Lore - Lore 280: Flower Power

Episode Date: May 19, 2025

The soil of history is rich with all sorts of traditions and folklore, many of which have sprouted into deadly tools and powerful magic. At least, that’s what the stories tell us. Narrated and produced by Aaron Mahnke, with writing by GennaRose Nethercott, research by Cassandra de Alba, and music by Chad Lawson. ————————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  Official Lore Merchandise: lorepodcast.com/shop All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com ————————— Sponsors: BetterHelp: Lore is sponsored by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at BetterHelp.com/LORE, and get on your way to being your best self. Squarespace: Head to Squarespace.com/lore to save 10% off your first purchase of a website or domain using the code LORE. SimpliSafe: Secure your home with 24/7 professional monitoring. Sign up today at SimpliSafe.com/Lore to get 20% off any new SimpliSafe system with Fast Protect Monitoring. Goldbelly: Get the most iconic, famous foods from restaurants all across the US, shipped free to your door anywhere in the country. Go to GoldBelly.com and get free shipping and 20% off your first order with promo code LORE. ————————— To report a concern regarding a radio-style, non-Aaron ad in this episode, reach out to ads @ lorepodcast.com with the name of the company or organization so we can look into it. ————————— To advertise on this podcast please email: [e-mail]. Or go to: https://advertising.libsyn.com/lore ————————— ©2025 Aaron Mahnke. All rights reserved.

The Princess had committed a terrible sin. According to the Russian Old Believer legend, she had had a, let's just say, less than appropriate relationship with a dog, and so she and the dog were both put to death. They were, surprisingly, buried side by side. But as time went on and the seasons changed, something strange occurred. Plants began to grow from their graves. New plants, unlike any seen before. From the princess's grave, the world's first tobacco plant sprouted.

And from the dogs? A sinister little vegetable called the potato. Yes, the beloved foundation of everything from french fries to tater tots was originally believed to be evil. Potatoes were alleged to cause lustful thoughts, contain deadly poison, and literally be linked to the devil. Oh, and early 17th century Europeans also insisted that potatoes could give you leprosy. But not all heroes wear capes, as they say,

and we have one single potato lover to thank for mashing the rumors and giving our favorite tuber its due respect. That hero was a Frenchman named Antoine Augustin Parmentier, and he'd spent time as a prisoner of war in Prussia, where prison diet consisted largely of, you guessed it, potatoes. Now, you would think that he would be sick of spuds

after three years in prison, but you'd be wrong. Because when he finally returned to France, he dedicated years of his life to convincing French people that potatoes were delicious. This guy would host lavish potato-themed dinner parties, which featured up to 20 potato-centric courses. And it worked. Suddenly, everyone wanted to boil them, mash them,

stick them in a stew, all because of Parmentier. And don't worry, he received the acclaim that he deserved. Today, there's a stop on the Paris Metro named after him, complete with a statue of the man, and enthusiasts even leave potatoes on his grave at the Père Lachaise Cemetery. From food to medicine and beyond, humans have always had a relationship with things that grow from the Earth, and if history is any indication, that relationship comes with a wild harvest of story.

I'm Aaron Manke, and this is Lore. Not to brag, but I think it's safe to say that I'm a bit of an expert on fear. After all, I spend my days reading about the worst monsters the world has to offer. And that's why I know that, since ancient times, there is one thing that has terrified people more than all the werewolves, ghosts, and ghouls put together. That is, telling a crush how you feel. It sends shivers down your spine just to hear me say it, right? But don't fret. Luckily, Victorians came up with a workaround with a little help from

the garden, that is. It was called the language of flowers. Basically, different flowers had different meanings attached to them, and so through sending and receiving flowers, sweethearts could have entire wordless conversations. Blue bells, for example, meant kindness. Tulips meant passion. Roses, of course, represented devotion, while rosemary symbolized remembrance. If you weren't actually into the person who gave you one of these flowers, don't worry, there's a flower for that, too.

Yellow carnations, which meant disdain. And then there's the strangely ominous rhododendron, which meant danger, flee. But it wasn't only in courtship that flowers had a hidden meaning. Flowers also spoke for the dead. In fact, you've probably seen this particular secret code hiding in plain sight on gravestones. All those vines and trees and flowers

carved onto Victorian gravestones aren't just there for decoration. They have meaning, and they can often tell you about the person buried beneath, like sheaves of wheat, which indicate that the deceased had lived a long life. In contrast, children's graves are often adorned with unopened flower buds, which, like the child, never had the chance to bloom. Daisies, too, indicate a child's grave, while chillingly, if you spot a carved thistle on a gravestone, it means the deceased suffered terribly while alive.

Of course, plants and folklore extend far beyond harmless superstition. Throughout history, every culture on Earth has used the flora around them as magical tools. Heck, just about every herb and flower has some folklore attached to it. And that said, certain plants seem to have gathered more superstition than the rest. Take for example, vervain. Also known as enchanter's herb, this purple flower has been treated as sacred by nearly every culture that's encountered it.

In Egyptian mythology, vervain was formed from the goddess Isis' tears. Christians believe that it was used to treat Jesus' wounds on the cross, while worldwide, it's been said to protect against everything from lightning to vampires. And to be fair, there might be some stock to all of this. Okay, maybe not the vampire thing, but vervain does have a number of medical properties. It can reduce inflammation, calm anxiety, and it's actually being studied right now for its potential ability to reduce tumor growth and even treat Alzheimer's disease. Then there's Datura, with its beautiful and poisonous trumpet-shaped flowers.

A nightshade, Datura only blooms after dark, and be warned because ingesting it can send you into a coma or even to your death. But hey, that hasn't kept people around the world from having just a little nibble as a treat. Why? Well, despite being a deadly poison, Datura also has a few medicinal uses of its own. In folk medicine, it's been used to treat everything from hemorrhoids and eczema to fevers and coughs.

Until recently, Datura cigarettes were even prescribed to asthma sufferers. But its most popular property? That would be its ability to cause powerful hallucinations. Hallucinations so intense, in fact, that they've been deemed sacred visions. Some scholars even believe that Datura was responsible for the visions of the Oracle of Delphi. The Aztecs used Datura as a narcotics during various rituals and sacrifices, and meanwhile if you were a young Chumash boy, you might be given a liquid form of Dutura

during your puberty rites. The resulting dreams would then reveal a spirit guardian to guide you into adulthood. And by the way, if Dutura doesn't sound familiar, you may simply know it by a different name. It has a ton, and they're all absolute gems. Devil's snare, thorn apple, hell's bells, devil's trumpet, devil's weed, the devil's cucumber, and my personal favorite, Beelzebub's twinkle. Most commonly, though, it's known as gymson weed.

Another supposedly magical plant is mugwort. Sometimes referred to as the mother of all herbs. Its genus, Artemisa, derives its name from the Greek Artemis, goddess of nature. The word mugwort, though, is a holdover from when it was used to flavor beer, back before being replaced by hops. So yeah, it literally went into your mug. These days, the minty herb is still used as seasoning, mostly in Northern Europe, but during the Middle Ages, mugwort was renowned less for its flavor and more for its magical powers.

What powers? Well, wearing a mugwort belt could protect against witchcraft, for one. On the other hand, it was also said to be used by witches, as one of the many ingredients in what was called a flying ointment. Now, don't misunderstand, flying ointments didn't literally lift witches into the air. But it came close. You see, the mugwort would be mixed with numerous other hallucinogenic plants to make an ointment, which, when applied to the skin, would send magic practitioners on a vivid drug trip. They would hallucinate Bacchanalian revelries, dances with the devil, and yes, even flight. The idea was that the magic salve sent their consciousnesses flying, while their physical bodies remained on the ground.

Meanwhile in China, Mugwort dolls were hung in doorways to keep out evil, while in Japan the Ainu people created voodoo-like images out of Mugwort that, when thrust upside down into a hole, would bring misfortune upon their enemies. In England, women would place mugwort root beneath their pillows to bring on dreams of their future husbands. Actually, another name for mugwort is dreamwort because smoking it induces wild dreams. In folk medicine, the herb has been used to aid digestive problems, lower high blood pressure, induce menstruation, and reduce itching and scars.

Which might not be the best move, as don't forget, rubbing mugwort ointment on the skin can also induce terrifying hallucinations. And speaking of witches' ointments, Francis Bacon incorrectly insisted that it wasn't only the plants in the pot, but, and I quote, the fat of children digged out of their graves. At the end of the day, it's no surprise that there are so many macabre legends connected to things that grow. Because don't forget, for all their pretty petals

and delicate leaves, there are plenty of plants more than eager to kill you. to kill you. The corpse was perfectly preserved. Even after 675 years, its skin was firm, its eyes closed, the fingers of its right hand splayed over a yellowing shroud. It was the body of Italian warlord Cangrande della Scala, and because he'd been buried in the dry city of Verona, the climate had naturally mummified him. All of which to say, when researchers exhumed Cangrande in 2004, they had

plenty to work with, including the most important part, the contents of his intestines. You see, when Congrande had died way back in 1329 at the age of 38, the official report claimed that he had accidentally drunk from a polluted spring. But other rumors swirled as well, namely that the warlord had been poisoned. Of course, that's all they were, just rumors. Until now. Because when those 21st century scientists tested a sample of the mummy's intestine, they discovered remnants of digitoxin and digoxin, the chemicals produced by a poisonous plant called Dead Man's Bells, or as you may know it, foxglove. We all know that plants have been used to heal people since ancient times, but throughout the centuries there's been a flip side to that coin.

Plants as tools of murder. And in Congrande's case, that seems to be exactly what happened. Foxglove, by the way, may derive its name from a 12th century French tale in which a fox named Reynard wears the bell-shaped flowers as little socks to help him silently sneak up on his prey. Which is totally unrelated to poison, but just an adorable fact that I had to share. Now, perhaps the most famously poisonous plant of all

is Belladonna, or Deadly Nightshade. Every single part of this femme fatale is deadly, from its shiny blackberries to its spreading green leaves, and even tiny doses of it can kill you, and I mean tiny. People have been poisoned by not just the plant itself, but by eating honey from bees who pollinated belladonna plants. Belladonna actually means beautiful woman in Italian, a name earned from the fact that women in the Venetian court used to use eye drops made from the stuff to enlarge their

pupils, which was a sign of beauty at the time. And before you judge, you should know, if you've ever been to an optometrist, you have probably consented to something similar. You see, I doctors today use a synthetic version of belladonna to dilate your pupils. Trust me though, for those suffering belladonna poisoning, wide pupils is the least of their worries. First, the heart begins to race. Then headaches set in, accompanied

by horrifying, violent hallucinations, so vivid they seem real. Next, in the throes of full-on delirium, the body begins to convulse, all before slipping mercifully into a coma, and eventually, death. Now given all this, it's no surprise that Beladonna's genus is Atropa beladonna. Atropa being the name of the Greek fate responsible for snipping the thread of life. And it's also no surprise that for millennia, Beladonna hasn't only been ingested by accident, it's also been used as poison. Take this nasty little trick pulled by Scotland around a thousand years ago. As the Danish army invaded, the Scots sent what seemed to be perfectly ordinary bread

and wine to Danish soldiers. Mistaking it for their provisions, the army devoured it, only to realize the truth all too late. The food had been laced with deadly nightshade, the Danish soldiers perished, and the Scots were victorious. So victorious, in fact, that the incident would later be immortalized in theater, specifically in a little play called Macbeth. Then there's Locusta, one of three famous female poisoners from ancient Rome.

Locusta had possibly the coolest job title of all time. That is the emperor's official advisor on poisons. She served under both Emperor Claudius and Nero, poisoning their enemies, often with Belladonna. She even ran a poison school where she tutored others on the deadly art. But of course, poisoning in war and politics is one thing. How about poisoning for fun?

Now, I really hate this. In 15th century Europe, nobility would deliberately dose banquet guests with belladonna, not to kill them, mind you, but for entertainment. That's right, they would slip the poison into an innocent victim's drink, who would then begin to madly hallucinate and act insane. Which, apparently, everyone else found hilarious.

Note to listeners, please don't drug your friends with deadly poison. It is not cool. Oh, and by the way, there's another member of the nightshade family that was long believed to be poisonous as well. It wasn't, actually, but it still managed to kill people anyway. You see, early modern Europeans tended to eat off of pewter dinner plates, plates that happened to contain lead, which sometimes worked out okay, except for the fact that the fruit from this particular nightshade happened to be highly acidic, so when eaten off of these plates, it would leach the lead out, causing lead

poisoning. Now, folks back then called this plant the poison apple, but if you're envisioning that dark glistening fruit from Snow White, think again. Poison apples, you see, were none other than tomatoes. From poisons to potions and secret codes, it's amazing how many stories sprout right out of the very earth around us. But if this next story is to be believed, some flowers don't come from our world at all. Some may hail from another place, the land of the dead. Imagine yourself there.

It's 1901 in Berlin and you have arrived just in time. After paying at the door, you're led into a room where other curious spectators like yourself are seated around a table. You join them, squinting at the light. It is bright in the room, which is unexpected. After all, you've been to events like this before, and the lamps had always been kept dim,

the shadows long. But here, things would be different, because this wasn't any old seance. No, tonight you're in the hands of a woman known as the Flower Medium, and she wants you to see every tiny detail of what's about to happen. Every petal and thorn. Every one of the hundreds of blooming flowers she is about to conjure, straight from the spirit realm. Born in Saxony, Germany in the year 1850, Anna Roth wasn't always known as the flower medium.

She started life as a regular working class kid. I'd like to hope that her early life at least was a happy one, playing with her sisters, hearing bedtime stories from her father, perhaps even helping her mother in the garden. Because sadly for Anna, there would be much sorrow ahead. When she was just a teenager, both of her parents and two of her sisters died of cholera. Suddenly an orphan, the care of Anna's younger siblings fell to her.

She went to work as a servant to make ends meet and married at the young age of 18, soon giving birth to a daughter of her own. And through all the hardship and labor, Anna had another issue to worry about. Visions of the dead. Allegedly Anna began seeing spirits at the tender age of ten, and although she managed to push it away for decades, she couldn't outrun her powers forever. In 1890, Anna's daughter was fully grown and about to be married, but tragically her fiancé died before the wedding could take place.

And after that, well, something shifted for Anna. Because while the dead man may have left his betrothed behind, he didn't seem to give his future mother-in-law the same space. Anna started seeing her daughter's lost love wandering around the house. It got so intense that her husband took her to see a healer. But rather than provide the respite she hoped for, the healer delivered a rather interesting diagnosis. The visions, according to the healer, were not something to fight. They weren't a sign of mental illness.

On the contrary, they were proof that Anna was no ordinary woman, but a powerful medium. For Anna Roth, that was all she needed to hear. From that moment on, she began to conduct public seances. And look, if she'd been alive today, she probably would have been dismissed as a crank. But in the late 19th century in Germany, occultism was all the rage, and Anna fit right in. Within a few years, she had gathered a hearty following among her fellow German spiritualists, and soon she was touring full-time, performing séances for paying crowds all across Europe. By then though, Anna was a frail middle-aged woman, and as any rock star knows, touring life isn't exactly easy on the body.

So in 1901 she settled down in Berlin, where she continued to do her work. Of course, you're probably all wondering the same thing. What exactly happened at an Anna Roth seance that made her so darn popular? Something to do with flowers, right? Well, luckily, we have records documenting exactly what took place in that eerily bright room. Once the participants paid and were seated, Anna would invite a female member of the group to pat her down, to assure everyone that she had no tricks up her sleeve, literally.

Then an impresario would hype her up and Anna would lead a prayer before falling into a deep impenetrable trance. And now the evening would officially begin. First came the visitors. Not living visitors mind you, but dead ones. A carousel of personalities took over Anna's body, speaking through her mouth. Some of them were deceased friends and family of those in attendance that night. Others were celebrities and historical figures. Martin Luther made an appearance, along with various European kings. These special guests brought news from the beyond, and even offered personal and medical advice to the audience members.

Now, I'll be honest here, I might have been a little skeptical if I had been seated in that crowd. Because, you see, despite being supposedly possessed by these spirits, Anna's voice didn't actually change. All of the visitors talked with her thick Saxony accent, which she apparently made no attempt to conceal. But the truth is, what came next was so wild, most people probably forgot all about the accent. Here, I'll let an actual attendee from 1901 describe it directly. Such masses of fresh, dewy, charmingly fragrant flowers were materialized before our eyes that we all carried home with us large bunches of them.

For my part, I received one large red tulip, one lily of the valley, two mignonettes, one snowdrop, a handful of fresh grass, and a large cluster of scented myrtle, which the medium picked as from an invisible wreath around my head. Now, let me explain. Anna, you see, was what was called an apport medium. That is, she could make objects appear out of thin air. It was a rare gift for mediums to have and was why she rose to fame so quickly. During her seances, Anna produced gold dust, small glass hearts, figurines of Jesus, religious

pamphlets and even tiny candy-filled animals made of paper mache. But what she was really famous for was flowers. In the course of a single séance, shocked attendees would hold out their hands as countless flowers in full bloom fell from, well, nowhere. They seemed to materialize right out of the air. According to Anna, these were gifts from the beyond, and people went wild for them. The thing is, though, while audiences did adore her, not everyone was a true believer.

And in March of 1902, Anna's blossoming career would officially begin to wilt. No pun intended, I swear. Because that's the year when the Berlin police snuck into a flower medium seance undercover. At first, all went as it typically did, the bright lights, the opening prayer, the character channeling, until finally the flowers began to fall.

Anna had just produced a smattering of hyacinth and narcissus when the cops broke their cover and stepped in. Wrestling the delicate woman to the ground, they pulled up her skirt, revealing bundles upon bundles of hidden flowers. All in all, the police found a whopping 157 flowers concealed under Anna's clothing. Plus, and this is just impressive, a few oranges and lemons for good measure. That was that. Anna was arrested for fraud and taken to jail. It seemed Anna Roth's luck had run out, tragically in more ways than one.

You see, as Anna awaited her trial, her husband and daughter both passed away, but she was deemed too dangerous to be allowed to join them in their final moments. Instead, she had to settle for kneeling by their graves once it was already too late, all while flanked by police. And I know, it seems like overkill for a lady who was essentially guilty of tossing a bunch of plants in the air. But not everyone viewed her as so innocuous. Berlin had begun debating whether spiritualism and superstition in general was ethical, and

Anna found herself smack dab in the center of the discourse. Her seances, one critic consisted, spread diseases of the brain and nervous system. Indeed, they were dangerous not just to those who attended her seances, but even to the unborn, for many of her followers were women who could then pass on their mental diseases to their children. Her trial, of course, was a media sensation. Every day the courtroom was packed with spectators, including King of the Skeptics himself, Harry Houdini,

and Anna's defense consisted of Berlin's most famous lawyers. Witnesses came forward with miraculous stories, tales of the other world, of talking spirits, and impossible flowers. Many former seance attendees insisted that Anna's flowers hadn't simply dropped from her clothing, but manifested out of the air. They described what they had seen as being like clouds of steam, gradually solidifying into flowers right before their eyes.

But in the end, none of it mattered. Anna Roth, the flower medium, was found guilty of fraud. She went to prison, and although released early, on December 16th of 1904, only nine months after her arrival, Anna passed away. After a life of hardship, she had finally passed into a new world that she knew all too well.

The realm of the flowers. History is like a garden. Some parts of the past are easily spotted by the naked eye, the leaves and flowers, the vines and ripening fruit, all those parts above the ground. The past is as it appears on the surface, and were you to take the lives of people like Anna Roth at face value, those visible bits would seem like the whole story. But here's the thing about a garden. Most of the action takes place under the surface in the twisting roots, and that's the part you'll only find if you dig. The tale of the flower medium may seem like a simple story about a charlatan

using stage trickery to make a quick buck, but when you start to dig, well, the roots run deep. You see, Germany during Anna's lifetime was a very unique place. Between the late 19th and early 20th centuries, what had once been a provincial nation suddenly became one of the world's greatest economic powerhouses Matched only by the US and Great Britain. This was an age of steel of industrial smog and chemical plants German farmers set aside their hand tools in favor of new belching machinery produced in corporate factories Those who had once worshiped the simple magic of a seed sprouting from the soil now bowed down to steam and metal. But then a woman arrives who can make flowers fall from the sky. And sure, she may have been a fraud, but in the end, does that really matter?

In a world of cold industry, Anna Roth gave her audience something they desperately craved, the magic of the natural world. Maybe buried in a colorless haze of smoke and steel, what people really needed, what they wanted, was just a bit of beauty. So let's imagine it once more with that unique perspective in mind. A widow would weep with joy as her dead husband presented her with a bouquet. A mourning father would reach upward only for his ghostly child to present him with a bundle of baby's breath, or forget me not. After years of separation from their dead loved ones, after being forced to live on in an industrial, unfeeling world, Anna's customers were finally able to hold something natural, something physical, that proved their lost loved ones were still out there.

Real or fake, Anna Roth offered her clients something they desperately needed. The sweet smell of hope. I hope you enjoyed today's tour through the wild and wonderful garden that is folklore. Most people associate flowers with happy moments in life, weddings and first dates, the hopeful pop of spring, which is why, when they're used for evil, it feels all the more sinister. And I have one final tale featuring some famously frightening flowers. By the way, there is nothing I love more than taking a legend you think you know and turning it on its head, which is why this final story coming up is so much fun. Stick around through this brief sponsor break to hear all about it.

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It might be the world's most famous recipe, but you probably aren't eager to serve this particular stew at a dinner party. After all, the witch's brew consists of, and I quote, Filet of a fennie snake in the cauldron boil and bake, Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind worm's sting, lizard's leg and howl's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble like a hell broth boil and bubble.

So yeah, not exactly appetizing. Or so it seems. What you may not know is that many of these spooky sounding ingredients are actually names for ordinary plants. Take for example Eye of Newt. We all know how many cartoons and fantasy movies depict wart-covered witches grabbing a fistful of slimy eyeballs from a jar to toss into a cauldron. But in reality, the weird sisters weren't referring to actual eyes at all.

In Shakespeare's day, Eye of Newt was actually a common name for mustard seed. And if you saw mustard seeds and newts side by side, it would make sense why. The tiny spherical seeds happen to be the exact same shade of dark yellow as some newts' eyes. And then there's Toe of Frog, another seemingly creepy-crawly ingredient that doesn't creep or crawl at all.

Scholars believe that Toe of Frog is simply a nickname for a particular kind of buttercup, notable for having a bulbous green base, or toe, at the bottom of its stem. Meanwhile, Wool of Bat is thought to be a reference to holly leaves. You can picture holly, right? Those glossy, scalloped wings with spiny points between the margins? Almost like, yes, the shape of a bat's wing.

Alternatively, others think the witch's Wool of Bat might not be holly at all but moss, which is fuzzy like a bat. And I know what you're thinking at this point, surely there is not a plant called tongue of dog, right? Well guess again. Hound's tongue, or dog's tongue, is a highly toxic member of the forget-me-not family, with long, hairy stalks and rough tongue-like leaves. In folk medicine, dog's tongue was even prescribed to heal dog bites, relying on the theory of

sympathetic magic in which two things that visually resemble one another are somehow magically connected. This particular plant also has another witch-worthy name, by the way. Some call it Rats and Mice, because it apparently smells like, well, rats and mice. Honestly, I'm not sure which I would rather have, this stuff or an actual dog's tongue. I vote neither. Moving on, next in the litany comes Adder's Fork. Rather than a reference to a snake, the witches were probably talking about either the Adder's Tongue Fern or the Adder's Tongue Lily, aka Dog Tooth Violet. And that's not

too surprising. There have been many folk medicine uses for the dog-toothed violet throughout history, including as a contraceptive. Some say that soaking the flower in cold water, wrapping it around an injury, and then, once it warms up, burying the lily in a mud pit can heal a wound or a bruise. Lizard's leg, on the other hand, is another name for Ivy, while Howlett's wing is believed to be garlic or ginger, all of which are steeped in more than their fair share of supernatural lore. Ivy shows up in a number of English divination games.

This one is my favorite. On Halloween, each of your family members would write their name on an ivy leaf before dropping them into a bowl of water. The next day, everyone anxiously gathered around the bowl to inspect the leaves one by one. If any of the leaves had magically transformed into a coffin shape, you better hope the name written on it wasn't yours

because death was on its way. And garlic is surrounded by far more superstition than just as a vampire deterrent. We could honestly have a whole episode on this stuff and maybe someday we might, but just as a taste, ancient Greeks used to pile garlic at crossroads to ward off demons and appease the goddess Hecate. Going through the list, it turns out that the only ingredients in the weird sister's concoction that don't seem to be plants are the blind worm sting, blind worm being a type of legless lizard, and the filet of fenne snake, which is simply a snake

that lives in the fens. Hey, even an herbal concoction needs a little protein, right? So the next time you're brewing up a magic potion under the full moon, leave out the eyeballs and tongues. Turns out a can of Campbell's tomato soup might be closer to the real thing. This episode of Lore was produced by me, Aaron Manke, with writing by Jenna Rose Nethercott, research by Cassandra De Alba, and music by Chad Lawson. Don't like hearing the ads in the episodes?

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