STARTER. Rose!
The springy moss that covered the floor of the woods was soft against Rose’s bare feet, tickling her arches and leaving green stains on the cuffs of her pale jeans. She studied the paper in her hand, a list of plants written in her signature chicken scratch, half of them thickly crossed out, making it difficult to suss out what they were supposed to say.
Hands on her hips, she surveys the surrounding area.
“Poison oak, thistles, and heather... But no poison ivy? What kind of half rate woods are these??” Technically the potion would still work if she doubled up on the poison oak and added a little rosemary, but it wouldn’t be half as effective as if she were to use poison ivy.
A twig snaps and Rose turns nonchalantly, pointing accusingly at the intruder.
“You are not supposed to be out here so late, what if something dangerous caught you?” Concern drips like honey, false though it may be.
