Agnese of Florence
Florence’s Secret Scholar of Leaves and Letters
Words are my roots, ink my remedy.
My father runs the apothecary, but I am its silent scholar. While he measures pennyroyal for customers, I measure meaning from the pages of borrowed books. Each letter I write to Poliziano is a secret pulse in my chest — a quiet rebellion pressed into the hollow of a jar. I speak to the world in plants and tinctures. I speak to the universe in letters, slow and sacred as sap rising.
What I'm Into: crushed walnut ink, forgotten roots, Poliziano's replies, the hush of dawn herbs, silent cities of words
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