Wintering: A Letter from the Quiet Season
A gentle reflection from Lady Raquel M. Carter
Victorian Mermaid · Cottage Enchantress · Keeper of Soft Magic
My dearest Mermaid Darlings of the Stillwater Petticoat Society,
I have been quietly absent these past months, tucked away in what I can only call a necessary wintering of the soul. A gentle retreat — not of retreating from life, but of returning to it. A tender hermitage, woven of softened hours, inward breathings, and the kind of stillness one does not explain, but rather reveres.
Though this little blog has slumbered since October, it was never abandoned. I was simply drawn beneath the surface for a time, into deeper waters where Spirit leaned close and whispered,
“Rest here, dear heart. The world may wait.”
And so I rested, listened, and allowed the hush to work its quiet magic.
It felt very much like standing at the threshold between chapters — half dreaming, half becoming, entirely tender.
During this season of quietude, a gentle strength began to bloom in the most unassuming of places: my own beloved cottage. I turned my attention inward and homeward, carefully cleaning, tidying, and restoring order to every nook — Carter Cottage, Scarlette Rose, and all the little spaces between.
Drawers were sorted, shelves set straight, linens folded with care, and each treasured thing returned to its proper resting place.
What a balm it has been.
There is a particular enchantment in domestic order, for as one restores the home, so too does one polish the mind, the heart, and the Spirit. Each small ritual — a book replaced upon its shelf, a candle newly lit, a bonnet returned to its peg — seemed to murmur its own blessing:
“Begin again… gently, joyfully, wholly yourself.”
My world now hums with a soft rightness, a restored rhythm I feel clear down to my bones — as though a new life has quietly unfurled without fanfare.
Though the outer world may have appeared still, behind the scenes, I have been industriously tending my craft. By lamplight and candle-glow, I have been designing a collection of old-fashioned Louis Vuitton agenda companions — small, thoughtful creations that bring both focus and comfort during these wintering months.
There is something profoundly grounding about such work: the steady hand, the slow pen, the gentle discipline of making something beautiful without haste.
Some of my finest ideas, I’ve found, arrive not with noise, but with stillness.
And now, my dears, something close to my heart.
I have opened the doors to a Victorian Christmas Card Exchange — a cherished tradition I have long wished to revive. Should you send a card to my humble cottage, I shall post one back to you in return, handwritten, sealed with affection, and adorned with my own mermaid-Victorian whimsy.
This exchange is my love letter to the community gathered round my hearth — not mere subscribers, heavens no — but true Mermaid Darlings of the Stillwater Petticoat Society, each of you held with great fondness.
There is something almost sacred about a handwritten card arriving by post. A small, tangible miracle. A whisper from the past blesses the present.
A Soft Reawakening
As I emerge from this quiet season, I feel a gentle stirring — a reawakening of voice, inspiration, and creative longing. I have missed this little corner of the world; I have missed writing to you in the old, enchanted way; I have missed sharing my cottage life, my mermaid musings, my art, and my thoughtful ramblings along this winding path.
I return now steadied, softened, and more devoted than ever to the tender, whimsical, old-world living so many of us cherish.
There is much yet to come —
much beauty,
much storytelling,
much enchantment —
all stitched lovingly from the quiet strength this wintering bestowed.
Thank you for waiting.
Thank you for believing.
Thank you for walking beside me with such grace.
Until our next letter,
I send you the softest of mermaid blessings from the Stillwater shore.
Most affably yours till my next enchanting swim,
Lady Raquel M. Carter
Cottagekeeper · Mermaid Mystic · Victorian Enchantress
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