Magic

At the foot of the bed, in the very center of the room, stood an odd looking pedestal.  A miniature elm tree, without leaves, curled its way up from the floor.  Nestled tightly between the branches was a shallow silver bowl inlaid with runes and filled with a mysterious liquid that gave off a faint blue-green glow.  Dipping her hand into the bowl, Andraste’s eyes widened as it brightened at her touch and she quickly pulled her hand back.  None of the liquid stayed on her hand, like water would have; there wasn’t even a ripple in the bowl to indicate her hand had disturbed it.  She gazed at the bowl, perplexed.  The tips of the branches curled over the ornate brim of the bowl into the liquid.