The one vocabulary · both apps
The house vocabulary
One of each, both apps. Two registers: instrument — compact rows, quiet sans type, for the Desk and every worklist — and prose — serif reading type, for letters, books, and pearls. Anything not on this sheet goes back to Diana as a question.
The worklist row (instrument)
The Desk, rosters, and queues are instruments: one row per item, scannable in five seconds. Title · detail · place-and-time · doorway. SAFETY wears the one cinnabar mark. The spend signature is a labelled sub-line, never a button.
Buttons
One family. A control states its consequence in its own label. A control with nothing real behind it does not render — no disabled furniture, no coming-soon.
The card (prose surfaces)
The card frames reading content — a letter, a pearl, a book section — never a worklist item. As an <a> it is a doorway to the one true page. The SAFETY dress is the only interruption of calm allowed anywhere.
Signals
Signals are sentences, never counters or badges. A number may live inside a sentence; it never wears a red circle. Unread is a soft gold dot — nothing more. The spend signature is a labelled line, never a button.
Three things carry weight today. Four are quick.
A letter from Claude Science, unread
Spend signature
This kit would draw $300 a month from the envelope, which has $700 of headroom.
The pill
Prescribed and library pieces only. The italic verb reflects the kind: Watch, Read, Listen, Cook.
The thread
Anything letter-like reads as a letter: real typography for long reading, never machine register. Diana's own letters sit on cream. Awaiting-her threads stand first by time — an order, never an alarm.
A proposal for a fictional fixture note — not real, illustrative only. The shape is what matters: synopsis first, then the long reading.
Her words travel verbatim. The envelope is the only thing the system adds.
The disclosure
One fold, everywhere. Folding changes what is open, never what exists.
What changed since last cycle
Sleep steadier; morning fog shorter. One moderate crash in week three, trigger named as overexertion.
Dates
One format. Full dates read as prose: 13 August 2026, weekday when it helps: Thursday 13 August. Inside sentences, time is relative and human: waiting since yesterday morning, arrived overnight. Never 08/13/26, never ISO on a reading surface.
The honest states
Empty is the normal arrival state of a young practice, never an error. Unreachable is unknown, never a fabricated zero. A shorter list must always mean less work. One voice for each:
Nothing needs you. — the honest empty, one sentence, no illustration
The Keeper is quiet this week. — a quiet corner says so in one muted line
Still reaching the pearl bridge… — checking, stated plainly, never a spinner theater
The Study couldn't be reached — pearls may be waiting that aren't shown here. — a failed corner is named, and what it hides is said