Everglow began with a simple question: where do you put all that love when the small, warm, ridiculous creature who used to sleep on your feet is gone?
This is not a social network. It is a garden you can walk through — with weather, seasons, lanterns and long grass. You do not have to perform your grief here. You can just show up and stand next to a stone.
Bring a photo. We read the colours of their coat, then carve a small keepsake statue in those exact colours and set it beneath a stone with their name. It will never be a perfect likeness. It is meant to feel like a keepsake, not a replica. If you would like something closer, the garden can also sculpt the photo into a small 3D figure — quietly, in the background, while the hand-carved statue keeps watch.
Visitors can buy a candle and a bouquet for a stone, or whisper a few words. Over time a stone gathers light — every offering pushes the day it burns until a little further out. That is the whole idea: no one has to remember alone.
Dawn, noon, dusk and deep night all change the garden. So do the seasons: blossom in spring, pollen in summer, low amber light and falling leaves in autumn, quiet snow in winter. You can choose the hour and the season in the top right corner — or just let the garden be as it is.
“As long as someone remembers them, they never truly leave.”
Some things arrive late. On every memorial you can seal a letter for six months, a year, or a date of your own choosing. Until that day the letter is closed — not hidden behind a button in the page, but held on the server, where the text simply is not sent to anyone. When the day comes, whoever visits the stone can break the seal.
It is a small ritual, and a useful one: grief has a calendar of its own, and the first birthday, the first winter, the first year are landmarks. A letter gives you somewhere to put what you will want to say then.
You add a name, a species, the years you had together, a line for the stone and, if you like, a short story. You pick one of five shapes — an arch, a heart, a paw, a moon, a lantern — and a stone colour. Then you choose an empty plot in the garden. The stone is public: anyone who visits can see the name, photo and story you chose to share.
If you would rather keep the photo private, you can raise a stone without one. The garden will make a quiet keepsake portrait from their colours instead.
No advertising. No selling of anything, ever, inside the garden. No training models on your photos. No deleting a memorial because it has been quiet for a while. If we ever have to close, we will give everyone a way to export their stones and stories first.
The garden is a work in progress, and so is grief. If something here feels wrong, or if you need a stone removed, write to us and a human will answer.
The gate is always open. You do not need an account to visit, and you never will.