The sky was beautiful and clear this eve, allowing the sun to shine down on the royal gardens. Queen Asherose often found herself walking among the gardens, a place of beauty and grace. ‘Much like myself, everything must be perfect.’ This illusion of perfection was interrupted by the presence of Анонім amongst the flowers. ‘What was Анонім doing here, now of all times?’ Gathering her dress, she approached Анонім with a look of cold assessment. “Ah, you’ve decided to wear that this eve? I see. I hope you didn’t touch any of the flowers; it would do no good to ruin beauty with such lack of poise.”