We knew that for a long time, they had to come one day or another. We couldn't ignore it, but we didn't know how to get ready.

And then they came. They crossed the border. They rampaged. And then they turned back. The baron's secret weapon transformed a few of them into gnomographies, but it wasn't enough.

So the llamas came. The dust is falling down. A few tufts of dry wool are still flying in the air, troubled by this breathtaking attack. The manor ends up devastated, furnitures are broken and paintings ripped apart. The residents, under panic, have left. A touch of loneliness remains, as abandoned, in the fresh ruins.

But fists rised. Strengths united, and a few stubborn, furious volunteers had a vision. That of a destiny. The prurification through the camelid. Destroy to build again, better. A vision of a radiant future, where mysteries and discoveries, financially profitable or not, would warm the hearts of everyone.

So they took weapons. Not repair : rebuild, reconstruct. Actually, the rococo-pistacchio-kitsch design imposed by Zhao in his time had remained for too long.

During a night they prepared in great secret this gift to each of us. New furniture that smell like old ones, and ancient knowledge that feels new ; and everything in a setting that encourages reflexion and delicate carousal.

From now on, the doors are open! ; admire! Make yourself comfortable in your quarters, don't be intimidated! This manor is yours.

But above all, don't forget : their names be chanted! To both of you, Adora, Mjollna, we owe gratitude. To both of you, our thanks. May the destiny of the llama favourable to you.