Florentis Courtyard woke slowly.That was intentional.Lillian arrived early, not to supervise, but to witness the space becoming itself. The stone underfoot still held the night’s cool. Morning light slipped between the surrounding buildings in narrow bands, catching on leaves and glass and unfinished arrangements.Nothing was symmetrical.Nothing was finished.It was exactly right.Tables stood at uneven distances, close enough for conversation, far enough to drift. Chairs did not line up. They gathered in small, informal clusters, some pushed aside entirely to make room for standing, moving, lingering.The flowers came next.
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