Shelest Lesa

Storyteller’s House

I’ve moved again.

There have been many moves in my life. So many. Each time — expectation, discovery, hope, the slow drift into routine… and then, once again, the road. The world has seen me here and there. At first, this way of living was part of what inspired me. But then, I began to long for the comforts of home. To arrange cups in a glass-doored cabinet. To find the perfect emerald sofa. To grow flowers, drink tea to birdsong, and write stories in my garden at dawn.

Lavillia caught me from the very first mention — the very idea of living in a town of contrasts. The sea on one side, the mountains on the other. A street so quiet it breathes, and just beyond it, the most vibrant square.

I chose a little cottage just outside the town — close enough to everything in the world — and called it the Storyteller’s House.

Home

There are mornings when you stay in bed a little longer after waking. A trace of a magical dream still lingers, and maybe, just maybe, the wildest hopes feel real for a moment. The sunlight on such a morning is warmer than usual. The birds seem to sing sweeter songs. And the green leaves, catching the light, scatter tiny rainbows into the world.

You walk barefoot, feeling every inch of the floor. Everything your fingers touch feels new, as if it’s found its way into your hands for the very first time. There’s no urge to rush, to search, to chase. Time itself seems to pause.

You make the most delicious coffee, slowly. You savor every sip. And you smile — for no particular reason. You feel that rare kind of peace that only comes when you’re in a place where you’re loved, simply for being.

You’re coming back to yourself.

You’re finally home.

Welcome home, dear one. You lost your way for a while, but the path was always here. Even without knowing it, you carried it with you all along. And now — finally — you've found it. Welcome back.

Newness and No Plans

Is there anything more magical than the first days, weeks, even months in a new place? For me, the question is rhetorical. The freshness of feeling, the sharpness of perspective, the promise of something beautiful — that’s what has always led me through life, hand in hand.

Somewhere deep inside, a phoenix always knew when the time was near. And this time, we had a proper conversation. We reached a compromise — one that might allow me to stay in Lavillia longer than I’ve stayed anywhere before.

To step outside and just walk — that’s my favorite way to get to know a place.

No map. No plans. No expectations. Just go forward. Turn if you hear music. Follow sunlight on the walls. Stop where the scent of coffee warms your chest or your heart skips, suddenly and for no clear reason.

I’ve decided to explore this little town just like that — street by street. A café, a shop, a place — each one like a new page in a book.

To stroll through a town without rushing.

The perfect plan — for someone who doesn't like making plans.