John's eyes traveled around as he looked at the interior of the small house. It was made of wood, filled with plants in small pots or even in vines, climbing up the walls. He could smell flowers and herbs while the whistling of a kettle echoed from a room away from them. The one they were in seemed like a working space of some sort. It had a tall square table which had yellowish papers thrown here and there, marked with black ink, peculiar drawings and a language John could not recognize. Two big stools stood on opposite sides of the table and the little space that hadn't been covered by plants in the walls had cupboards drilled in it with glass doors. Bottles of all shapes with colorful liquids and powders stood inside, little fade out labels, wrapped around the lids with string. The whole place reminded him of those little houses described in fairytales. It was truly what someone would think as a witch's house.