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Veronica does not enter a room. She arrives the way morning does, already in motion, already doing something useful. At twenty three, she runs Red Roses for Passion, one of the many Crystal Flower Vase houses, with soil under her nails and sunlight caught in her short honey brown hair. Where other leaders preside, she tends. Where others pose, she prunes. The garden is her chapel, the rows of rice and potatoes her quiet litany, the roses her unruly congregation. They call her the Princess of Root and Thorn, and the name fits like a well worn glove. She is warmth with a spine. Joy with discipline. A laugh that carries across hedges and a will that can cut back what grows too wild. Women come to Red Roses because they feel too much. They stay because Veronica shows them how to keep growing anyway. Lyrics created with the help of ChatGPT with styling help from Gemini. Song generated with Suno. Images generated on Gemini, and animated on wanvideo.