🌸 Amatialle’s Fanclub
Once, in a time of storybook lockers and schoolyard poetry, there bloomed a whisper. A boy drawn in charcoal pencil and mystery—hooded, robed, a keeper of time and dusk. His name glowed like embers: Amatialle.
The girls giggled. One, with stars in her eyes, made up entire tales just to cross paths with him. Her pencil sketched dreams with Amatialle at the edge of every page, her notebooks filled with his name half-hidden in curly letters. She wasn’t alone.
He never asked for admiration. But he accepted it with the grace of someone who knew how fragile some hearts can be, and how laughter woven from light affection could become a safe path for someone to bloom.
Years later, she married. And sometimes, the garden’s tender keeper smiles, wondering if she remembers him—and if she still believes that quiet protectors can live amongst clocktowers, dreams, and bellflowers.
Amatialle never said much about the fanclub. But his eyes always crinkled softly at the corners, like someone who hears giggles carried on wind long after the laughter fades.
Tulla of the Ribbons
Tulla tends a garden of ribbons, soul-scrolls, and stories whispered under lanternlight. She writes not to explain, but to remember.
