Entering the Lost Garden

Crossing the Third Portal to Side B of the U3P, there is a place called “Lost Garden” (not to be confused with the Secret Garden, which is a very different place). More specifically, it is possible to access it from the first floor (or second floor if you are from the US, apparently?) of the Sand Castle, through the first door to the left of the hallway. Although it is also possible that you might come across it completely by chance (or on purpose), if one day you are strolling in the outskirts:

You were probably walking along the dirt path. It is seldom used because it is on the outskirts, always covered by a blanket of leaves of different shades of ochre, reddish and brown. It is a narrow path, framed by the dark, brittle branches of the low, thorny bushes that grow on the edges of this autumn forest, frequented by thrushes. The yellowish weeds grow tall on each side of this path, sometimes entangled in unknown wire fences, perfuming the humid air with herbal and medicinal notes. It was already very late, and you were distracted watching the fireflies, listening to the wild orchestra of crickets tuning their instruments, preparing for the night, and the chorus of the first singing toads that were getting up early.

If one day you are in a similar situation (i.e., on a walk) and you find yourself in such a scenario, pay attention, because you might be passing near the Lost Garden.

Then you saw the iron fencing. Black, old, broken, twisted, hidden from time to time under chaotic weavings of dried vines and Don Diego de Día's cloaks, sometimes supported by a puny wall of worn bricks. You reached the gate, and noticed something irresistible: it was open. You looked around you: there was no one there but the fireflies, crickets and toads that were still hiding and who, anyway, were minding their own business, not very eager to be witnesses. So you thought, why not?

The Lost Garden has everything a lost garden should have. It smells and looks as if it were in perpetual advanced autumn: dry and tangled branches, mountains of brown leaves, shadows of hidden critters, smell of damp earth, slightly cloudy sky, cold and misty air, breath of ghosts, echoes of foreign memories contained within its rusty bars. There, it is always dusk, and the chorus of toads and crickets can be heard.

You went inside to explore, just for a while, ignoring the creaking of the alarmed gates. The pasture was tall, almost knee-high. It was a small garden, long abandoned (if you wonder, how long? It's obvious, long long long). Remnants of dried flower beds here and there, the moon half hidden by the clouds reflected in a green pond. A wooden hammock, held more by the tender branches of a passion fruit plant than by rope, hung from a white carob tree. In the background, a hollow, windowless house was slowly being swallowed up by vines. A wide stone staircase climbed up to another wall without doors or windows. Someone, also long ago, had painted two large eyes where the door should have been. Curious, isn't it?

Who could resist approaching? After a thorough inspection, you realized that there was no trace of any door in the wall, nor that there had ever been one. The wall was perfectly smooth, several chalk scratches on the wall made you realize that you were not the first person to find this place. You walked down the stairs, and stumbled over something. Somewhat hidden among the dry twigs and grass was a huge, ancient, rusty bronze bell. Tock tock! You hit it with your knuckles, for no reason. Ting ting! Something answered you from inside.

You stood there with your mouth open. “Did it just answer me?” you thought, surely. Yes, it just answered you. Ting ting ting ting! It did back, with an energy you'd swear was enthusiasm. You crouched down, moving closer to the bell, trying to figure out what was going on. Of course, you didn't expect the bell to stick its tongue out at you.

You probably fell backwards and, no doubt, it took you several seconds to realize that the bell was actually a mailbox. A bell mailbox that was delivering an envelope to you. “For me?” you might have thought. Ting! You got an answer from the bell mailbox. Translated, that means, “Yes, the letter is for you.”

This would be your hypothetical encounter with the bell mailbox. But of course, not everyone has time to go there to pick up their letters, it is quite far and not always easy to find (at least if you take the long way), and that's where the Prince comes in, to facilitate your communication with your friends in our collective traveling through the U3P, he offers his interdimensional messaging service (o˘◡˘o)