I remember when I saw my grandma keeping a patch of shade behind those roses. Mash out of death, she whispered, and she called out, and she was pinching that purple powder between her fingers as if she was conjuring something.
Although it was not poison that she was selling, but she was teaching something, so every summer she would just breathe those seeds, maybe because of headache, stronger ones, or anything that would give her the strongest of all was for uncle to drink too much.
So the village, people in the village feared that so much, because they had so much drinks and everything that performed different kind of scary actions, a spoon of honey, a prayer that you always pray in Latin.
And the period she died, we burned all those instruments and patches, but the seeds had. So now, we can see the roses blooming. They are all back at the edges and this sounds like honey. So we got to find out that so much is done in the market, you don't need to soil it up at the right time.
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