Graciemae Baexx%27s (2024-2026)

What began as a simple coffee stall soon blossomed into something more. Inside Graciemae’s shop, the air is a delicate blend of roasted beans, citrus zest, and the faint metallic tang of old ink. Shelves line the walls, crammed with maps—some accurate, some imagined—torn postcards, weather‑worn journals, and a handful of peculiar objects: a brass key that never fits any lock, a tiny glass sphere that reflects a sky no one has ever seen.

: An elderly cartographer arrives, his coat stained with ink. He pulls out a rolled‑up scroll, unspools it on the counter, and points to a faint, ink‑blotted river that doesn’t exist on any modern map. “I’m looking for the river that runs under the moon,” he says. Graciemae smiles, refills his cup, and hands him a tiny brass key. “You’ll know when you find it.” graciemae baexx%27s