Our story: Nature’s Canvas, Human Poetry

"Gems are love letters from the earth to the sky, and our hands are the pens that translate this poetry."

Chapter One: The "Ding-Dong Grandma" of the Alley
At six years old, the girl followed her grandmother to work for the first time.
No grand atelier—just a tin shack nestled at the mouth of an old Suzhou River alley, its sign scrawled in peeling red paint: Silver Repairs.
Grandma was the alley’s beloved "Ding-Dong Grandma."
She mended snapped wedding bands and faded longevity locks for children, never bargaining over payment. A bag of spiced beans from the City God Temple often sufficed.
But what enchanted the girl most was Grandma’s ritual of saving discarded scraps in a rusty biscuit tin: tarnished silver threads, nicked freshwater pearls, dulled glass beads. "These," Grandma would say, "are stardust remnants."

Chapter Two: Aurora in a Tin
On the girl’s tenth birthday, Grandma drew a bracelet from the tin.
Seven mismatched pearls, strung on raw silver hoops, their surfaces dimpled like lunar craters.
"Chongming Island oyster pearls," Grandma explained. "Less dazzling than South Sea gems, but watch—"
She dimmed the lamp. In the half-light, the pearls shimmered with ghostly rainbows. "See? Like the Northern Lights on that documentary."
"Jewelers force stones into straight lines, but nature abhors edges," Grandma often mused.
She pressed uncut stones into the girl’s palms:
"Tiger’s eye’s golden flecks—stardust spilled from the cosmos. Baroque pearls’ wrinkles—seashell sonnets to the ocean."

Chapter Three: The Constellation in the Window
At fifteen, Grandma led her to Stardust, a boutique on the corner.
Its French expat owner curated a window glowing with curiosities.
That day, the girl froze before a lapis lazuli brooch—its silver base sculpted to cradle the stone’s raw, cratered edges. The French label read: ​Le Jardin Sauvage de la Terre (Earth’s Untamed Garden).
Grandma traced the lapis’s veins:
"Stones hold their own sagas. Our task is to help them find kindred souls."
That night, the girl sketched her first design on notebook paper: silver tendrils cradling a raw gemstone, like moonlight cloaking a mountain’s silhouette.

Chapter Four: Every Girl, a Constellation
By 2025, the girl had digitized Grandma’s "stardust" tin.
Silver tarnishes. Pearls lose luster. But light never dies—it simply dances between vessels.
Every Auriselle wearer glows brighter than the aurora.

Auriselle is Grandma’s craft philosophy, distilled through French poetics:

• ​Aurora: alleyway lamplight, Nordic skies, every humble spark in life’s tapestry.
• ​Ciselle: awakening the soul of natural materials through the warmth of handcrafting, where forgotten tales meet new custodians.