Glimmerbrook doesn’t ask for attention. It’s quiet. Still. A little off. The kind of place where fog lingers too long and old houses seem to be watching.
We haven’t altered it yet. Some spaces feel like they’re waiting for the right moment — or the right spell. A bridge, a fireplace, a moss-covered path: all of it has weight, even when nothing moves.
We’re not in a hurry. Magic has its own rhythm. And when the time comes, Glimmerbrook will let us in.