SECRET MESSAGES

When coming back to myself becomes an act of resistance, I call upon my mystical backup. I’m not going silent, but giving the creatures in my head a future beyond nightmares. Messages shift, demand a closer look. Repetition echoes like intrusive thoughts - but in 11i Dreamland, it’s a rhythm, not a curse.

The garments are journals, secret missives, quiet shields. Some figures lurk between stitches, others emerge only in the right light. A small army, not of destruction, but of protection. Here, the monsters are sung to sleep with lullabies, and their restless energy is woven into armour of soft defiance.