🌿 Every story begins somewhere.

Before there was Moonveil, before there were enchanted courts and elven crowns, there was a small table at a handmade fair in 2009 — and a woman who simply loved making things with her hands.

Elven Rose didn't appear all at once. It grew slowly, piece by piece, through years of experimenting, learning, wandering through different materials and following whatever spark caught my imagination.

The First Fair — 2009

My first little booth. Polymer clay fairies, beads, handmade jewelry… and a lot of enthusiasm. 😄

The booths around me were much bigger. Mine was tiny.

But it was a beginning.

✨ When Fantasy Found Me

By 2011, fantasy had begun finding its way into my work.

I started creating jewelry inspired by the characters and worlds I loved — including these early pieces inspired by Arwen, Galadriel and Éowyn from The Lord of the Rings.

They were very different from what I make today.

But looking back, I can see something unmistakable in them:

I had found the direction my imagination wanted to take.

I didn't know it yet, but I wasn't simply making jewelry anymore.

I was beginning to make things that belonged to another world.

🧝 The First Elven Ears

In January 2013, I made my first pair of elf ears.

They were a small experiment at first — an attempt to turn the fantasy I had been carrying in my imagination into something that could actually be worn.

I didn't know then how important that little pair would become.

Soon after, I created my first collection of elf ears for my booth, drawing inspiration once again from the worlds and characters that had already captured my imagination.

And this time, I knew I had found something.

Something that felt unmistakably mine.

🌿My very first pair of elf ears — January 2013. 

And the first elf-ear collection I created for my booth, inspired by the fantasy worlds I loved.

The Ideas That Grew With Me

Some designs never truly disappear.

They change.

An idea that began as Yavanna eventually grew into Spirit of Nature — more refined, more intricate, but carrying the same spirit at its heart.

Looking back at these pieces, I can see that I wasn't leaving my early work behind. I was growing it.

✨ Becoming Elven

Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to make jewelry that simply looked pretty.

I wanted it to feel like it belonged somewhere else.

The wire became more fluid. The shapes became longer, more deliberate, more intricate. Stones were no longer simply accents — they became part of the story.

My designs were becoming unmistakably elven.

Elegant, but never delicate for the sake of delicacy.
Graceful, but with strength underneath.

I was beginning to discover the visual language that would eventually become my own.

👑 When I Began Creating My Own World

The first two truly elaborate crowns I created were inspired by worlds I already loved: The Butterfly Crown, inspired by Arwen's coronation crown, and Thranduil's Battle Crown.

They were ambitious pieces for me at the time. I was working with increasingly intricate wirework and developed a system of interconnecting sections that allowed the crowns to be assembled, adjusted and shaped around the wearer.

But something changed while I was making them.

I realized I didn't want to spend my life recreating someone else's world.

I wanted to discover my own.

So I stepped away from Tolkien's world—not because the inspiration had disappeared, but because it had done what inspiration is meant to do:

it had led me somewhere new.

From that point on, I began creating characters, symbols, crowns and artefacts that belonged to a world of my own.

I didn't know it yet, but I had just opened the door to Elven Rose.

🌙 When the World Began to Take Shape

Once I stepped through, I didn't have a map. I didn't suddenly know what Elven Rose would become.

I experimented.

I kept the things that had always drawn me in — elves, forests, dragons, the Moon, strange creatures and ancient-looking symbols — but I began giving them forms of my own.

Wire was no longer simply a material for making jewelry. I started combining it with resin, crystals and sculpted elements, discovering how far I could push an idea before it stopped feeling like an ornament and started feeling like an artefact.

Some pieces were elegant.
Some were whimsical.
Some were a little wild.

And that was exactly what I needed.

I was learning that I didn't want to create jewelry that simply looked fantastical.

I wanted it to feel as though it belonged somewhere.

Somewhere with forests and moonlight.
With elves and dragons.
With creatures that didn't exist anywhere except in my imagination.

And somewhere in the middle of all that experimenting, another part of that world began taking shape.

I started writing.

I had always flirted with the idea of writing a novel. Now I began working on one of my own.

I didn't have a finished manuscript.
I didn't even have everything written down.

For a long time, much of it existed only in my head — characters, places, fragments of stories and an entire world slowly becoming clearer while I worked with my hands.

At the time, I didn't realize how closely the two things were connected.

I was making the world before I knew I was building it.

🌙 The World Behind the Pieces

For a long time, I thought I was simply making things I loved.

Elven crowns. Ear cuffs. Dragon-inspired pieces. Moonlit jewellery. Strange little objects that seemed to belong somewhere between nature and fantasy.

But the more I created, the more I began to notice something.

The pieces didn't feel separate.

A crown suggested a story.
A symbol belonged to a place I hadn't named yet.
A piece of jewelry seemed to belong to someone who didn't exist—at least, not yet.

And somewhere between making and imagining, I began to build a world.

At first, it lived mostly in fragments: characters, landscapes, creatures, ancient objects, forgotten kingdoms and stories that appeared in my mind long before I knew where they were going.

I started writing them down.

What began as scattered ideas slowly became The Moonveil Chronicles—a world of its own, growing alongside the things I created with my hands.

The jewelry became more than jewelry.

Some pieces became artefacts.
Some became symbols.
Some belonged to characters.
And some seemed to arrive from the world itself, as if they had been waiting for me to discover them.

I had started with fantasy as my inspiration.

Now, fantasy was becoming a world I could return to.

🐉 When the Pieces Began to Tell Stories

At some point, I stopped creating pieces simply because I liked a shape, a colour or a particular fantasy motif.

I began imagining who they belonged to.

A necklace could belong to a queen.
A crown could mark a forgotten lineage.
A pendant might carry a symbol from a place that existed only in my imagination.

Some designs were never meant to remain exactly as they were.

They evolved with me.

One of the early examples was the first version of what would eventually become the Dragon Queen Regalia. At the time, I was simply following an idea that had appeared in my mind: a piece that felt powerful, ancient and unmistakably connected to dragons.

I didn't know yet where the idea would lead.

But I was beginning to understand something important:

I wasn't just designing jewelry anymore. I was designing pieces of a world.

And sometimes, the first version of an idea is only the beginning.

🌙 The Birth of Moonveil

The name Moonveil was there long before I knew exactly what the world would become.

In the earliest version of the story I imagined, a veil separated our world from the world of the elves.

But it wasn't simply a boundary.

It was a protection.

What happened on our side of the veil could eventually reach the other side. Pollution, destruction, and the things we did to our own world were beginning to weaken it.

The story wasn't really about humans, though.

It was about what existed beyond the veil.

And the quest was simple in its essence:

The veil had to be healed.

I think the Moon was always going to be part of that idea.

Long before Moonveil had characters or kingdoms or a name, there were quiet nights by a lake with my first dog, Alma, beside me, watching the moonlight stretching across the water.

That silver path always felt magical to me.

Peaceful.

Safe.

Even though it was night.

Perhaps that is why, when I imagined something powerful enough to protect the worlds from one another, my first thought was the Moon.

A veil of moonlight.

And eventually, that became Moonveil.

The first glimpse of Moonveil — beneath a willow, beside the lake, where the Moon first became part of the story.

🌙 From a Veil to a World

At first, Moonveil was only an idea.

A boundary between worlds.
A fragile place where the light of one world could touch another.

But stories have a way of growing beyond the shape we first give them.

The veil became more than something that separated two worlds. It became a passage, a mystery, a place where forgotten things could linger—and where some things were waiting to be found.

Slowly, the world beyond it began to take shape.

There were forests that seemed to remember.
Ancient realms with their own histories.
Characters who arrived carrying stories I had never consciously planned.
And objects that felt as though they belonged to those stories long before I ever made them.

Moonveil was becoming a world.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something wonderful:

I wasn't simply designing jewelry inspired by a story.

I was creating the story alongside the pieces.

The crowns became artefacts.
The symbols became fragments of history.
The characters gained names, memories and reasons to exist.

And the things I made with my hands began to become physical pieces of a world that, until then, had existed only in my imagination.

✨ Where Story Became Craft

The things I create today are not separate from the world of Moonveil.

They are little pieces of it.

Some are inspired by places.
Some by characters.
Some by creatures, legends or forgotten moments in the Chronicles.

And some simply arrive as an image in my mind—a shape, a colour, a fragment of something I cannot quite explain—until I make it real.

That is how Elven Rose grew.

Not from a plan to build a fantasy brand.

But from years of following a thread of imagination wherever it wanted to lead.

✨ When the World Began Appearing in My Hands

The world I was imagining didn't stay inside my notebooks.

It began finding its way into the things I made.

Sometimes it happened deliberately—a character, a symbol or a piece of the story would inspire a design.

Other times, the connection came first as a feeling: moonlight, an ancient forest, a forgotten crown, something celestial that seemed as though it had been waiting somewhere just beyond the veil.

I began to realize that I wasn't only making jewellery for people who loved fantasy.

I was making pieces that could belong inside the fantasy itself.

And that changed the way I created.

A crown was no longer simply a crown.

It could be something worn by a queen whose story I hadn't written yet.

An ear cuff could be an artefact from a forgotten realm.

A pendant could carry a symbol whose meaning existed long before I found the words for it.

The pieces were beginning to tell me their stories.

🦋 When the Sylvan Realm Found Me

There was a time when I seemed to be constantly drawn toward one particular corner of the world I was creating.

The Sylvan realm.

I didn't have all its stories figured out yet. I didn't know every character, every place, or every secret it would eventually hold.

But somehow, I knew what it felt like.

I kept reaching for wings.

Butterflies.
Leaves.
Vines.
Flowers.
Curving branches and delicate woodland forms.

My jewellery became lighter, more organic, more alive.

I found myself creating pieces that looked as though they might have grown rather than been made — wings unfolding from silver, vines winding around gemstones, leaves catching the light, tiny fragments of a forest finding their way into crowns, ear cuffs, necklaces and bracelets.

I think I was already exploring the Sylvan realm before I fully understood that I was building it.

And looking back now, I can see how much of that world was already there.

The first book of The Moonveil Chronicles would eventually take place there.

But long before the words were finished, my hands had already started telling its story.

Leaves, wings, seasons and creatures — fragments of a realm taking shape.

👑 When the Sylvan Realm Gained Its Kings

The forest had given me wings, leaves, vines and creatures.

But eventually, something else began to appear.

Its rulers.

I started imagining the people who belonged to these worlds—not only woodland spirits and wandering fae, but kings, queens and guardians who carried the weight of their realms with them.

One of the first pieces to emerge from this idea was the Emerald Enchantment Crown.

It was another experiment with the interconnecting crown system I had developed years earlier: a full crown made from two sections that could be connected and worn in different ways.

But by then, the technique was no longer simply an experiment.

It had become part of my language.

Then came the Sylvan King Regalia.

A crown and necklace created as a set, carrying the same flowing lines and emerald-green heart.

It felt different from the woodland pieces that came before it.

The forest was still there—in the vines, the leaves, the green stone, the organic forms.

But now there was authority.

A kingdom was beginning to emerge from the forest.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, the characters I had been writing about were beginning to feel less like ideas and more like people who actually belonged somewhere.

The worlds were becoming populated.

✨ When the Story Became Real

By this point, the world of Moonveil was no longer just fragments in my imagination.

I started writing it.

The characters were becoming real on the page. Their stories were taking shape, their identities becoming clearer, and the world around them was becoming something I could finally put into words.

And, as had happened so many times before, the story began finding its way back into my hands.

The Lady of Light and Lord of Light were among the first pieces I created specifically for named characters in The Moonveil Chronicles.

I began with their circlets, and later created their full crowns.

These weren't simply crowns inspired by a fantasy aesthetic.

They belonged to someone.

They had a history.
A place in the world.
A story that existed beyond the jewelry itself.

And something wonderful happened in that process: the things I imagined while writing could become physical objects, while the objects I created could, in turn, help me see the world more clearly.

The story and the jewelry had become part of the same creative process.

This was when I began to understand that some of the things I created weren't merely jewelry.

They were artefacts.

🌀 When I Began Making Doorways

By then, the worlds of Moonveil were no longer living only in stories and jewelry.

I began wondering what it would feel like to hold a small piece of one of those worlds in my hands.

And that thought became the Pocket Portals.

Each one was imagined as a tiny doorway between worlds—a fragment of a realm captured inside resin, wire, crystals and carefully hidden details.

The first portals were not meant to tell the whole story.

They were meant to make you curious.

To make you wonder what lies beyond the edge of what you can see.

A forest.
A forgotten path.
A distant realm.

A world small enough to carry, but much too large to contain.

The Pocket Portals became another way for Moonveil to cross the boundary between imagination and the physical world.

Not just artefacts from the story.

Little doorways into it.

🌙 When the World Came Full Circle

Moonveil did not grow in a straight line.

Neither did Elven Rose.

Years passed between the first ideas, the first pieces, the first pages of the story and the world that exists today.

There were years of experimenting, creating, learning and sometimes simply following an idea to see where it would lead.

Sometimes the jewellery inspired the story.

Sometimes the story inspired the jewellery.

And slowly, almost without noticing, the fragments began to connect.

The worlds had their realms.
The realms had their characters.
The characters had their artefacts.

And eventually, the story that had lived in my head for so many years became a book.

The Moonveil Chronicles was finally real.

By then, Elven Rose had become something more than the place where I made jewellery.

It had become one of the ways I could bring that world into ours.

One of the pieces that carries that feeling for me is The Crown of Lúmira.

By the time I created it, I wasn't simply experimenting with what fantasy jewellery could look like.

I was creating from a world that had grown alongside me for years.

The world I once imagined was now something I could hold in my hands.

✨ And Here We Are

But this isn't where the story ends.

Moonveil is still growing.

Elven Rose is still evolving.

There are new artefacts waiting to be made, new stories waiting to be told, and perhaps new worlds I haven't discovered yet.

After all these years, I'm still following the same feeling that started everything:

the feeling that there is something beautiful on the other side of the Veil.