The roses, too, are gathered from her own garden — a heritage of exotic travels, cuttings taken from the most beautiful gardens — from Damascus and Istanbul, England and America. They tell a thousand stories with every breath they give to the air — their sweetness and musk. Of adventures, and love, of a wild heart who has lived her life well. They scent her room, they leave a trace on her silk scarves, love letters sent across oceans, and family albums full of snapshots. They’ve been gathered for weddings and birthdays, faces gathered around her table, each beloved. And each petal her signature, the fingerprint of a family and its love.