The Midwinter Conservatory Collection

No one came to the conservatory in winter. But Ivy did.

Each morning, before the frost had lifted, she walked the silent path, boots crunching the earth, her grandmother’s red scarf wrapped tight against the cold, and stepped inside the glasshouse no one else remembered. Her grandmother had called it a waiting place.

So Ivy tended what remained. Watered the roots. Brushed frost from the leaves. And in the hush of midwinter, something began to stir. Soft at first, like a promise remembered. A quiet presence, steady and sure. A light that did not flicker.

The Midwinter Conservatory Collection is a story told in color. About what waits. About what endures. About the hope that blooms, even in the dark.