Romeria: A World Still Unfolding
Romeria has been growing quietly, almost of its own accord. What began as fragments of imagery and atmosphere has started to take shape as something far larger — not just a story, but a living world that continues to reveal itself the more time I spend within it. The short film I’ve recently created is not a conclusion or even a statement, but a glimpse. A doorway. And in many ways, it has already begun to change how Romeria wants to be told.
In the past, storytelling was often a difficult process for me. Writing alone, without images or movement, felt restrictive — as if the world I was trying to enter remained just out of reach. I would lose immersion, drift away, abandon projects. What makes Romeria different is that it isn’t confined to one form. It’s world-building that can shift, adapt, and breathe. Images, videos, characters, environments — all of it feeds back into the same source. Each medium adds another layer of flavour, another spark, another way for the imagination to stay alive and engaged.
Watching the video back, especially the scenes set in the underworld, I realised something important. At first glance, the creatures appear densely packed, as though the underworld is overrun with monsters. But that isn’t the truth of the world. What we’re seeing is a pocket — a nest, a concentrated region where such beings gather. Romeria’s underworld isn’t a single chaotic mass; it’s vast, varied, and zoned. There are territories where monsters dominate, and others where villages exist, where life continues in quieter, stranger ways. That contrast feels essential. Without it, the world would collapse under its own intensity.
Ravenheart, too, is revealing himself gradually. He feels central, but not total. His presence opens doors, yet the world is far larger than one journey. This has led me to consider that Romeria may need to exist across more than one book — perhaps a collection of tales that explore the world itself, alongside a focused journey where Ravenheart moves through it for a specific reason. He feels newly born, but not in the usual sense. His first appearance is in a graveyard, and that matters. It’s as though the only way he could enter Romeria was through death itself. Born from the grave, carried across a threshold — neither entirely of this world nor fully of that one.
As the world grows, so do its inhabitants. There are already more beings, creatures, and entities than could ever fit neatly into a single narrative. Eventually, Romeria may require its own kind of bestiary or compendium — a place where these presences can exist without being forced into a storyline. Some things deserve to be known simply because they are there.
The short film feels like a promise. Seeing these characters move, breathe, and exist — even briefly — has made the world feel tangible in a way I never expected. I’m aware that what I’m creating doesn’t easily fit into contemporary expectations, and that it doesn’t necessarily resonate with the circles around me. But that isn’t the point. Romeria exists because it sustains me. It gives form to inner visions, offers beauty to the shadows, and allows imagination to remain alive in a world that often feels like something to endure rather than inhabit.
Between routine, movement, and staying grounded in everyday life, Romeria has become another kind of balance — a place where even the darkest tales can be illuminated into something meaningful, strange, and alive. This world is still unfolding. And I’m listening closely to where it wants to go next.