The Conjuring Doctrine
How the world shapes what you name.
A keepsake. A wonder in the grounds. A light in the sky. Never a generator farmed for content, always a marvel you choose to keep.
What it is
Three doors into the same act.
You describe something. The world returns a name, a line, a form, a light, and, when it can, a painted likeness. You keep it, or you let it go.
The rules that hold
Why a conjuring stays a marvel.
Written down so the house never drifts into a toy or a streak.
Marvel that can be farmed stops being marvel.
What conjuring will never do
Prohibited, for a reason.
No face of the dead invented by a model. No deepfake goodbye. Conjuring shapes objects, wonders, and lights, never a substitute for them.
No rarity tiers, no collection completion, no “you are missing three relics.” Accumulation is private meaning, not a game board.
No daily reminder that you have conjurings left. The cap protects wonder; it is never bait.
The prompt is yours. The world may name and paint, but it does not correct your memory or invent a cleaner story of the loss.
Painted relics are for the house you keep, not a public feed, not a marketplace, not training material you did not opt into.
How it works, plainly
Describe. Shape. Keep.
A smell, a habit, a winter tree, a second moon, plain words, up to a short page.
A name, a line, a form, a hue. When painting is available, a likeness follows in its own time; a hand-drawn glyph holds the place until then.
Set it on the shelf, tend it into the grounds, hang it in the sky, or leave it unkept and return.
Ready when you are
Start from the Archive for a keepsake, the Grounds for a wonder, or the Sky for a light. Three conjurings a day. The house will still be warm if you wait.