World War I

A letter arrived, addressed to me—but it was written centuries before I was born.

That’s where it all started. A single letter, neatly folded in an envelope made of thick, yellowed paper. The kind that crinkled under your fingers, with faded ink written in a hand so elegant it felt like I was looking at a work of art. My name was on it, spelled out perfectly—Elena Greyson —even though it had no business being there. Read more

The rain began as a light drizzle, the kind that makes the world feel suspended in time. I had been wandering aimlessly through the narrow streets of Paris, unsure of what I was even looking for. The old buildings loomed around me like silent witnesses to a thousand forgotten stories, their windows dim and their secrets locked away. That’s when I saw it—a small, unassuming antique shop tucked between a café and a flower stall. Something about it pulled me in, as if I were meant to find it. Read more