A set of five small apothecary bottles, eight to twelve centimeters tall, in aged amber and cobalt glass, hand-blown with the faint bubbles and slight lean that a machine mold never quite produces. Each is corked and labeled in an old druggist's script — Tincture, Aqua, Sal, and the like — and arrives empty, ready to be put to whatever use suits it. No two bottles in the set lean or bubble in quite the same way, a small signature of the hand that blew them.
Bottles like these once lined the shelves of every chemist's counter and cunning-folk's pantry, holding remedies, tinctures, and rather less nameable things side by side, labeled in a shorthand only the shopkeeper could fully read. They survive now mostly as curiosities, handsome enough to be collected for their own sake rather than for what they once held.
Fill them with dried herbs, bath salts, or small stones, or simply leave them empty on a shelf where the labels can be read. They group well on a windowsill or a bathroom shelf, five small shapes at slightly different heights and shades of glass.
Sold as a curiosity — no medical or scientific claims are made. These are artisan-made reproductions rather than genuine antiques, hand-blown to evoke the older form; they are purely decorative and are not intended to hold food, drink, or medicine.
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