Hearth & Dusk
The room at the
end of the day.
A private room for the evening: a low fire, rain on old glass, a record, a pot of tea and one line before sleep.
A place, not a program
It remembers what your evenings are like
A place, not a program
It remembers what
your evenings are like.
Hearth & Dusk is not a meditation app and not a sleep tracker. It is a room you return to at the end of the day, and the room is furnished by you.
You set the fire low or high. You choose the weather on the glass, the record on the deck, the tea in the pot. You write one line before bed, or you write nothing at all.
The house records what you did and hands it back to you a year later. It never grades it.
What the house keeps
Everywhere else forgets you
between sessions. This one keeps the room.
The Room
A saved, personal scene that opens the way you left it. Fire height, weather, lamp, record, chair. Two years of seasons is not something a competitor can copy in an afternoon.
The Evening Ledger
Every evening recorded and plotted across a year. What was lit, what was poured, what was written. Memory is the switching cost.
Season Memory
The room returns in the season it was last used, with your own note from that season visible: last February you had the fire low and the record was…
The Corrected Steep
Adjust your oolong to three minutes twenty once, and it stays adjusted. The house remembers how you actually take your tea.
The Night Line
One line read back to you a year later, on the same date. The only thing in the house that speaks at the end of an evening.
The Year Book
A printable record of your evenings: the rooms you used most, the lines you wrote, the teas you finished. It makes the subscription feel like a possession.
The rooms
Nine rooms, one evening.
The Tea
Steep by leaf, corrected by you, remembered per tea.
The Window
Rain, still air or snow on the glass. Atmosphere, not a forecast.
The Journal
One sentence before bed. Optional, as it should be.
What the house refuses
No medical claim.
No frequency claim.
No invented provenance.
The sound here is atmosphere you chose to have in the room. It is not a therapy, it does not entrain anything, and nothing in this house claims to repair a cell.
There is no camera, no microphone, no wearable and no smart-home connection. The house reads nothing from your body and knows nothing about your sleep. It cannot tell you how you feel.
Every sound is labelled at source: either a recording, with its credit and licence shown, or an honestly labelled generated texture made in your own browser. The three AI voices in the house are always marked as AI.
If nothing is logged, the ledger says so: it is empty, and it fills itself.
Membership