The gallery lights are back on, and their masterpiece feels like a brand-new exhibit opening. SETSUNA HANABI brings the kind of energy that shakes the walls and leaves everyone staring in awe. Happy comeback to our stunning displays, TXT and all TXT potrayers. Special shoutout to Greesacht’s Soobin! Our halls are proud to hold space for your art, your presence, and everything you bring to the frame. Now let’s give them the love they deserve, please stream the MV now!

With love,
Greesacht Familia ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤVARNISHED OF MEMORY
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(29th of August.)  :  Letter.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhere the brush still breathes?

It hung where time moved slowly—dust drifting like whispered prayers, golden light flickering across its worn frame. The painting, old as memory, stared back not with eyes, but with something deeper, the ache of what once was. Brushstrokes, though cracked, still breathed with intention. And still, it spoke. To those who dared linger. To @lunevain, @CasaSolmare , @theellsword, @TheVansents, @LineageOfZhu and @JadeOfLiu who stood before it in reverence, their reflections caught within the canvas’s quiet ache. No one remembered the artist’s name. But the soul? The soul remained—trapped, blooming, eternal. Proof that some beauty outlives even the hands that made it. With endless gratitude to all who wandered here, where this splendid memory shall forever cradle every journey taken and every generous spirit shared—bathed beneath the moonlight of joyful minds.

Signed in light and longing,
@KinOfGreesacht

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤVARNISHED OF MEMORY
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(30th of august.)  :  Letter.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhere the brush still breathes?

It hung where time moved slowly—dust drifting like whispered prayers, golden light flickering across its worn frame. The painting, old as memory, stared back not with eyes, but with something deeper, the ache of what once was. Brushstrokes, though cracked, still breathed with intention. And still, it spoke. To those who dared linger. To @afrodistrella, @StarryOfVincent and @SchaferHaus who stood before it in reverence, their reflections caught within the canvas’s quiet ache. No one remembered the artist’s name. But the soul? The soul remained—trapped, blooming, eternal. Proof that some beauty outlives even the hands that made it. With endless gratitude to all who wandered here, where this splendid memory shall forever cradle every journey taken and every generous spirit shared—bathed beneath the moonlight of joyful minds.

Signed in light and longing,
@KinOfGreesacht