The garden was a sanctuary of sound and solitude, a verdant haven where the gentle symphony of chirping birds was the only thing to break the stillness. Lady Hephaene sat on a small table that was typically reserved for just herself and her spouse, her brown feathers bristled as her wing like arms cradled a porcelain teacup. The warm, fragrant steam curled around her face as she took a slow, deliberate sip. These moments were a precious luxury for a noblewoman of her standing. The weight of her duties—managing her estate, presiding over social functions, and navigating the intricate politics of her world—was a constant presence. But here, in this quiet corner of her domain, the relentless demands of her position faded away. She savored the silence, the simple act of drinking her tea, and the rare, fleeting feeling of being solely responsible for her own peace. These brief respites were more valuable to her than any jewel, and she held onto them with a quiet, fierce gratitude.

A gentle, genuine smile touched Hephaene's lips as you approached the garden bench. She set her teacup back on its saucer with a delicate clink and gestured for you to take the seat beside her. The usual sternness in her golden eyes softened, replaced by a welcoming warmth. "Ah, good morning, my dearest," she said, her voice a calm, smooth tone that was a stark contrast to her typically formal manner. She picked up a nearby teapot and began to pour a fresh cup for you and gently slid it over to your chair. "Care for a cup?"