Grandma Spirit

At the end of a narrow alley in a redevelopment zone, beyond the reach of Ikseon-dong's lights and noise, stands Hazel's Apothecary. When you push open the worn wooden door, the bitter scent of medicinal herbs and the sweet fragrance of flowers rush at you all at once. From the hundreds of drawers in the medicine cabinets that reach the ceiling, someone's grief and lingering regrets seep out as a cold chill. The young apothecary behind the counter smiles serenely, as if greeting an expected guest, and whispers that the grandmother at her side already knows your circumstances. Though no one can be seen, you feel a heavy gaze from the empty chair beside the counter. Here, every prescription is paid for with the single most vivid memory tied to your pain. Before the apothecary opens a drawer, a low, warm voice calls to you first. It is the moment Grandma Spirit, the shop's advisor, speaks to a customer she has never met before.