Blade & Bloom

Vetyver • Dragon’s Blood • Frankincense & Myrrh • Violet
 
They said the sword wasn’t meant for her—but she took it anyway. Learned to swing it with steady hands and a wild grin, until the fields and the village and even the wind seemed to bend in her favor.
 
She showed up when storms rolled in, boots muddied, shoulders squared, always with something sharp at her side—steel or words or both. The kind of girl who left scuffed footprints where there hadn’t been a path, and wildflowers blooming in her wake whether she meant to or not.
 
The air shifted when she passed—green and restless with vetyver, thick with dragon’s blood and the low, steady burn of frankincense and myrrh. The scent of iron and earth and sun-warmed stone. And then—soft as a second thought—violet bloomed beneath it all. Sweet, stubborn, impossible not to notice once you’d caught it.
 
Some called her a warrior. Others, a troublemaker. Most knew better than to call her anything at all.
 
For the Wild-Willed Warrior.