I went to the Chayuchai just to look.
But Stasia already knew that I would not leave empty—handed.
She approached me confidently, as if she knew my every weakness.
She asked softly, almost in a whisper: "Would you prefer a stronger one... or a longer opening one?"
The goosebumps went faster than the puer on my body.
She moved between the shelves, showing shen, then shu, then something rare... dark... seasoned.
It was like she was teasing.
Her every move was precise.
Every word is tinged with sweetness and power.
I came for tea. But he came out with something... much deeper.
With Stacy, tea is not a drink. It's an experience. It's a style. This is the choice of the strong.
I bought a Sagan daily. It is bred by some kind of left foliage. From 50 g of tea, 20 g of twigs. It tastes bitter and has little in common with a real drink.