The First Whisper
“Smells like perfume and blood, that one. You don’t get close to a Black Rose unless you know where the thorns are.”
“Smugglers, mostly. Rare stuff — weapons, relics, poisons, people too, if you count slipping ‘em through borders and prisons. But don’t go thinking it’s all shadow and silk. Veronica’s got a head for coin and a stomach for rot. Used to be she had rules — no trafficking, no families — but those rules are gettin’… bendy.”
“She doesn’t just take from the rich. Poor folk bleed for her debts, and if they can’t pay, well — the Roses always find ways to collect. Homes vanish, shops get swallowed, and somehow it’s all ‘legal’ on paper.”
“She wants the city. Not through war, like Mikhail — she wants to own it ledger by ledger. And she’s patient. Patient like poison in wine.”
The Second Whisper
“Ah, Veronica. Used to hand out bread and blankets. Now she hands out debt.”
“The Black Roses were once the smugglers with a conscience. When the nobles taxed everything but the rain, it was the Roses that got medicine to the sick and food to the starving. Veronica led them with style and a strict code: no human trafficking, no killing innocents, no extortion. Just move what needed moving and help where they could.”
“But Mere’s a hard city. And The Red Raids made it cruel. Veronica changed after — not all at once, but sharp enough to notice. She still won’t traffic bodies — says it’s ‘bad for business’ — but she will traffic misery. Loans with no escape. Rent that triples overnight. Buy a loaf of bread today, and owe your house tomorrow.”
“They take from everyone now. Rich, poor, sick, noble — makes no difference. They’ve got spies in every hall, knives in every deal, and if they want your land, they’ll get it. Not with fire, but with ink and contracts that kill slower than blades. Veronica wants Mere, and she’s buying it brick by brick.”