If you are reading this, it means you have accepted my invitation — and for that, my heart is glad.

I am, at present, away — off wandering through the theatres of feeling, the galleries of giddy devotion, the quiet corners where art and obsession intertwine. You see, I am a woman led astray by beauty, bewitched by the fine and foolish things that set the heart aquiver. And though I am elsewhere, chasing the ephemeral and the eternal in equal measure, this small corner of my world is yours to inhabit while I am gone.

There is no need to make yourself known, no obligation to call out your presence. Linger in the hallways if you wish. Sit by the window. Wander the shelves.

Here, you will find no grand proclamations, no demands for display. Only the quiet certainty that you are welcome — wholly, entirely, exactly as you are.

Perhaps you will find a song that lingers on your skin like sunlight, or a story that folds you in its arms and refuses to let go. Perhaps you will say nothing at all — and that, too, will be perfect.

This is a house for the unseen, the unhurried, the unapologetically tender-hearted. A house for those who love deeply and quietly, who carry their obsessions not on their sleeves but folded close to their ribs, like a secret too dear to speak aloud.

Stay as long as you like.

And should you, in time, feel moved to leave a note behind — even the smallest scribble — know that it will be cherished, but never required.

Until I return,

Faithfully yours,

ViVi

P.S. Should the weight of the day follow you here, as it often does, mayhap you will find some small relief in preparing yourself a cup of tea.

And should you feel inclined, there are quiet gatherings waiting to be discovered — melodies to carry you to softer places, musings to wander through as one might a familiar garden, and faces — all soft edges and knowing smiles, built for quiet ruin — should you be in the mood to fall shamelessly in love at first glance, or to lose yourself in a daydream too sweet to resist.