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The garden party at Missus Henderson's was in full swing, with tea being served on the lawn. Miss Marple couldn't help but notice the curious way young Doctor Phillips avoided the rose bushes, where just yesterday the peculiar incident had occurred.

And you know, when you're portraying these complex characters, these powerful women, it's not just about the lines. It's about embodying their essence, their strength. As an actress, you sort of become this vessel for their stories, their emotions.

This author has recently learned that the hollow oak in Hyde Park has become something of a pilgrimage site for young lovers. A fact I learned from the head gardener himself, in exchange for a small compliment on his prize-winning roses. One cannot help but feel that our dear Penelope and Edmund would be rather pleased. After all, every garden needs seeds to ensure the next season's blooms.

The blood of the dragon flows through our veins, and it is our duty to ensure the realm remains united. I seek no conflict, but a legacy that endures. Let us set aside these petty grievances for the sake of House Targaryen and the peace of the Seven Kingdoms.

I spoke with Mereth today about the situation in the eastern woods, and while she's cautious, I think we can trust her judgment. She knows the area well, yes, and her connection with the local druids could prove valuable.

This author notes with great interest how Lady Pembroke's latest soirée has set tongues wagging throughout the ton. While some may dismiss such gatherings as mere frivolity, keen observers know that marriages are made and broken over a perfectly poured cup of tea.

My dear readers, one cannot help but notice the subtle dance of courtship that unfolds before us this evening. From delicate fans concealing whispered secrets to meaningful glances across candlelit ballrooms, every gesture speaks volumes of hearts yearning for connection.

Strange how life unfolds. I've lived in so many cities, learned so many languages. Each time someone discovered who I was, we had to flee again. The common folk don't care about noble names, but assassins, they never forget their targets.