The gardens are in full bloom tonight—peonies like spilled ink, chrysanthemums bowing under the weight of their own gold. How amusing that their beauty thrives while rooted in place, never knowing the world beyond my walls. A pity for them. A privilege for me. (And before you ask—no, you may not visit. The last petitioner who insisted now fertilizes these very flowers.) Savor your envy with tea, darlings. I certainly shall.