She didn't pray for mercy. She prayed for witness .
The roses grew from the cracks in the altar — thorned, black-veined, bleeding fuchsia. Each petal a small annihilation. Each scent a memory dying to be reborn. kali roses 2drops
One landed on her tongue — cinnamon and clove , the burn of old wars and new hungers. The other slid down the blade's edge, pooling in the rose's heart. She didn't pray for mercy
Two drops.