The Language Beyond Words
🌿 A short story born from this art… The morning mist rose from the forest floor like whispered confessions, and Maya foun...
fiction
The Crimson Crossing
🌿 A short story born from this art… The neon sign stuttered against the November rain like a w...
The Weight of Forgotten Summers
A short story, born from this animation. The morning finds me the way it always has these ...
The Final Filter
A short story, born from this animation. His life was a monument to the mundane. A grey cubicl...
The Crimson Cipher
She let the last bubble of air escape her lips, a final, fleeting ghost of her terrestrial life. Her eyelids were heavy, sealed not by pressure...
The Art of Temporal Excision
The rain in Neo-Kyoto wasn’t water. It was a hemorrhage of data, crimson streams bleeding from the sky-boun...