(She'll figure out eventually that it's a Canterbury Bell. Not the best image, but I feel less guilty snagging images from wikipedia, where most things are creative commons licensed.)
There is a garden. Extensive and elaborate, a painter's dream of a garden, though now long-neglected. Flowers were once chosen with exquisite care, for the color and shape, the meanings they held, memories they evoked... and some remain. Those who arranged it with such care no longer maintain it, but the memory of things past remains deep in the soil...
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