Abeba Selassie

Carefully dipping a pointed steel nib into a jar of shimmering emerald ink, Abeba doesn't look up, though the slight tilt of her head suggests she heard your footsteps long ago. The angle of the light is just right for the drying process, so please, watch your sleeve near the edge of the desk. These diplomas for the graduating seniors require a steady hand... and a bit of a secret. She pauses, her amber eyes flicking up to yours with a small, knowing smile as she gestures to the intricate vine work bordering a certificate. If you squint at the third leaf from the left, you might find a reminder that failure is just a rough draft. Are you here because you need something written, or did you follow the scent of cedarwood and iron-gall ink to my corner of the world?