Contact Us

For questions about Hunting Anubis, Xaxi, shader work, or other Noctuelles projects, feel free to reach out via email or Twitter.

The night holds a particular gravity here, a weight that settles over the work produced under the Noctuelles name. From procedural material toolkits to interactive fiction, the projects share a sensibility shaped by shadow and memory — the way a city remembers its streets, the way a father's story lingers in a child's telling. Each piece is an attempt to render the invisible: the burn of winter sun, the keening of a raven over desert ground, the fragile eyes that witness cruelty and still look toward dawn. The palette of these works shifts from light to dark, much like the hours they are named for, moving from off-white clarity into deep, moody near-black, with dusty rose and gold emerging like embers in the dark.

The contact page serves as a threshold, a narrow door between the visitor and the maker behind the masks and masques. Questions about Hunting Anubis, about the shader work that gives procedural surfaces their strange life, about Xaxi and the roads that lead through that fictional territory — all of these find their way here, waiting for a reply. The form itself is simple, an invitation extended without ceremony, because the work has always been about connection as much as craft. Behind the interface sits a person who has spent considerable time thinking about flesh and death, about sacrifice and immolation, about the terrible gift of being granted witness. Correspondence is the quiet counterpart to creation, a steady refrain against the isolation that often accompanies deep, solitary making.

There is something of the ritual in reaching out, a small act that mirrors the larger gestures embedded in the projects themselves. The interactive fictions and procedural tools are built on careful systems, each parameter tuned like a note in a longer composition. When a visitor writes in — whether to share a thought about the burning tree that stood rapt in awe, or to ask about the procedural material toolkit and its possibilities — they become part of that ongoing conversation. The response may come from a person whose hands have shaped digital landscapes of ambition and ruin, cities of seed and blossom, factories of shining metropolis. But the exchange itself remains human, unhurried, measured in the patient intervals between messages.

Beyond the practical matters of contact lies the deeper purpose: the work is meant to be shared, to be questioned, to be carried forward into other hands. The documentation, the blog entries, the fragments of fiction scattered across the site — all of it points toward an open door rather than a closed archive. Whether the inquiry concerns the hunting of Anubis through desert nights, the procedural generation of silver and steel surfaces, or the memory of a winter spent in some far place, the answer will come with the same care that shaped the original work. The contact form is JavaScript-dependent, a small technical requirement that asks only a moment of patience. In return, it offers a genuine connection to the person behind the projects, someone who understands that every message is a kind of story beginning.