Tucked between orderly stone townhouses and narrow, well-kept streets, Hollowbird’s home stands in quiet defiance of New Valarim’s polished uniformity.
Where neighbouring buildings are clean, angular, and disciplined, hers breathes.
The structure itself is modest — a two-storey stone cottage with a steep roof and warm, amber-lit windows — but it is unmistakable. Window boxes overflow with carefully tended flowers, not wild but chosen, arranged with intention. Climbing vines trace the edges of the stonework, guided rather than left to sprawl. Lanterns hang by the door, their light softened by glass tinted faint green.
It is not overgrown.
It is cultivated.
The small front space, where others might keep a neat stoop or bare entry, has been transformed into a living threshold — low planters, flowering herbs, and a narrow stone path that seems just slightly softer underfoot than it should be. In the evenings, a faint green glow can sometimes be seen from within, like breath caught in glass.
To most of New Valarim, it is an oddity.
To those who know the Circle of the Verdant Veil, it is a quiet declaration:
Nature does not need wilderness to survive.
Only someone willing to make space for it.