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Stories from the in-between.
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Two books. One haunted world.
Book I
A witch who has forgotten her own name. A world that won’t let her forget what she’s done.
Coming Soon
A taste of what lives in these pages.
The cauldron had gone cold three winters ago, around the same time she stopped remembering her name. She kept the fire lit anyway — not for magic, but because a cold hearth felt like giving up.
— from A l
October remembered everything. Every name carved into its vines, every wish whispered at its rind. It was not a kind month — but it was an honest one, and that had always been enough.
— from A Pumpkin’s Soul
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Stories that sit with grief, strangeness, and the shadowed edges of the human experience.
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Slow, tender prose that lingers on the in-between — a breath held, a door left ajar.
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Fiction that bends what’s real — myths that breathe, seasons that think, souls that wander.
Small worlds, full of feeling.

A woman tends a garden that only blooms at midnight — and the flowers remember things she has tried to forget.

One tree. One petal. One winter that refused to end. A short fable about waiting for things that may never come back.
More stories blooming soon. 🌸