I have cultivated this place carefully over many centuries. The lower courts glitter with impossible little kingdoms built by the damned themselves. Tea houses swollen with those who cannot surrender their civility.. Gambling dens where ghosts wager years of memory for a single perfect sensation that they never really wanted, blessed are they that receive their reward before the dice strike the table. Silk markets sprawl beneath lacquered awnings, their living fabrics woven from the surrendered identities of ghosts who discovered they preferred beauty to themselves. Flowers bloom there from the desperation of their caretakers, each one cultivated in the hope that beauty might finally become enough.
Come and walk beside me beneath lantern trees. Courtesans of the outer courts will sing to one another from behind painted screens, each convinced they are moments away from finally becoming untouchable. Visit the River Quarter, where ambitious ghosts bargain endlessly over tokens none of them truly desire.
The ancient dead are adorable. They host masquerades, salons, and feasts to distract themselves from the simple fact that eternity continues moving around them. Some become collectors of beautiful things. Others collect people. A few cultivate entire dynasties of dependent ghosts and lesser spirits simply to avoid being alone with themselves for even a single evening. Their fear despite their power is enough to move the heart.
I confess, I find them all endlessly charming. Each one beloved as a favored son or daughter.
Do not concern yourself overmuch with punishment. The Hell of Ten Thousand Hungers is not a place of arbitrary cruelty. It is a place where appetite is given room enough to speak honestly. I love it when they come convinced that they already know what they want. The desperation that results as their identity slips away is satisfying, but the revelation of what lies beneath is exquisite.
If you should ever tire of disguises and polite little lies, come visit my gardens. I would be delighted to show you what becomes of desire when it comes to full bloom and in truth. Then you may finally see desire stripped clean of excuses, beautiful and terrible in equal measure.
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