Whispers Of Aetheria

My dear friends and wanderers of Aetheria,

This past week has been a very busy one for me, and I only now had some time to sit down and write you at length and continue where we left off last...

But first, I wanted to thank you for your votes. Our little kitty now has a name thanks to all of you. He is now called Ryu —and I append "The Dragon" at the end of that name each time I call him. He likes it very much, and he sends you endless purrs of gratitude.

I also wanted to thank you for being so intelligent, funny, aware, imaginative, kind, and interesting. When I read how you think and what you have to say, I feel that there is in fact still hope for this planet.

As promised: the second part of my letter. More questions answered, and a little more of my world opened to you.

---

🌙 On night, flowers, and the garden

I have always loved the light just after dawn and the long shadows that stretch before dusk, but my true love is the deepest hours of darkness.

So — day or night?
Night, always.

At night, everything seems more real to me. On nights when my soul is too loud and insomnia hits, I slip into the garden and sit on the bench between the trees in the pitch-black — no lights, no noise, nothing to overstimulate the senses. Just silence, my breath, the trees, and sometimes a few critters scuttling in the dark and the moonlight.

Those who know me well have often expressed concern about me slipping out during the night to sit outside alone. "Aren't you scared?" they ask. "Of what?" is my usual answer. I live in a very safe city, and I suspect if anyone saw me sitting so comfortably between the trees, they'd be the ones to feel fear. I've had a long affinity with the dark since childhood, when I at first deeply feared it. Now, night is the time I can most often experience calm and peace.

As for seasons, autumn is my heaven. I always imagined that God laid those amber and crimson leaves especially for me. When I was younger, I loved kicking the dry leaves — but as I got older, that too felt like a kind of cruelty. The reflective melancholy of autumn suits my soul exactly. It makes me think of Keats, Lermontov, and Verlaine. Of all the times I tried to love and be loved and failed miserably. In my soul, there are only two seasons: a long sweeping autumn, and a beautiful but brief spring.

I don't use a professional camera. I simply have a good eye and an instinct for finding beauty, and even on a mobile phone I can somehow manage a few clicks worth keeping. I don't like heavily edited photographs. I like remembering things exactly as they were — even though I know that's not how the mind works.

I don't think I could live without a garden. Even the smallest balcony, overflowing with flowers, tomatoes, and strawberries, feels to me like a little sanctuary — a sacred place where my soul can breathe. My two favourite flowers are the rose and the tulip. They each hold a different place in my heart, and I could never choose between them.

---

🐾 On the animals

I work alone. I am not part of any sanctuary. My house, and the large garden and fruit orchard I have in the heart of the city, are the sanctuary: an oasis in a desert of concrete and noise. I live in one of those old, sturdy, large houses with a lot of character, and I feel a quiet grief watching the beautiful original houses around me disappear, bought and demolished and replaced with things that offend the eyes. In my wilder fantasies, I buy them all back and plant trees on the rubble.

But I digress...

High walls or not, injured animals somehow find me and my oasis. Abused and stray cats and dogs, orphaned little creatures struck by cars or carrying viral diseases, poisoned foxes, hungry hedgehogs. They find their way into my garden either to die in peace or, if I find them in time, to have another chance at life.

I trap, neuter, and release. When appropriate, I find homes — especially for dogs, because I know I cannot provide what they need most. The cats are happiest in the garden. Some are missing limbs, eyes, or tails. Two have lived there for sixteen years. The cats are as independent as I am; as beings, we understand each other. A few are permanent residents. Most come for their meals and then leave. Others linger as long as there's any hope I'll step outside and they'll see me. When people speak of the ingratitude of cats, I think of these, and how they will often choose my caresses over the food I lay in front of them.

I've cared for hens too. And a sheep. I am one of those people who, upon seeing a hurt animal in the street, will pick them up, carry them home, or run with them to the veterinarian. I have some very touching and unusual stories about my animal friends and how we found our way to each other. Perhaps I'll share some with you one day.

I love insects very much too. And snails. There is a strange softness in me for small creatures. As for a favourite animal, I love them all far too much to rank them. I admire whales and elephants: strong, dignified, deeply loving, capable of carrying love across vast distances. And donkeys, because they are so unjustly treated and so rarely thanked.

---

✨ On inspiration

My inspiration comes from everywhere I have ever been and everything I have ever loved: from hundreds of books, obscure and literary and written in several languages; from paintings I return to again and again; from music experienced across many countries and cultures; from cities walked through alone; from loss and from beauty; and from the persistent, irrational hope I carry in spite of everything.

I've actually read very little fantasy. Most of my reading has been literary, historical, philosophical, and occasionally rather strange. Perhaps that is why Aetheria has taken shape in its own peculiar way.

As for Aetheria itself — it arrives both as vision and as something slowly built. A character comes to me first as an image: I see them. Then I sit quietly with them and allow them to tell me their story as they wish it to be told. I don't impose myself upon them or decide their destinies in advance. I find this truer to the soul of any character — fictional or otherwise — than any outline I could write beforehand. It is less "this is what will happen to you" and more "let's uncover who you are together, and see where you go from here."

Even these small songs are not so different from writing a novel.

As for the process of creating with AI — that question deserves its own letter, so I can answer it properly and with the depth it merits. I hope it will encourage you too, to create, to experiment, to expand in some way...

It is coming.

As for today's image: it's from a concert I attended some time ago. Can you guess the country I was in? The big hint is in the image itself, the composer, if you recognize him.

And now, my friends: your turn. Tell me something about you. Your favourite season. A book that changed you. A small moment of beauty you noticed today. Anything small or big you feel like sharing with a friend who genuinely cares about you and is listening. I know how strange that sounds considering the world we live in and that this is "just the internet". But... I do, in fact, care.

Thank you for reading and listening...
With warmth and gratitude, until next time,


~ The Quiet Scribe 🌹

2 days ago | [YT] | 76

Whispers Of Aetheria

My dear friends and wanderers of Aetheria,

I have finally managed to sit down and quietly craft you a letter. I've read all your questions, and rather than answer them as bullet points, I've woven my responses into the body of this letter. I will answer the rest of your questions in a second letter, coming very soon.

🌹 On appearance

I know it hasn't always been clear, but I am, in fact, a woman. I chose not to disclose this at first because I didn't want to invite romantic projection — and yet, it seems that happened regardless, with many assuming I was a man. It didn't bother me then, and it doesn't bother me now.

I am quite androgynous, both in appearance and in energy. I have never experienced affection, admiration, or attraction as things that fit neatly into categories. Throughout my life, meaningful connections have arrived from both men and women alike. But my romantic and sexual orientation is exclusively toward one gender.

External things have never held much weight for me. I care far more about the inner landscape of a person: the dreams they carry, the passions they keep quietly alive, and the mysterious essence that seems to look back at you from behind their eyes. But I understand the curiosity, and so I'll oblige.

I have big, soulful brown eyes and a full head of short, dark, wavy hair. I am of average height, somewhere between slender and fit, and I have always looked younger than my years. People occasionally underestimate me because of it, though with me they eventually learn not to mind such things very much. I dress formally, always. Elegantly. Think of someone who escaped the set of the original Interview with a Vampire — not gothic in the way of platform shoes and pale powder, but in the way of aristocratic fabrics, rich textures, and garments that feel like a second skin. It is partly self-expression and partly armour.

Black is my favourite colour, and I am quiet and rather broody-looking. When I want variety, I wear formal black and white — anything that lets me blend seamlessly into the art galleries and concert halls where I feel happiest and most like myself. Of all my characters, I probably resemble the Maestra the most: the strong gaze, the serious introspective expression, the androgynous angular features, the prominent straight nose, and the dark formal clothing. She is prettier, though, and rather more feline-looking.

In the garden, however, I dress like a whiskey grandpa.
:-)

My voice is calm, serious, and composed; intensely passionate when I speak about the people and topics I love; warm and soft when you've earned my trust and joined my very small inner circle; and steel-cold when confronted with destructive and unloving people. And as for singing: I cannot, and I should not be allowed to.

🌙 On the strange and the unseen

I was always a peculiar child. Psychic phenomena entered my life early, and in those years it arrived in a dark and frightening way — the kind that leaves marks. I remember lying awake as a child, not quite understanding what was pressing against the edges of my awareness, and having no one to ask and no language to name it with. I had to find my way through it largely alone.

That search led me through comparative religion, science, philosophy, and even a long and rather earnest period of militant atheism. I was compelled, almost against my will, toward the question of what is real and what may lie beneath what we call reality. Eventually, I found my way into mystical traditions that offered not belief, but experience — initiatory paths that asked you to know rather than simply to accept.

I tried always to follow both heart and reason. I have never believed them to be enemies. I think they are meant to work together, each knowing when to lead and when to yield.

Psychic phenomena remain a regular part of my life. They no longer frighten me. I've made a kind of peace with the fact that the world is far stranger, and far more layered, than most people are comfortable admitting.

🏛️ On the inside and outside

I feel most at home among antique shops, old libraries, concert halls, opera-houses and art-house cinemas — and in cities that seem to possess ancient souls and grandeur. I am permanently love-struck, by music, by beauty in its many forms and am deeply moved by courage in the face of suffering. I am drawn to resilience, to depth, and to that quiet intensity one sometimes finds in people who have endured much and remained gentle.

My personal life is peaceful, grounded in reality in a rather old-fashioned way. I have lived an intense and difficult life — the sort that eventually teaches you that stillness is not emptiness, but a precious and hard-won gift. My nervous system needs solitude. My soul does too. The only things that reliably lure me away from the peacefulness of home are a classical concert, an opera, or a truly extraordinary exhibition. Because I live in a rather small city, when I leave for pleasure, it is often directly to the airport — to another country, another concert hall, another city to explore alone, with good food and no obligations waiting at the table beside me.

I am a student of philosophy, languages, and the arts and, above all else, a seeker — endlessly curious about the world and the hidden life that seems to exist beneath its surface. I try to cultivate mind, soul, and body with equal care and find myself compelled by truth in all its forms. This means I value truth above all else, even if it hurts. There is in me a persistent inward pull: to wander, to contemplate, and to translate strange and otherworldly imaginings into something tangible and shareable, much like what I do for you here on this channel. I enjoy slowly drawing people into my world, gently pulling them towards my depth and strangeness. I am very intense, and this is the only loving way to do it.

I am drawn to joy, to beauty, and to intimacy, both sensual and spiritual. Unamuno's *sentimiento trágico de la vida* is a book carried in my soul, and for the longest time I have lived with that bittersweet understanding that beauty and suffering in this world are often inseparable companions. I return again and again to Pessoa's *Book of Disquiet*, to Gibran Khalil, Pushkin and to Nietzsche, as one returns to old friends. These writers, in their very different ways, have always felt like kindred spirits speaking to me across time.

I recoil from dogma, religious intolerance, superstition, material obsession, performative humility, despair that becomes an identity, and cruelty in all its forms.

I wish I could handwrite this letter to you, seal it with wax, and leave it quietly on your doorsteps or windowsills. But I understand you'd likely call the authorities and obtain a restraining order against me. I am romantic in the old-fashioned way, and it can't be helped. I still understand very little about the etiquette of the internet, and I find the way people perform their lives on virtual platforms genuinely strange and fascinating. I don't expect I'll ever grow entirely accustomed to it, and I don't particularly want to.


-------


If you've read this far — whew, thank you. Means a lot. And since you've come all this way, I have one small request before I retreat into the shadows again..

You may remember, friends, that we found a kitten together, in a manner of speaking. He is small, black, and entirely convinced of his own importance. I would very much like your help naming him. Both names I've chosen are Japanese because it is a language I am learning and loving right now.

Cast your vote below. He is waiting with great impatience, as he is becoming rather tired of me calling him a different name every ten minutes.

With warmth and gratitude, until next time,

~ The Quiet Scribe 🌹

5 days ago | [YT] | 83

Whispers Of Aetheria

🕯️ Before Dracula... In fact, 25 years before anyone had ever heard of a Count from Transylvania -- a young woman in Austria opened her door to a pale, beautiful woman. A stranger hiding something that should have made her run.
But she didn't run.

She had been alone in that castle for so long she had forgotten what warmth felt like.

Pale, luminously beautiful, with large dark melancholy eyes and an almost otherworldly grace, "The most beautiful creature she had ever seen." Soft-spoken, languid, almost feline in her movements. Warm, witty, playful, and genuinely tender -- not cold or menacing. She teases, laughs with her, confides in her. She is seductive but never crude. She speaks of love in strange, passionate, almost desperate terms -- like someone who has been starving for real connection for centuries. There is a melancholy underneath everything she does, a loneliness she can barely contain..

But, she is by nature a predator. She cannot survive without feeding -- and yet with her she behaves like someone genuinely, painfully in love...
Because she is.

🖤 Tonight, you'll hear the song about that love story.
Not about the monster. Not about the curse.

About the girl, about the woman she loved -- and about how all was taken from them by this world. A story I personally shed many tears over when I first read.
🕯️

1 week ago | [YT] | 134

Whispers Of Aetheria

My dear friends and wanderers of Aetheria,

There's a rose in my garden that opens red and stays red, no matter the light. I sat with it this morning before the heat came, before the doves and sparrows had even started fussing on the fence, and thought about how some things don't change shape depending on who's looking at them. My days are often so busy that a flower blossoming for me on a crisp, dewy morning is the most memorable detail in my entire day. I took a picture of her for you because I love roses and thought, well, you might love her, too.

I wanted to start there.

Your replies to the last letter meant more to me than I expected. So this evening, a little more of the door, opened a little further...

I've decided that instead of telling you what I think is worth knowing about myself, and risking turning these posts into an exercise in self-aggrandizing egoism, I'd rather you ask. Whatever you're curious about, I'll answer if I can, and if I can't, I'll tell you that too rather than dodge around it.

There are a few questions I won't answer, though, and I want to tell you why. They're the same ones I don't care to ask when I meet someone new. My country, where I live, my race — these stay closed doors, and if you'd rather keep yours closed too, you may; none of it matters nearly as much as we're taught to believe. Not because the subject is forbidden, but because the moment it enters a room, we stop seeing the person and start seeing the category. We judge faster than we mean to. We assume what we haven't earned the right to assume. I'd rather wonder how you see the world than where you're from — the first tells me something true about you, the second mostly tells me more about my own assumptions than about you.
Do you know what I mean?

Now, having said all that... what would you like to know about me? Write me your questions, and I'll read them all and reply in my next letter.

For today, here's what I think is interesting about me: I have a mixed background and grew up between a few cultures, not one. I've lived in a handful of countries, and continue to do so, but these days I stay closest to wherever the animals I help need me most, because they're my friends and companions, and without me, many of them would genuinely suffer. Maybe that's why questions about culture and country interest me so little — I've never belonged to just one place long enough for the answer to mean much. I speak three languages fluently, and understand two more well enough to read and love the poetry written in them, though I won't tell you which. I'm currently learning Japanese, and it's going about as badly as you'd imagine, since I have little to no time to study.

I think people are a kind of mystery worth taking seriously. I can do small talk, I just don't enjoy it very much, so don't be surprised if some of what I ask you leans a little deeper than "what's your favorite color," though I'll ask of those too sometimes. Both kinds matter. Not every exchange needs to be a philosophy paper, and not every exchange needs to stay at the surface either.

Your turn now. Tell me something about you that you'd like me to know, however you want to be known. Simple or complex. A name, a feeling, a small true thing you're carrying. Nothing required, nothing off-limits unless you want it to be...

With warmth and gratitude, until next time,

~ The Quiet Scribe 🌹

1 week ago (edited) | [YT] | 177

Whispers Of Aetheria

Good evening, friends and wanderers of Aetheria,

For a long time I've stayed mostly behind the music, like a voice kept just on the other side of a door, letting the songs and the lore speak first while I kept quiet behind them, on purpose. For the most part, I quite like that arrangement, because it keeps the focus on the music and the songs. But also, I've come to care a lot about many of you, who write me with so much warmth and sincerity.

As someone who loves writing, I've often wondered what it would be like to write to you in my actual, literary voice, and share fragments of my days, the verse that leaves me undone before I even understand why, or the small truths I gather slowly, like pebbles and seashells along a vast and sandy shore...

Lately I've been wondering if that quiet, and the mystery I've always found so alluring, still serves us the way it once did.

So tonight, a small and honest question, the kind I'd only whisper in the dark: would you like to know me a little more, and perhaps for me to know you a bit more? Not through anything identifiable, invasive or shallow, but as the person who feels every one of these stories before she ever writes them, and who is often just as moved by your kindness as many of you tell me you are by Aetheria?

If the answer is yes, I'd like this space to become somewhere I write to you directly. Not merely announcements. Something closer to a letter written to a dear friend, because with many of you, it already feels that way. Perhaps this can be the truest shape of Aetheria, not just a world I built, but a place where my hand can reach toward yours through the dark.

Tell me... What do you think?
(There are no wrong answers!)

~ The Quiet Scribe

P.S. The attached image is of an orphan kitten that wandered into my garden today. I recreated him in the art style I use for my characters, so that he would fit nicely with the aesthetic of my channel. Isn't he a beauty?

1 week ago | [YT] | 275

Whispers Of Aetheria

Dear Friends,

I don't often talk about how I make my videos or the way I go about creating my ideas, but I decided to do just that here for tonight's video, because it's a literary one.

It started with a book suggestion. @AlmaBlue4 — who I am crediting fully as the person who set this entire thing in motion — pointed me toward Alexandre Dumas' largely forgotten gothic novel Le Trou de l'Enfer. The Mouth of Hell.

Set in Heidelberg in 1810, it follows Christiane, the daughter of a country pastor, whose life is slowly ruined by a man, Samuel, who interprets her rejection of him as something unforgivable — a wound to his pride that must be answered with destruction.

I had read it a very long time ago, and thought I remembered it, and created the first version of the song based on my memory. The first version was a duet. Samuel sings. Christiane answers. Two voices in permanent tension: he confesses, obsesses, justifies; she refuses, endures, survives. I built the entire architecture — the call and response, the bridge where their voices collide, the final chorus where he is broken and she decides a tragic end.
It was dramatic. It was gothic. It worked.

But I wasn't satisfied. Something kept pulling at me. So I went back to the novel. I reread it. I sat with Christiane's story — not Samuel's — for the first time without the noise of his perspective drowning hers out. And I understood what was wrong.

Giving Samuel equal space in the song was already a kind of injustice. It was exactly what he had done to her in life: taken up all the room, made everything about his hunger, his wound, his will. Gothic love songs almost always do this. They romanticize the darkness. They make the obsession beautiful, even correct. They give the monster the best lines. I did not want to make that song.

So I started over (which is why it took me so long.) I gave the song entirely to Christiane. Her internal world. Her agony. What it feels like to be cornered by someone who has decided your refusal of him is a declaration of war. What it costs to love cleanly in a world that contains people like Samuel. What a woman thinks as she walks toward the edge of an abyss, because everything that made her herself has been taken from her, one piece at a time, by a man who called it desire, who called it love.

Samuel is one of the great monsters of 19th century gothic fiction — a dark and violent blasphemer, driven by tyrannical and savage passions. I didn't want anyone to romanticize him or his sickness. So in this song, he appears only to say four words. Then I gave him what Dumas gave him in the sequel novel, Dieu dispose (God Disposes): darkness, silence, and the most brutal punishment the ego of a man who thinks he is God can receive: Irrelevance.
He is nothing. The song does not mourn him. It does not even look at him. Dumas didn't punish Samuel with a dramatic death, but with irrelevance — history simply moved on without him. I wanted to honor that. Samuel got the silence of insignificance. And Christiane got the song, even if, in the eyes of the world, she lost everything, including herself.

I arranged seven versions of this song, with different instrumentations, until I found the one that felt right.

These songs don't get me the most views, but as I've said before, I'm not chasing views or subscribers. I'm looking to serve a handful of ideal listeners — people with depth, sensitivity, and intelligence — and to create something that's not only aesthetically and musically beautiful, but spiritually and psychologically enriching. Something I can be proud to look at a hundred years from now.

** Christiane's story is, in many ways, a story about what happens when 'no' isn't enough. So tonight I want to ask you: if you could give your younger self — or anyone reading this — one piece of love advice, to spare them a big relationship mistake, what would it be?

Friends, may such love never find me, or any one of you.
~The Quiet Scribe

2 weeks ago | [YT] | 215

Whispers Of Aetheria

Dear Friends,

🕯️ Some men conquer kingdoms with armies.
Others do it with a smile, a whisper, and the ability to make people feel seen.

Hugo was never the strongest man in the room.
That is precisely why he became the most dangerous.

While knights fought beneath banners and generals chased glory across battlefields, he learned a different kind of warfare: the kind fought behind locked doors, beneath candlelight, inside lonely hearts, and across conversations no historian would ever record.

A royal court can survive assassins.
It rarely survives seduction.

🍷🥀

Tonight, you'll hear his song.
~The Quiet Scribe

2 weeks ago | [YT] | 325

Whispers Of Aetheria

Dear Friends,

Tonight, Lirael returns 🌙🍃

Many of you asked for another song from our flutist elf, and I knew that if he returned, he had to carry something deep, quiet and very vulnerable for you..

Tonight's song is about longing for true soul connection. Not perfection, not possession, not surface beauty… but the rare feeling of being emotionally and spiritually understood by another soul. This is probably the most emotionally personal songs I have ever created for Aetheria, because I based it on a poem/prayer I wrote for myself a few years ago.

I think Lirael may have sung it more beautifully than I imagined he would. I hope you like it 🌹
~The Quiet Scribe

2 weeks ago | [YT] | 486

Whispers Of Aetheria

Dear Friends,

— A quiet post, from me to you —

But first, a small announcement: you can now find me on Spotify and Apple Music 🖤

Spotify: open.spotify.com/artist/4YO6rEjnlc5YkvMmEr1Svs

Apple Music: music.apple.com/us/artist/whispersofaetheria-en/67…

I have uploaded one song so far — and I will be adding more over time. If there is a piece from this channel that lives in you, one you would want to carry on a walk or fall asleep to, tell me in the comments so I can upload it for you.

I'll confess that I have never used Spotify or Apple Music myself. I don't stream music the way most people do. Songs find me the old-fashioned way.. usually at the wrong hour, and when I'm not looking. But a few of you have asked, and well.. Your word is my command.

And now, while we are here, being quietly honest with each other, I want to tell you something.

Close to a decade ago, during one of the hardest and loneliest periods of my life, I remember sitting alone and asking myself a question I had never truly asked before.

Is there anything in me worth loving?

Not whether others loved me. But whether *I* could find something in myself that I loved. Something I could hold up to the light and say: yes. This. This is real, and it is good, and it is mine.

I sat with that question for weeks. Pen in hand, paper empty. And I couldn't think of a single thing.
My friends.
Not one.

Which was a shock to my entire system, because I had always viewed myself as someone who was very confident, sure of themselves, but at the moment of complete truth, I simply couldn't see it. All those weeks, searching, and finding nothing of substance. Not because nothing was there. But because I didn't yet know how to look. I tried to bring forth every good and loving thing that people have ever said about me, but none of it felt true, none of it made me feel anything. Not seen, not loved, and certainly not comforted in my abject loneliness.

It took weeks before the first genuine thing surfaced. And then slowly, I kept gathering — one thing, then another, then another, until I could finally see myself somewhat accurately and with the eyes of someone who truly loves. See the things that were genuinely wonderful in me. To reach that place, to really stand in it without doubt? That took years.

Friends .. we talk so much about love here. The love between souls, between wanderers, between friends, between the lost and the ones who find them. It lives in every song, every story, every frame.
And today, I wanted to ask you something closer. Something about you.

What is one thing you absolutely love about yourself that the world rarely gets to see?
I'll go first.

One of my favorite things I love about myself is this: my strength. People see it first: the dependability, the grounded-ness, the nobility of my character, something in me they instinctively sense they can lean on, confide in, trust fully and completely. Because it is good. It is moral. They will notice my love of poetry, my intellectualism, and they will respect it. But they will rarely feel the sensitivity behind it, or the ocean of emotions carrying it. That lives elsewhere, kept carefully out of sight.
My softness is not hidden out of fear. It is guarded like a real treasure, because that is exactly what it is. Most people will never find it. But those who stay close, truly close, will chance upon it quietly as I introduce them to it in waves, like the most soothing and certain tide. Perhaps months into knowing me, when they least expect it. Or they will catch a glimpse of it when they see me with an animal I've rescued, or in nature watching bees and ants and flowers, and something in the way they look at me will shift, as if they have just discovered a room in a house they thought they already knew. They will see me with the eyes of true love, just as I learned to see myself, almost a decade ago...

That is the part I love most about myself. Because it is entirely, only, and completely mine to give.

Now. Your turn. 🖤

**A small note before you answer:

I *love* getting to know you through these comments more than I can say. But please: don't share too much of yourself here. I mean, no details that could make you findable, or vulnerable, or exposed. This is still a public space, and I care about you and think about your safety genuinely. I say this as someone who is, at heart, a deeply private person. Social media has never felt natural to me, the openness of it sits strangely. I understand it's normal for most, and I respect that. But my soul has always needed walls to breathe.

So: come close. But keep yourself safe.
That is all I ask. Okay?

~ The Quiet Scribe

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 217

Whispers Of Aetheria

Dear Friends

Alwen has guarded her heart behind armor and duty for so long.
Tomorrow, she finally speaks.

~ The Quiet Scribe

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 294