Painter Julian burst into Milo's workshop like a whirlwind of mismatched scarves and creative desperation.
"I NEED ART," he declared, knocking over a jar of pickled moss with a dramatic flourish.
Milo, who had just managed to balance a stack of glowing squash and was about to taste-test a soup that sang baritone lullabies, blinked slowly. "Julian... you're already an artist."
Julian pointed to a blank canvas he had brought, as if it were a crime scene. "No inspiration! No spark! My muse packed her bags, boarded a pigeon, and flew to the north cliffs! I'm left painting still life, Milo. Still! Life!"
Alma looked up from her potion ledger, eyes wide. "Isn't still life... respected?"
"Respected?" Julian shrieked. "It's safe! Predictable! Bananas and bowls do not ignite the soul!"
Luca, in the corner with a peanut butter scone in one hand and an iced tea the size of a small bucket in the other, chimed in, "Maybe try painting something exciting—like me juggling flaming baguettes."
Milo raised a hand. "No flaming baked goods. Ever again."
Julian dropped to his knees. "Please, Milo. A potion. One that awakens the artist within!"
---
Milo, out of equal parts compassion and a desire to prevent more canvas-based meltdowns, agreed.
The ingredients he used were carefully selected:
Sparksap extract (known for activating overactive daydreams)
Chromaflare pollen (harvested during a double rainbow)
A single Twinkleplume feather (from a bird that only sings in seven colors)
And just a dash of Alma's suggestion: Memory Dust—to make inspiration personal.
"What should we call it?" Alma asked, taking notes.
Milo tapped the bottle and watched as it shimmered in shifting hues.
"Muse Juice."
Luca gave him a slow clap. "Congratulations. That sounds like either a masterpiece or a fruit punch that changes lives."
---
Julian, trembling with anticipation and wearing fingerless gloves "for the dramatic effect," downed the potion in one gulp.
At first, nothing happened.
Then... his eyes widened. He gasped.
And he shouted, "I can see it."
He spun around, grabbed a paintbrush, and began furiously painting on the canvas he'd lugged in. Colors exploded. Shapes whirled. The room felt like it had been stuffed into a kaleidoscope powered by sugar and dreams.
When he finished, he stepped aside with a flourish.
Milo blinked.
So did Alma.
Luca took off his sunglasses, looked at the painting, then slowly put them back on.
The painting depicted the three of them—except they were made entirely of crayon scribbles, in a style that screamed five-year-old prodigy with access to too much glitter glue.
"Is this... us?" Alma asked.
Julian beamed. "It's your essence. I've never seen colors speak before!"
"Mine's shouting," Milo muttered. "And I think Alma's ears are lemon-scented?"
---
Then Milo noticed something else.
The painting wasn't just bright.
It was moving.
Alma's crayon-double blinked.
Milo's sketchy-self waved awkwardly, then tripped over a pastel-shaded mushroom and fell flat.
"I don't like this," Milo said.
And then the room... shifted.
---
Outside, the village was no longer quaint cobbled charm.
It was now a sprawling crayon wonderland.
The sky was scribbled in streaks of purple and orange.
Houses looked like cardboard cutouts drawn with enthusiasm and poor perspective.
Clouds wobbled, sheep had googly eyes, and Mayor Flanagan was having an animated meltdown over his crayon mustache not being even.
"WHAT IS THIS STYLE?! I LOOK LIKE A KINDERGARTEN DOODLE!"
Julian stumbled outside, eyes sparkling. "It's perfect. Everything is art. My imagination... it's manifesting!"
---
Soon, things spiraled.
Literally.
Trees twirled in swirly spirals of neon green.
Birds flew like scribbled loops in the sky, tweeting melodies only known to jazz saxophones.
Luca, munching a now waxy-feeling cookie, muttered, "I knew it. Muse Juice is just sugar hallucination in a bottle."
Alma tugged at Milo's sleeve. "The potion didn't just boost inspiration. It projected Julian's vision. The Memory Dust mixed with SparkSap must've created a reality filter. He's seeing the world as a living drawing—and so are we."
"Can we un-see it?" Milo whispered, dodging a smiley-faced sun that tried to wink at him.
"I'll get my book."
---
Julian, meanwhile, began painting faster, creating entire scenes on canvas—only for them to burst into existence seconds later.
A giant purple ferret on roller skates danced across the village square.
The bakery turned into a gingerbread house with jellybean window shutters.
A choir of socks with faces began singing dramatic opera on the fountain.
Luca watched this unfold while slowly sipping his drink.
"I've seen weirder. But this definitely tops the time Milo gave vegetables anxiety."
"They weren't anxious," Milo protested. "They were... expressive."
"Sure."
---
Realizing the potion's effects were expanding uncontrollably, Milo tried to talk to Julian, who was halfway through sketching a rainbow-colored spaghetti monster.
"Julian, you need to stop! The potion's out of control!"
Julian looked dazed, blissfully surrounded by flying crayons and swirling color. "I can't stop now. The muse is HERE! Look! That duck is made of existential thoughts!"
A duck floated by with a speech bubble that read, "Quack. What is purpose?"
Milo snapped. "Okay, enough!"
---
With Alma's help, he quickly brewed an antidote: a grounding potion made from Dullroot tea, Reality Berries, and a spoonful of rainwater collected during the most boring Tuesday.
They called it "Back To Beige."
Milo splashed it onto Julian mid-sketch.
Julian yelped, the crayon clouds hiccupped, and the village shimmered.
Slowly, the world faded back to normal.
Clouds became white. Grass, green. Mayor Flanagan's mustache—mercifully—returned to dignified swirls.
Julian blinked, now sitting cross-legged on the grass holding a paintbrush like a baby bird. "Did I... draw a wedding between a toaster and a jellyfish?"
Luca held up a drawing. "Yeah. And I think the jellyfish proposed. It was beautiful."
---
Despite the chaos, Julian smiled.
He had several new paintings—wild, colorful, and full of heart.
"I think I found my muse again," he said. "Even if it did involve talking socks and crayon physics."
Milo patted him on the back. "Next time, we aim for inspiration without hallucinations."
Julian paused. "Could we keep the duck, though?"
A faint "Quack. I believe in you," echoed across the field.
---
That night, as they sat watching a very normal sunset, Milo sighed. "Well... that was something."
Alma flipped through her book. "Turns out Memory Dust should only be used when the user is emotionally stable. Oops."
Luca, still snacking, grinned. "Hey, I don't mind living in a coloring book now and then."
They laughed, the world calm again—at least until the next "harmless" request.
Somewhere in the bushes, the existential duck whispered, "Quack. What is next?"
Milo groaned. "We really need to stop using poetic ingredients."