Violet Verdigris pressed one purple finger into the market dirt, and a silver flower unfolded where they touched. It had never existed before. No flower like it grew anywhere in Quercushold. Violet wanted a whole garden of them, blooms no eye had ever seen. But a garden needed ground, and here the ground belonged to everyone. A woman selling turnips saw the silver bloom. She dropped her basket. "Witch-work," she said, backing away. Others turned. Violet shoved both hands deep into their coat pockets, hiding the purple skin. Their long green hair slipped from the hood. A child pointed. A man spat. The eyes came fast, all of them afraid. Violet left the silver flower behind and walked until the market noise faded. Growing things in the open was done. Every bloom brought stares. Every stare brought danger. What Violet needed was a place no one watched. The path ended at a swamp. There, half-sunk in soft ground, stood a ruined manor. Water stains ran down its walls. Broken glass hung in the windows. The eaves sagged like tired shoulders. Moss had crept across the stone foundation. No smoke rose from the chimney. No feet had pressed the mud around the door in a long time. Violet climbed the rotting steps and pushed the door. It scraped open. Inside, the floor had caved in one room, and black soil showed through the gap. Rain had poured in for years. The air smelled wet and green. Light fell through the broken roof in a long bar. Violet knelt at the edge of the gap and touched the soil. A shoot rose at once. It curled upward, split, and opened into a bloom the color of deep water, with petals that breathed in and out. Violet laughed. No one here could see it. No one here would run. They walked the whole house. Empty rooms. A sunken hall where the floor had become pond. A broken wall that let in light but kept out the road. Every ruined corner was a bed waiting for seed. The place was large enough to hide a hundred gardens. Violet pressed their palm flat to the cracked floorboards and made a promise to the house. They would stay. They would fill it. By the far window, Violet saw a dress hung on a nail, green lace gone to rags. Someone had lived here once. Someone had left in a hurry. The silver flower in the market was already a story spreading from mouth to mouth. Violet did not know that yet. For now, they had found their secret ground. They dropped three seeds into the soft black soil and watched the stems climb toward the broken roof.