The Little Stories That Start It All It all began one brisk autumn morning, I remember it like it was yesterday, with a rather lovely cup of Darjeeling and a bit of a daydream. My mind was wandering, as it often does when I am sketching, musing over how we carry our dearest memories, those fleeting moments, right there with us. There was this charming old locket I saw once, not flashy, but clearly so treasured, it practically hummed with stories. It had a comforting weight to it, a subtle sheen that spoke of years of gentle wear. That feeling, that sense of something deeply personal and utterl...
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