—— auvienrose.

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📁 the many forms of ownerships.
(complimentary policies regarding copyright and against any violation of auvienrose’s ownership.)

everything published under our very label is subjected to auvienrose’s rightful ownership, therefore leaves no room for justification against any prohibited actions such as plagiarism, duplicating, unauthorized inspiration-taking, and other form of violation. such action will be met with public settlement and material fine of 300.000 idr upon each violated property.
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📑 terms & conditions of our office.
(for those who wish to prolong their stay in our abode must, too, obey by the bylaws we establish.)

one. we ardently urge our future clientele to be subscribed to our channel, @auvienrose, if ever purchasing one of our work becomes your object of interest. everything regarding our operation shall be aired through this very channel.

two. upon mailing your letter of appeal to adopt our published work, any request for cancellation shall not be allowed unless we are responsible for the error. violation against this rule will result in permanent blacklisting.

three. we provide qris and dana as the selections of payment courses our clientele may use to validate our business affair. other alternative for e-wallet is possible if announced as such.
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auvienrose, your trusty, hearty telegram platform for whatever your moodboard needs are. we are best trusted with premade moodboard commissions, crafting ardently without the delicate bars of time. to better understand how the office operates, scroll through our page—you might just find what you need.

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welcoming passage by auvienrose. penned on 26/12/2023. to peel the layers and unveil the tangerine dews within.

(🍇🎥📠…)

[i.] our love promenades; lingers by the gate of the church; nestling by the windowsill. amalgamating beneath the tenderest light-pour of moon as the evening hums its carol for the gardens to heed to in silence. how come, through the rumbling thunders and angered rain, that we remain precisely this: a fatal tenderness of love, blossoming like a burgundy bruise from the pencil we use to pen to each other—the quill we’ve wrapped our hands around a thousand times?

[ii.] we are a flock of doves, wishing to never be liberated from the shackles of our cage. we are ancient books gathering dust in the back of the shelf, kept in what could be disguised abandonment. we are a catastrophe, a tragedy at best. and yet if you ask me, i have been dealt with a great deal of despondency that ours, in comparison, seems like a warm small boat in the middle of the gentlest ocean.
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