A small house, made in the dark.

House of Noctis began at a train station in Porto, halfway through a book with a cover I didn't want strangers to read over my shoulder. I'd looked for something to hide it in — something that felt like the book deserved. What I found was cheap felt and glitter. So I made the sleeve I wanted. Ink linen, silk lining, a phrase embroidered inside that only I would ever see.

The house grew from there. We make small runs — never more than a few hundred pieces per drop — in an atelier just outside Barcelona. Every sleeve is cut by hand, every mask hand-stitched, every print foiled to order. When a drop is gone, it's gone. We say it's returned to the vault.

We believe the objects that hold your favourite stories should feel worthy of them — cool to the touch, secretly ornate, and never, ever merchandise.

— A.