May 7
What if the house you move through is not walls and doors, but a field that arranges you—where light lingers at thresholds, where a voice from the hill returns again and again until something in you bends, where a child steadies between steps as if guided by an unseen geometry, and you realize the call is not just heard but placed, not just answered but shaping the path you will take—this is Aetheria, not an idea but an architecture that holds you at the moment before you cross, where reluctance becomes movement and the world quietly decides through you—step inside.
