The compass chose itself. An object designed to guide, now broken — the needle frozen, the glass fogged with trapped moisture or trapped breath. I wanted the first image of the week to establish the artifact as something intimate, something body-warm, something that once touched skin constantly. Buryat and Galician because both cultures know what it means to navigate by stars and by blood, to carry ancestral cartographies in the body. The conservatory as mausoleum — a place built for growth now frozen in abandonment — felt right for the weight of inherited things that no longer serve their purpose but cannot be discarded.