Visitors always expect darkness. Instead, they find light—soft, golden, endless. Some whisper when they enter, as if they’ve stepped into a chapel. Others laugh, touching the walls like they can’t believe they’re real.
“I wanted it to surprise people,” he says. “Not because it’s grand, but because it’s gentle.”
Children run their hands across the fossil marks. Artists stay hours sketching the ceiling’s curves. Even the local mason shakes his head. “You didn’t build this,” he told him once. “You discovered it.”
And maybe he did. Maybe the house was always here, waiting for someone patient enough to listen to stone.
