The wreath was on the door when Monroe got home: a large circle of mistletoe and heartease, with roses woven in like blood-red berries amidst the green. He stared at it for a long time, breathing in the heavy, dark scent that seemed to seep right through his skin, into his very marrow.
It was a Solstice Wreath. For intention and transformation, a question only Wesen kind would even know how to ask.
Wesen and perhaps someone with a trailer full of Wesen lore…
Monroe inhaled again. Under the rich forest smell of the wreath, another, more familiar scent lingered.