Inside a wooden cabin, 4 stories high, deep in a vibrant forest, there was a beautiful cabinet—lavender and gold, with thick columns and watery clear glass that never dusted. And inside the cabinet were many enticing pieces—artifacts, tech of and out of this world; then there was (on the second shelf, to the left side) a jar beautifully painted and skillfully crafted: Inside—you had fables, all real and tangible and sweet. To get into the cabinet—and to the jar—you just need to let it happen, and it will, in a blink of an eye.

And on May 21st, the day before the 22nd of May 2019, Daphne had wished for a retreat—far, far away from the black & white party she wasn’t ready for. A party that would be a first and so far off from her comfort zone…

5 years after Daphne blinked herself into an ethereally domed forest, she made herself at home in the cabin. A first for the cabin. Until Daphne, people would come and then go—the longest was a month. Five years, the cabin thought, is a bit excessive. Daphne, however, was the first to come not for enlightenment, but a major pause.

And within those 5 years, she was in total peace and tranquillity, and totally taken care of and perfectly tended to by the cabin; and no one else came.

It was bedtime and Daphne was comfortable under her sheets and coiffed pillows and in her lavender night dress. Shutting off the lights with the closing of her eyes, she began thinking about home, her other home, stuck in time, awaiting her return. “22…” she thought, “It’ll be the 22nd when I—.” The lights immediately turn on as her eyes shoot open at the sound of glass breaking downstairs. Getting out of bed, slowly, she slips into her slippers and silently opens her bedroom door.

Meanwhile, downstairs, is a huge oaf of a man, clad in Viking arm, muscles straining against his everything, with a clay red hair and emerald green eyes, drunkenly hitting into every piece of furniture to the cabin’s awe and amazement—everything in front of him a war path.

“What is that?” Daphne asked the cabin adamant about getting rid of whatever was causing the ruckus—she knew the cabin had her back, whatever it might be, so she continued down the stairs, silently.

Reaching the last step, the crashing ensuing, looking over to her left at the ceiling high doors leading to the study and the source of the noice. And with one final leap down to the tiled foyer a tin pale hit the floor rather loudly. She blamed the cabin for making the noise. And the study became quiet, she immediately turned to run upstairs, when the doors burst open—the man putting a hand to his forehead, looking downcast, eyebrows furrowed, “I~. Do you mind—I have quit(e) the ache.” Keeping her in place. He gave off no animosity. Looking up at her, he continued, “Lang time nae see. It’s been a funky since a last see ye. Haven't changed a bit, 'ave you?”