Antònia, the dimoni, watches from the corner. Her mischievous grin carved into clay seems to flicker from a shelve at the Paparkone showroom, hidden at the end of a leafy backyard off Carrer Sant Feliu. You step through the door and suddenly you’re not in Palma anymore. You’re somewhere softer, slower, where time behaves differently. Here, everything is made by hand, and nothing is made in a rush. A mug winks from a shelf. A platter leans nonchalantly against a wall like it knows its own charm…