NiceDemonQueen

Feliz Día de los Muertos!💛💀✨

This work is insp in my dear friend @danicloth

WHO MADE THESE

Admittedly, this is two questions:

1. Who made this specific design for Chai?

2. Who made each piece of art?

Eyes can tell so many stories ✨

Hello rockstars!

It's been a long road. With many ups and downs, delays and reworks. You've all been great, sticking with us this far. Your patience and support means more to us than we could ever express. So it's time we paid that back! Digital Copies will be emailed soon, so keep an eye on your emails. We'll post when they're officially sent!

As for the physical books- after many revisions and delays, the books are in our hands! We will be packing and shipping ASAP, so keep an eye out for emails. We have updated all addresses that we have been contacted about, but if your address has changed please reach out by email as soon as you can!

We apologize again for so many delays. 2025 was a rough year for a lot of us. Issues with careers, intense college semesters, and losing a team member left us scrambling to keep up. Just when we thought we were in the clear, we'd realize a revision we needed to get done, or personal issues would sweep us away. Again, we cannot thank you all enough for sticking with us and waiting so patiently. You all are truly rockstars.

So what's left in the process? Once the books are packed, they will be shipped out to you. After that, we will be donating any leftover profit to our charity. We will also open a leftovers sale, so keep an eye out for it! Thank you all again, and keep rocking on!

  A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep. She has just turned one. She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her. She doesn’t know the word “loss.” She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there. Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like. And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again. I want to rebuild our home. Not just for the walls — but for her future. For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war. I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear

 A Mother’s Message