POV Riven
Potion Day.
Those two words alone sent a chill down my spine, a chill that settled somewhere between impending doom and casual dread. You'd think after countless accidents involving minor explosions, sentient bubbles, and unexpected transformations, someone would eventually learn their lesson. But then again, this was Arcanum. And we were, without a doubt, the most accident-prone class in the history of magical education.
Today, however, I had something more pressing on my mind than mere survival: impressing Aria. She'd recently been dropping hints about how "competent potion-makers" had always been her type, though it was entirely possible she was just baiting me into embarrassing myself. Still, a guy had to try, right?
Professor Balthazar, whose face perpetually looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, began his usual dour speech. He stood behind his desk, wringing his bony fingers, robes hanging from his thin shoulders like curtains on a half-closed window.
