The Augustina Chronicles

Sweetheart, let me tell you, there’s something quite magical about stepping onto the sunlit promenades of Monte Carlo. Where every breeze feels like a whisper and even the light wears

Oh, sweetheart, have you ever noticed how the most captivating woman at a soirée is often the one who says the least? She doesn’t need to announce her entrance or

Darling, let me set the scene.A sun-drenched villa terrace. Soft linen tablecloths catching the breeze. Glasses chiming softly over murmured laughter. And me? Well, I was resting ever-so-lightly on the

Sweetheart, I’ve seen it all. Whispered promises. Forgotten dreams. Half-melted lipsticks and fully broken hearts. I’ve sat through gallery openings, job interviews, and those delicious first dates when she doesn’t

My dears, while I, Augustina, prefer quiet cafés and elegant hallways, my younger sister Cresces in velvet simply lives for a good gala. She’s small, sculptural, and just dramatic enough. And

Darlings… I know. I’ve been terribly quiet. Vanished. Vanished like the last splash of champagne at a long-forgotten soirée. And if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been…well, let’s just say,

Darling, let’s have a word about the past. There’s something enchanting about old-world glamour: the kind of allure that lingers in black-and-white film stills, where silk gloves met champagne flutes

Darling, let’s talk about style: not the fleeting trends or the impulse buys, but the kind of elegance that lingers long after you’ve left the room. The kind that seeps

Have you ever stood before a mirror, draped in jewels, layered in silk, clutching your favourite handbag, yet something felt off? I have. More times than I care to admit.

Oh, darling… we need to talk. When did we all start treating getting dressed like it was another chore on the endless to-do list? That hurried dash to the wardrobe,