☁️ The Inheritance is Waiting for You. An unexpected gift has arrived: a secluded, ancient manor in the heart ofCornwall. Amelia Stauton didn't know the relative who left it, but the moment she steps onto the property, the silence is broken by a strange realization: The past is listening. You've always felt lost in your own life. Now, the old house, half-cloaked in thesweet, heavy mist of the lavender fields, feels utterly familiar. Why did you paint the house before you ever saw it?

Amelia Coming soon!! Stay tune for publishing news. "In dreams, Amelia finds herself drawn to a field of lavender, where sweet mist breathes and lilies sigh. A mysterious woman, her face always blurred, beckons from the haze, pointing towards a house cloaked in intentional fog – a place Amelia can never quite see, yet feels inexplicably known. But what if these aren't just dreams? What if they are whispers from a forgotten past, echoes reaching across time, calling her home to a legacy she never knew existed? Prepare to be captivated by a haunting tale of ancestral secrets, a love lost to time, and a truth that demands to be seen.

Click. Click. Click The steady rhythm echoed through the room, soft and deliberate, like a metronome counting down to something just out of reach. Newton's cradle sat on the far shelf, its polished spheres clacking in perfect precision, though it appeared untouched. My gaze lingered on it; hypnotized. The room was too quiet. Too still. "Ellie—are you with me?"

Poems by D. Medina Author’s Note These poems arrived to me not as mere words, but as whispers—echoes carried through dreams, intuition, and an inner sense I cannot quite explain. I am not one for regular religious practice, nor do I hold any title. Yet in these verses, the Orishas—keepers of paths, guardians of tides, mothers of endings and beginnings—seemed to ask for their presence to be named.

By Daniana Medina …Is it a glitch?Or echoes throughout time? A witch be called —intuitive, sensitive,alluring, enchanting. A blasphemy against nature —or so they claim. The witch is your doing —and your undoing. She is power,resilience,enigma,despair. She wanders without worry,bound to earthand to the universe. A witch be called — by men.

Self-Mastery and the Ethics of Darkness By D. Medina Have you ever had your lie detector antenna signaling deception so hard, you could sense its predatory warnings before a single word was even spoken? It happens to me more often than I’d like. You could call it a burden or a blessing — I see it as an advantage. It gives you a heightened awareness of what surrounds you, and, if strong enough, what’s coming.

By Daniana Medina This piece is a fragment drawn from a longer reflection, Purple Bravery. It carries the pulse of memory — the dance floor’s violet haze, the word that lingered, the ache of what could not be. The full essay follows the journey beyond that night — from desire to restraint, from reflection to the quiet weight of what never became.

“The sigil writes in a language the soul already knows.” by D. Medina The first time the weight came, Lena woke into it. It wasn’t sound that roused her, nor light. It was pressure—quiet and absolute—pressing her into the mattress as if the room had filled with an invisible tide. Her limbs obeyed no command. Her jaw unlatched in a silence that somehow felt loud.

By D. Medina Some like it hot and blunt—sharp truths flung like stones, no sugar or sprinkles. Others prefer a softer delivery, one wrapped in illusion, dressed in metaphors, cloaked in tenderness. But the question remains: how do you seep your truth? Do you let it spill in moments of rage—unfiltered, feral—or pour it gently through poems and polite silences?

By D.M There are moments in life that deserve to be celebrated — moments to be shared, cherished, and remembered. The kind that stays with you forever. Your elementary, middle, and high school graduations. That unforgettable prom where you danced all night with your friends. The gatherings that promised laughter and delivered something more — genuine connection, absolute joy. Then there are the milestones — the goals you set, the ones you fought for and finally reached.

By D.M. The trip to the star is part of the play—Morning routine in a caffeine ballet.Throw on some pants, toss up the hair,Sunglasses on, like I just don’t care. Keys in hand, world in a rush,Dancing through traffic, the sidewalk crush.A daily mission, a little bit loud—But inside I drift above the crowd.

Review by D. M | Ivy & Ink When I closed the final page of And Then There Were None, I sat in stillness—shocked. Not just by the outcome, but by the quiet brilliance of how Agatha Christie led me there. I suspected everyone. Everyone except the person actually responsible. That’s the genius of it. In most whodunits, the guilty party hides behind bluster or deflection, pointing fingers to keep suspicion off themselves.

A Poem For Marilyn — who, at her heart and core, was always Norma Editor’s Note Due to legal reasons, I cannot share the image originally intended for this piece. But perhaps that’s fitting — because some women, like Norma Jean, were never truly seen, only imagined. Author’s Note “Beneath every myth is a woman the world refused to understand.”

by D.M. of Ivy & Ink Her chants carrythe breath of echoing centuries —salt-sweet,like the tide below.She sings of calm.She guards — and she wrecks. She pulls you in,won’t let you surface —a lull wrapped tightin ocean’s yearn. You know her well —a thunder in tales,a glimmer in silence,a voice that conquers.

A Poem of Reckoning by D.M. of Ivy & Ink She is not vengeful —but she seeks justice.Those who wrongshall feel her passing —a slow obscuring,a sigh before the reckoning. Her name invokes demand,and with each call — her veil wanes.Retribution seeps like twilight,like Persephone’s whispered return,step by step,season by season,

A Poem by D.M. of Ivy & Ink I have never seen it —but I dream in its shimmer.A vision born in silence,where earth exhales into the sky. It is the ache of opposites —love and fury,gravity and flight,colliding in a hush of color. She — the sky’s forgotten daughter,brushing heaven with bruised light,

A Beautiful Stranger in the Halls of Manderley by D.M. of Ivy & Ink “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again…”— Daphne du Maurier The 2020 Netflix adaptation of Rebecca, directed by Ben Wheatley and starring Lily James and Armie Hammer, invites us once more into the shadows of Manderley — though this time, the shadows seem a little softer, the ghosts a bit more dressed for daylight.

By Sarah Penner A Review by In Ivy & Ink "The dead speak, but only if we listen." There’s something entrancing about a novel that beckons you into candlelight, holds your breath in suspense, and whispers secrets from the shadows. The London Séance Society does just that — pulling you into a world of loss, deception, and ghostly reverberations, where every glance could be a warning and every silence could be filled with the unseen.

By Jodie Picoult 🌹 Book Review: By Any Other Name by Jodi PicoultDual timelines, buried authorship, and a woman’s fight to be heard across centuries. What if the world’s most famous playwright didn’t write his own words? Jodi Picoult’s By Any Other Name is a richly layered novel that unravels the mystery of authorship, gender, and artistic integrity—blending present-day dilemmas with Elizabethan secrets.