Inkshore Records – The Coveborne Archives #7 Some stories aren’t written—they’re dredged up. Salt-soaked. Sharp-edged. Still beating. Tidescript wasn’t a place on the map. It was a page that kept showing up. Folded in the lining of a tote. Scrawled on the back of an old receipt. Inked along my wrist like a secret tattoo I don’t remember getting. I followed it, of course. The shoreline where I landed felt older than time. Not wild—worn. Like the waves had kissed it so many times it had forgotten how to be anything but loved. Broken shells lined the path like punctuation, and every step echoed like dialogue. The wind there isn’t wind. It’s voice. It tells stories. Some of them might be yours. I found a notebook wedged between rocks. The pages were damp, but the ink didn’t bleed. Instead, it shimmered—silver, then blue, then indigo. Words surfaced only when I meant them. Half of it I don’t remember writing. The tumbler I’d carried into camp now bears a design I never printed—ocean swells curling into script, and a mark I’ve only seen once before, etched on a tidepool stone I kept in my pocket for luck. It hums now when I pick it up. Like a tuning fork for memory. My wristlet lanyard caught on a fishing net that hadn’t seen water in a hundred years, but still smelled like salt and shadow. I kept it. The canvas tote, slung across my shoulder, now stains my fingertips with ghost-ink whenever I reach inside. Tidescript doesn’t care who you are. Only that you have something to say. Or something you’ve been avoiding saying for far too long. Filed by: Mora Quill | Inkwarden, Disavowed Advisory: If words start appearing in your belongings after this set arrives, do not panic. Simply write back. Included in this set: A 20oz tumbler etched with tide and truth, A notebook that won’t let you lie to yourself, A wristlet-style lanyard tethered to forgotten voices, A double-sided canvas tote that leaves a mark (literally), And a handful of relics from a shore that writes back.