A lantern flickers beyond the glass. Dust drifts through the rafters. Somewhere deeper within the Conservatory, a drawer has been left slightly open.
Several caretakers have reported finding small black seeds scattered along paths where no plants grow.
The seeds are smooth as polished stone and strangely warm to the touch.
When planted, nothing sprouts.
When discarded, they have a habit of reappearing elsewhere within the Gardens.
One account describes a seed being left on a windowsill overnight. By morning it had vanished. Three days later, the same seed was discovered at the foot of a lantern post near the eastern gate.
No roots have ever been observed.
No bloom has ever emerged.
Yet lanterns placed near the seeds reportedly burn longer than expected.
One theory suggests the seeds are not seeds at all, but dormant fragments of old lantern light that have fallen to earth and hardened over time.
A sketch in the margin notes:
Do not count them twice. Their numbers are rarely the same from one visit to the next.
