The violin says it only sings when someone else is listening.
But the song always sounds different in the dark.

THE INKBINDER

Rooted in quiet places, I craft worlds from glances, ghosts, and growing things.
I write from somewhere in the middle; not quite here, not quite there.
This is where I leave the door slightly ajar.
Welcome to the hush behind the veil.

WHISPERS

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Thoughts

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COMING SOON

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Where trinkets, tales, and treasures hum when touched,

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