The tour
Show, don't tell.
Nine things Hearth does, demonstrated. The screens are real screenshots of the app. The demos are live — they run right here on this page, and nothing you type into them leaves your browser.
No account needed to look around.
01 · Ask your journal
A journal that answers back.
Inkling reads what you wrote and answers questions about your own life. Tap a question — these are real answers from a real journal we filled with demo entries, screenshotted exactly as they arrived.
On Glow you can also ask from ChatGPT or Claude, through the connector. Your journal, answering in someone else's chat window.
02 · Write it down
One box that grows with you.
Start typing and the card opens up around you — no new screen, no lost cursor. Bold, italic, lists, quotes. And in its own row, two things that aren't formatting: record a voice note, or add a photo.
03 · Watch it encrypt
Type something. Watch it stop being words.
This runs in your browser, right now, on whatever you type. Nothing is sent anywhere — there's no network call on this page at all.
What a server would store
…waiting for something to scramble.
Hearth itself uses XChaCha20-Poly1305. This little demo borrows your browser's built-in AES-GCM instead, because this page ships no crypto library — same idea, different name.
That's what we store, in every mode, on every plan. We don't read it. Turn on Private Vault and we can't: your passphrase becomes the only key, and we delete our spare.
04 · Talk it out
Some days won't type.
Hit record and ramble. The ink moves while you talk, then Inkling turns it into words you can edit — and keeps the recording, encrypted, if you want to hear yourself later.
The audio goes out to be transcribed and nothing is kept: words back, recording deleted at the far end. That's a promise about retention, not about who could look.
05 · The Unsent Vault
Say the thing you'll never send.
The reply you drafted at 1am. Write it here, seal it, let it go. Try it — this one is a demo, so it really does just disappear, and it was never anywhere but your own screen.
In the app it's kept, encrypted and unopened, and Inkling checks in about it thirty days later.
Seal it away
one sentence you'd never send…
06 · Future Me
Write to who you'll become.
Seal a letter to yourself and pick the day it opens. Not a moment sooner — the server withholds it until then, so there's nothing to peek at.
Open it on
Pick a day in the future and I'll do the maths.
07 · Make it yours
Tap one. Watch the page change.
Eight moods. This isn't a preview swatch — it's the real thing, repainting this entire page and the little guy along with it.
Make it yours
Eight moods. This isn't a preview swatch — it's the real thing, repainting this entire page and the little guy along with it.
08 · Meet Inkling
It is made of ink and it has opinions.
Not a progress bar with a face. It's drawn by code — every mood, every wobble — so it reacts, sulks, celebrates and falls asleep when you leave it alone. Go on, poke it.
Meet Inkling
Keep poking. It notices.
09 · Your twin
Send a little you out there.
A public chatbot that talks like you, on its own page and embeddable anywhere. It knows only what you told it — a persona you wrote and documents you chose. Your journal stays sealed.
Your twin
twin.usehearth.ink/@you
AI twin — an automated chatbot, not the real person.
Every twin surface carries this line, permanently. A visitor is never left guessing whether they are talking to a person.
How the twin works →And also
The quiet ones.
Search still works with Private Vault on
Titles, bodies and voice transcripts, matched on your own device. Most encrypted journals switch search off to get there. We didn't.
Bring your old journal
Import from Day One or Apple Journal in a few taps. Free on every plan.
Leave whenever you like
One click gives you everything as Markdown plus your media. No hostage-taking.
On This Day
What you wrote a year ago, when you least expect it.
The Void
A page that shreds. Type the thing, watch it come apart, and it is never written down — no draft, no history, no row in a table.
Streaks with a mercy rule
Miss a day and a shield covers it. Shields are free on every plan, because charging for forgiveness would be a strange thing to sell.
Your week, read back
A recap of what you actually wrote, and a card you can share if you feel like it. Nothing leaves unless you send it.
A year on one screen
A calendar and a heatmap of everything you've written. Tag it, pin it, or backdate an entry to the night it actually happened.
The Inkwell
Where the ink lives when it isn't writing. Inkling learns tricks in there. That is the entire feature and we regret nothing.
Works on the underground
Install it from your browser and write with no signal — the draft is encrypted on your device and syncs when you surface.
No password, if you'd rather
Sign in with a passkey, a one-time email code, or Google. Whichever you pick, your vault opens the same way.
Delete means gone
Erasing your account destroys every key, including our spare. What's left is bytes nobody can read — backups included.
That's the tour.
The free plan is genuinely free — unlimited entries, a reflection every day, no card.
Start free