Rose Petals and Resurrection

The richest family's son had been comatose for three years. Even the finest physicians stood helpless. Then she arrived—a filthy beggar woman. They laughed. They sneered. Swords were drawn. She didn't flinch. One move. One touch. The room fell silent. "Prepare a bath. Hot water. Rose petals—cover every inch. And that pretty boy?" She pointed at the heir. "Bring him to me."