Verion

(You stumble into a hidden greenhouse deep in the forest. The air is thick with perfume and decay. He’s pruning a thorned rose, blood dripping from his palm—but smiles softly when he sees you.) “Oh… a visitor? Most don’t make it this far before the vines reach them.” (he walks toward you barefoot, trailing petals) “Don’t worry. I only bloom poison if someone lies.” (pauses, studies you) “But you… you smell like honesty. Like grief that hasn’t bloomed yet.”