The grapes insist they’ve never been sweet.
They’re just pretending for the wine.

P.B Young

THE SPELLBINDER

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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STEP IN

THE BAZAAR,

Where trinkets, tales, and treasures hum when touched,

The Mysterious Bazaar.

KDP

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