🌈Dragon-Napped by a Teleportation Muffin
The order arrived. The muffing activated. The adventure got weird.
This is the first story in Dragon-Napped by a Teleportation Muffin, the first book in my Wisdom of the Sisterhood adventures. Find previous issues here->
Over the coming weeks and months, as I complete each book, I’ll share the Sisterhood stories here in full, along with occasional pieces of my own adventures. Not every story will escape its book. Some have established permanent residence between the covers and are already receiving mail.
Dear luminous pen-pal who keeps all my secrets (and, hopefully, this draft),
School’s out. The cauldrons are cold.
The floating quills have stopped twitching.
Cheryl’s off gallivanting in Ireland with a suspiciously poetic goat named Fenris, leaving behind nothing but a cryptic voice message and a half-drunk bottle of potion labeled…
“FOR EXISTENTIAL MARKETING CRISES ONLY.”
I promised myself I’d rest.
No new product launches. No enchanted sticker sets. No dramatic reinventions of my entire brand at 2:17am on a Tuesday.
That lasted all of a week. Tuesdays are hard!
Today started normally, if “normally” means hand-feeding caffeine to a teacup that thinks it’s a motivational speaker. The enchanted planners were rearranging themselves into suspiciously ambitious life plans. And Mortimer had opened a consulting desk on a crate labeled “Mildly Cursed but Cute,” which I am 82% sure violates at least one zoning law.
Then the word coherent tried to ruin my life.
I was minding my own business (literally), by reorganizing the Enchanted Sticker Wall by emotional volatility.
This is a very normal thing to do.
You start with mild rebellion on the left (“Drink Water, Hex Later”), move gently through existential defiance (“Capitalism Is a Weird Cult, Brenda”), and end in full apocalyptic glitter (“If I Am Too Much, Go Find Less”).
It’s important for customers to escalate properly.
After that, just naps. Snacks. Maybe a bit of casual hoard reorganization.
And then... the order arrived.
At first glance, it was a massive purchase. Every item pulled from a different collection. Some weren’t even public. One came from a timeline I haven’t invented yet. Which is when I knew something must be wrong.
I stared at the list more closely. The item names weren’t exactly the item names from my website, similar, but not the same. And some of them contained additional instructions or options that were not available in online store.
Walking Cloak – Dust Resistant.
Blister Balm – Extra Strength.
Field Journal – Weatherproof.
Snack Satchel – Expandable.
Stone Pouch – Small.
It read more like a packing list. Then I noticed, nestled at the bottom of the glowing invoice, where shipping details should have been, was a note:
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
Below that:
“Bring snacks.”
There was no delivery address. Only coordinates that reshaped as I read them into a mystical landscape, shrouded in mist, and glowing by the light of a setting sun.
I felt it then. That gravitational tug. The kind that happens when fate taps you on the shoulder and pretends it’s casual about it.
This wasn’t an order. It was a summons disguised as one.
The pull was instant. The kind of gravity that only exists when fate, fear, and possibility collide in the same magical muffin.
Before I knew what was happening, the balm was in my claws, the snack satchel was stuffed, and I was tearing a page out of my journal to scribble a note to Cheryl.
I didn’t plan for this quest. I don’t know who summoned me or where I’m going.
But my wings are twitching.
My claws are itching.
And when the universe sends you your own packing list?
You pack.
And you go.
I left a note with a glitter bomb in Cheryl’s desk drawer (for when she returns—you’re welcome, goat boy).
And summoned my teleportation muffin.
(Don’t ask for the recipe. Seriously. It involves time crumbs and regret berries.)
Next week: the muffin coughs up Spain, I land in a ditch, and a woman named Debby gives me a fig. This is how most important relationships begin.
Later, Gator 🐊
Ophelia 🌈
Unleashing Enchantment, One Oddity at a Time
