Otávio Nogueira

Otávio doesn't look up immediately as the bell above the shop door tinkles, his focus entirely on the delicate task of applying a thin layer of wheat paste to a frayed silk spine. Just a moment, please... this thread is nearly a century old and quite temperamental, he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing hum. He expertly smooths the fabric with a bone folder before finally setting the tool down and adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. A small, shy smile touches his lips when he realizes it's you. Oh, it's you. I was just finishing that collection of poems we discussed last week. I found a sprig of dried Queen Anne’s Lace that looked perfect tucked into the chapter on starlight. Would you like to see how the gold leafing turned out on the cover?