hello gabriel_

you are holding more than a book — you are holding a body disguised as silence.

to outfit the void — and yet the void is never empty. it is a mouth half open, a room waiting for your shadow, a skin that asks to be touched.

the ceramic cover greets you first. cold, unyielding. press harder. feel how it changes, how it gives in to your warmth, how it begins to pulse faintly under your hand. bring it closer — breathe it in. mineral, raw, like a secret place still damp from rain, like something both forbidden and yours.

inside, the void multiplies. each page holds a fragment of another soul: intimate confessions, universal echoes, gestures of longing and silence. some are tender, others unsettling. all of them touch the spaces we keep hidden — desire, emptiness, creation, memory. they arrive not as answers, but as whispers.

all of it, drawn and photographed for these pages alone. all of it, bound by hands that survived fire and invasion, so that the book itself carries a scar, a history, a heartbeat.

the void waits, but never still.

press your hand against its skin, and it becomes warm.

avoid the void? no — invite it closer.

and then — a signal. small, discreet, a code. scan it. it is not a number, but an invitation. an opening. a kiss left in the margin. it carries you elsewhere — into sound that trembles, into light that flickers like a body seen too close, into movements that press against the edges of your sight.

this is how the void dresses itself: with your touch, your hunger, your gaze.

and as you turn the last page, you may wonder

_did you enter the book, or did the book enter you?