depending on dosage), and forgot about it. Until I came back from the grocery store to find my roommate floating two feet off the ground, smiling like a cult leader, whispering, “Everything makes sense now.”

Turns out, the potion doesn’t just cure hangovers. It cures… inhibitions. Regret. Self-doubt. Logic.

By the end of the week, three of my friends had quit their jobs to follow a talking crow. One got a tattoo that said “DESTINY IS A SUGGESTION.” My neighbour swore the potion allowed her to astral project into her cat’s consciousness, and now they’re in couples therapy.

So no, it’s not FDA approved. But if you take it in a safe environment, surrounded by non-judgmental witches, and avoid texting your ex until the effects wear off, it’s arguably a success.

I’m still hungover. But at least now I believe in myself.

Which is almost worse.