The Dark and Purple Flower (from Gail)

Many seasons ago, there was a wild woman who lived outside of the village, Mountainside and away from the Water. She was a coarse soul with frazzled hair and milky eyes like frosted grass, and she was known to all as one to be tiptoed around and one whose glare you should not wish to catch overlong. And yet, despite, folk hastened to her small cottage at every budding, for her gardens were the most magnificent in all the land, and they yielded the most remarkable of cuttings and the heartiest of bulbs. Why, it was said that a flower from the wild woman’s beds grew twice as tall and endured twice as long as a flower from any other nursery, wild or no. How she got them so, she never told, and no one ever asked, for it was said that her secret was in the soil round her home, which was made from the ground bones of those that had done her ill or cast a wayward eye in some direction she deemed them unworthy of.

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