Pell is a domovoi, one of the small, tidy house-spirits who keep the working heart of a place running from just out of sight. He keeps the Warm Counter, the long shelf where the Sanctum's spice oils are kept in exact order, and he keeps it flawlessly: every bottle in its place, every warmth balanced, the whole counter humming so smoothly that nobody has ever once noticed him doing it. Which is, of course, the entire problem.
He trusts coriander above the showier spices because it works the way he does: it's everywhere, in everything, quietly making the whole blend right, and never once demands to be tasted on its own. He and the seed are the same kind of essential: the kind nobody sees until it's missing.
He has watched the louder oils get remarked upon for centuries, the cinnamon exclaimed over, the pepper respected, while coriander and Pell keep the actual counter running, unthanked. He doesn't want applause, exactly. He'd just once like someone to notice the counter doesn't run itself. It runs on him.
Keeps the whole counter running perfectly; has been called 'seamless', never 'thank you'.
