The core stays warm. This is where the pulse begins—and never skips.
Keeps the rhythm moving, like incense drifting through hidden walls.
Tightly sealed—not to hide, but to preserve balance.
A small light that turns cold corners into warmth.
Some light isn’t seen. Only felt—saved for the right moment.
Just enough to keep everything in motion. No blocks, no rush.
Sometimes, the house gives something. Quietly, but meaningfully.
Stored. Untouched. Like a hidden couch you only notice when you need it.