Rosaria pressed her palms against the soil, feeling for the pulse beneath. Her dream kept her awake most nights - a garden where roses would bloom with faces that smiled, frowned, and laughed. She wanted each flower to show what people felt but couldn't say. The forest floor around her was dark and damp, but she'd already cleared a small patch for her first attempt. She needed proper tools to move the heavy bags of soil from the forest edge to her clearing. The wheelbarrow she'd found had handles carved with tiny roses along the grips. She loaded it with rich, dark earth and pushed it along the narrow path she'd made. Each trip took longer than the last, but she didn't mind. Every load brought her closer to her dream. By the time the sun reached its peak, she had something to show. Three roses glowed softly in the shade, their petals painted with delicate faces. Wide eyes stared up from pink blooms. Small mouths curved into gentle smiles. She carried them to the town square in a basket and set them on a wooden table. People stopped to look. Some reached out to touch the petals, then pulled back when they saw the faces looking at them. But these were just practice. Rosaria knew the real work would happen in the glass house she'd build at the edge of her clearing. Inside that protected space, with soil and magic and time, she would grow roses that didn't just look like faces. They would change. They would show what people felt. She touched the blue rose cutting in her pocket, already planning where the first cage of glass would stand.