Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - A Peaceful Summer’s Evening at the Witch’s Cottage

Episode Date: June 17, 2026

Narrator: Elizabeth Grace 🇬🇧 Writer: Shauna-Marie Henry ✍️ Sound design: woodland ambience 🌲🐦  Welcome back, sleepyheads. Tonight, we’ll be visiting Freya the witch in her cottage. It’s a lovely place to spend a summer. 😴 Includes mentions of: Witches, Magic, Fantasy, Cats, Beverages, Food, Summer.  Watch, listen and comment on this episode on the ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Get Sleepy YouTube channel⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. And hit subscribe while you're there! Enjoy various playlists of our stories and meditations on our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Slumber Studios Spotify profile⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Get Sleepy Premium Listen completely ad-free and access our entire catalogue of stories and meditations by subscribing to our ⁠premium feed.⁠ Your support means the world to us and makes it possible to keep the show running! ❤️ Get your 7-day free trial: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠getsleepy.com/support⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.⁠ Connect Stay up to date on all our news and even vote on upcoming episodes! Website: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠slumberstudios.com/getsleepy/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠facebook.com/getsleepypod/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠instagram.com/getsleepypod/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Our Apps Redeem exclusive unlimited access to Premium content for 1 month FREE in our mobile apps built by the Get Sleepy and Slumber Studios team: Deep Sleep Sounds: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠deepsleepsounds.com/getsleepy/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Slumber: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠slumber.fm/getsleepy/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ FAQs Have a query for us or need help with something? You might find your answer here:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Get Sleepy FAQs⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ About Get Sleepy Get Sleepy is the #1 storytelling podcast designed to help you get a great night’s rest. By combining sleep meditations with a relaxing bedtime story, each episode will guide you gently towards sleep. Thank you so much for listening! Feedback? Let us know your thoughts! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠slumberstudios.com/contact-us/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Get Sleepy is a production of Slumber Studios. Check out our podcasts, apps, and more at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠slumberstudios.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. That’s all for now. Sweet dreams ❤️ 😴 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get Sleepy is a production of Slumber Studios. To listen, add free, access our entire catalogue of episodes and support the show directly. Check out our premium feed by going to get sleepy.com slash support. Now, a quick word from our sponsors. Are you one of those media strategy people clicking through slides, scrolling spreadsheets? Yes? Good. This is for you.

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As a listener of Get Sleepy, you can unlock all of the content in the app free for one month. Just go to slumber.fm slash get sleepy. That's slumber.fm slash get sleepy for instant access to all of the content in slumber, free for one month. Welcome to get sleepy, where we listen, we relax and we get sleepy. I'm your host, Thomas. Thanks so much for joining. us. Tonight we'll be visiting Freya the Witch in her cottage. It's a lovely place to spend a summer. Thank you to Shauna Marie for writing this one, and to Elizabeth who'll be reading it for us.

Before we get to tonight's story, I just wanted to mention that we have a very special bonus episode coming up on Friday this week, where we're trying something a little different. It will be a jointly narrated story between myself and Heather, as we play the parts of two new friends, one in the UK and one in America, who exchange emails to stay in touch and get to know each other a little more. It's a really sweet and unique episode, so I'd love for you to join us for it and see if it's your cup of tea, as we say here in the UK. So again, that's coming out this Friday and it will be available to all listeners. For now though, let's prepare for our story by taking some time to unwind, however your day has been.

It's time now to let it go. Take a slow, deep breath in, then take a moment to hold the breath in your body. Before letting it flow out, take a few more calming breaths and see how your body responds to intentional relaxation. If it helps, you can imagine that the events of your day are leaving with every out-breath. Otherwise, just enjoy this quiet moment for yourself. When you are ready, turn your attention to the centre of your chest. Imagine that there is a beautiful flower resting there.

With each breath you take, every moment you spend relaxing. The flower is blooming more and more. more and as it blooms, you feel a warm, tingly sensation of well-being. Flow through your body. Follow this sensation, allowing it to spread from your chest to the rest of your body. It is radiating out all the way through your limbs, filling you with warmth, and sleepy wellness. Now, your whole body is full of this wonderful sensation. With that, we're ready to enjoy our story. So allow your imagination to open up and picture the scene.

Deep in a forest in Scotland, there was a beautiful cottage and inside lived a young, woman named Freya. This is where our story begins. There was a fat, yellow cat wrapped around Freya's ankle. And the other witches were taking flight in the colourful Scottish skies. Freya's cottage was warm now. Nonetheless, a black kettle whistled on the stove. Freya took a swig of the smallest bit of tea remaining in her cup, and watched the sun's graceful descent. Her eyes lingered on the blazing yellow sherbet in the sky. It had, in its gentle way, painted the walls and floor of her cottage. Something between pink, orange, and yellow.

It was summer. Since she had finished her witching and wizardry course, she was free to rest until autumn came again, but not yet. Not now. Now the fat yellow cat unfurled itself from around Freya's ankle. wandered over to a warm patch of sunlit carpet. Somewhere in the middle of the room, Freya was craving a fry-up. She had woken up late that afternoon, but she had always believed that almost any occasion was a good occasion for breakfast. The kettle had stopped whistling. Freya walked over to the cat, Mr. Ginger, and stroked him a couple of times before heading for the

kitchen. As Freya wandered the halls of her cottage, she was rather proud of her home. She was a graduate, which meant she could no longer. live in student accommodation. And that was why, a little while back, she had begun her hunt for the perfect home. She had visited quite a few places. She searched high and low for her new home, by lakes and rivers, and towns, and tree stumps. Then one of Freya's schoolmen, mentioned that her family owned a cottage deep in the woods, but that it was no longer in use. All she had to do was say the word, and so, in the mid-June heat, Freya trekked into the woods with her friend Bonnie in search of the cottage. Bonnie wisely suggested that they view the cottage in the evening.

evening, as it would be slightly cooler. Though the air was muggy, the heat was bearable. On the way, the two gested and laughed and reminisced about their lives at school. It seemed that through their back and forth they were forming a collage of details, the crisp white shirts. The year-round jack-o-lanterns, the wild and eccentric teachers, and then the thrill of feeling like a real adult when the graduates tossed their pointy hats into the air. Soon after the graduation ceremony, Bonnie spent her time on the party scene. To her, it seemed that the elation from graduating was something she would never come down from. But Freya simply wanted to make a corner of the world her own,

a place where she could do all sorts of wonderful things. Up and over a hill they went. And Freya fell in love. Bonnie watched Freya's face as they walked toward the cottage. Of course, Bonnie had said that viewing the cottage in the evening would be ideal because of the heat. But truthfully, she wanted Freya to see how the setting was mirrored in the lake in front of the cottage. She wanted Freya to feel the mystical whimsy of such a place. even in the way the crooked sign sat by the entrance,

and its playful letters disappeared and reappeared as she read the words, the far-away cottage. Bonnie gently nudged her friend in the side and gave her a smile of approval. Go on, she said softly. Freya put the key into the lock of the cottage's wooden door and pushed it open. The gorgeous amber glow was painted on the walls and floors of the cottage.

Almost every surface was a hue of pale green, blue or yellow, and there were exposed wooden beams and rustic floors and hints that this place had been lived in once upon a time. Freya was wide-eyed as she moved from room to room. Bonnie recited all the highlights she could remember from her parents. interesting ceilings, large rooms, a wide conservatory. In all honesty, Freya was hardly listening. She hadn't been so sure a place was home in the longest time. Bonnie started talking about the sort of magic that powered the heating.

and where Freya could put her cauldron. Then she noticed that her friend was lying on the floor in the main room. Freya was stretched out like a starfish, eyes closed. On a warm spot of hardwood floor, Bonnie looked at her friend with a slight smile and a tilted head. Freya popped an eye open and smiled. back, I think Mr. Ginger would like this spot, she said. All Bonnie could do was love. In the coming days, a deal was struck between Bonnie's parents and Freya, and it turned out Freya was right. Mr. Ginger

liked that very same spot. He liked it very much. Bonnie helped Freya move. everything out of her college dorm, in between all the celebrations. It took a week or so, but little by little, the cottage shaped up to be a real home, or truly, a real haven. Mr. Ginger purred just out of Freya's earshot as she walked into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. she preferred to make her tea by hand. Even though her wand was on the breakfast bar just behind her, she liked to watch the way the colour of the tea bag permeated through the hot water in her favourite mug. She liked to hold the picture of cream by its handle,

as she gradually poured the perfect amount of milk into the mug, And of course, she liked to watch the drink become something tan and creamy. Freya liked her sugar cubes too. It was the thrill of stirring the drink until the sweet, grainy block disintegrated from the heat of the tea. Freya was still in her pajamas, her favorite pajamas. They were red and red. white tartan, but the red was a deep colour. Very nearly burgundy or maroon, the top was a large button-up with short sleeves, and the bottoms were wide, billowy trousers, with a white

drawstring which could be neatly tied into a bow. Freya was fond of these pyjamas because they were a blend of linen and cotton. As she moved around the kitchen, the soft fabric brushed across her skin. It felt comforting as Freya sat at the breakfast bar, sipping her tea. She glanced down the hallway. There were three or four brown boxes of various sizes, lined up side by side. These were the last few boxes that Freya had not yet unpacked. Almost everything from storage and her college dorm room had found its place. With the aid of magic, her work was made easy. However, as with making her team,

there were a few things she unpacked and arranged by hand. all of her toiletries, her collection of mugs, and all of Mr. Ginger's belongings. While she was in college, her dorm mates found it most peculiar that Freya chose to do anything by hand when magic was the blood that coursed through them all. Freya said that there was magic in doing things by hand, too. To do things by hand was to do things with the utmost care. And love, too, she thought. Freya's tea was almost finished.

She continued staring at the boxes as she cast her mind back to college. Then there was the soft jingle of a bell And something furry and warm Rubbing against her leg Mr Ginger flicked his tail up As Freya rubbed under his chin She suspected he was smiling But she was never entirely sure

The cabinets in the kitchen were wooden But painted a pale green while the large oven was cream with a black stove, handle and knobs, and in the middle of the kitchen was an island for pots and pans. Freya unhooked a cast iron pan from the island and placed it on the stove. Mr. Ginger had jumped onto Freya's seat by the breakfast bar. and watched with his bright blue eyes. Freya hummed as she moved from fridge to freezer

and from cupboard to stove, collecting ingredients and fishing in drawers for utensils. In the end, she decided on hash browns, baked beans, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, and tomatoes. The pan was large enough to accommodate everything except the beans, which she boiled in a small green pot. Soon the kitchen was filled with the most wonderful smell. Freya glanced at Mr. Ginger, who was now dozing in a ball. His legs were neatly folded under him, with his tail gracefully wrapped around the front of his body,

he would occasionally open an eye to see where Freya was. And when he was content that he had found her, he would allow himself to be once more taken by sleep. Meanwhile, Freya's meal was almost ready, the gentle pops and squeaks. of the eggs and bacon emanated from the pan. The hash browns were wonderfully golden, and the fringes of the eggs were lightly crispy, just like the bacon. Soon the thickly sliced tomatoes charred slightly, just the way Freya liked them. A grumble escaped from the

the gap in the pot lid. The beans, once pale brown, were now a rich red. Of course, Freya had sprinkled the baked beans with a few seasonings and maybe a dash or two of potions, and then added blended tomatoes to give the beans a well-rounded flavor. She flipped the food. She flipped the food in the pan with her trusted spatula and set about tidying the kitchen. Freya felt it was wrong to clean in silence. She grabbed her wand off the breakfast bar, held it high above her head, and then flicked her wrist, ever so gently. The spell instantaneously created a playlist with a mix of Freya's favorite genres and tunes. First, a slow pop ballad played, something from decades ago. This was the music she grew up on, and as Freya potted around the

kitchen, she anticipated every note before it played. It seemed that she was one. She was one. with the melody. As she cleaned up, cans and wrappers were tossed into the infinite bin. The infinite bin had an infinite capacity, and every piece of rubbish tossed inside would disappear as if it never existed. When Freya purchased the bin from a traveling merchant, He told her to be careful what she threw away. Whatever she put in there would be nearly impossible to get back once it was gone. Freya filled one of the kitchen sinks with warm, soapy water and began to wash up the remnants of the day before.

Her rubber washing up gloves were the same shade of green as the cabinets. They fit her hands perfectly. Freya stood on the cushioned rug in front of the sink and rinsed every dish clean of food before placing them in the sink with the soapy water. Once a dish was lathered with soap, Freya dipped it into the second sink, which was filled with plain, warm water.

Long ago, Freya learned a spell that dried wet dishes in three seconds flat, so she didn't need a drying rack. It was a satisfying, rhythmic sequence of events. Freya gently scrubbed the dishes with her bright, yellow and green sponge. Then, plop, the dishes went into the second sink of water. And finally, a soft clatter as the dishes were piled on top of each other. The kitchen windows were wide open. Though Freya loved to be indoors,

she liked the feeling that a piece of the outdoors was inside as she wiped down the surfaces. A warm breeze blew through the kitchen. Frea glanced through the open window on the far side of the room. The window spanned the entire wall, and it made the kitchen feel like conservatory. The day she'd officially moved in, Freya made herself a large pitcher of lemonade. Then she sat on the floor by the large window and drank until the contents of the picture had run dry. Beyond her garden, she could see a lake. And then, the woods. And as she savored the

soothing taste of the sweet lemonade, Mr. Ginger curled up by her side. Bonnie had laughed a few hours before. She'd chatted about what grand plans she had and how she planned to seize the world now that she had finished school. Freya had half listened to her ecstatic friend, while she jotted down potion ingredients in her notebook. Since Bonnie had left, Freya felt all the more certain that for now she wished to hibernate. She wanted to open the doors and windows of her new home and let the outdoors in. She wanted to make picture after picture of sweet lemonade to wipe and dust and wash and to unpack the many boxes littered throughout the cottage by hand. Bonnie was right. The world was big and beautiful.

and worth seizing, but Freya knew that it wasn't going anywhere. The sun would rise many times over, and it would light all the corners of the world she'd yet to explore. But for now, she wanted to become acquainted with this particular corner of the world. her very first home as Freya stroked Mr. Ginger. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the wall behind her. It smelled like leaves and grass and trees and pollen and faintly of lemonade. It smelled like like seeds.

summer, Freya opened an eye and looked down at Mr. Ginger. She smiled and said, What do you see we unpack our first boxy? Freya came back to herself, as if she had found herself drifting through that feeling, that memory of finding home for the very first time. Mr. Ginger breathed deeply on the breakfast bar, and Freya could tell he was asleep. She was about to put a place mat on the dinner table when she paused. Instead, she grabbed a large, fluffy pillow from one of the chairs and placed it on the floor. In the very same spot she'd sat, the day she moved in, dinner was ready. Freya used her spatula to portion out her meal. Finally, she spooned out the beans into the pale green plate,

wisps of steam twirled about the food, and Freya could not help, but smile. The meal was perfect. She had never made beans so red. nor eggs so white, nor hash browns, so perfectly brown and crisp. And for a long moment, she looked at her food in hopes of committing it to memory. Mr. Ginger was awake. Sleepy and dazed, he watched Freya move across the kitchen,

until she comfortably settled on the pillow by the large open window. Then he hopped off the breakfast bar and snuggled up next to her. The sky was almost red now. The sun sank further down, and there were wisps of clouds, all painted some shade of orange. Like a mirror, the lake mimicked its colors. Making the sky seem that much grander, Freya relished in her meal,

forkful after forkful until the last bite. And then, the only thing left to do was pat her belly and listen to Mr. Ginger's soft purr. Freya wasn't like other witches. She didn't care much for broom rides or curses, and she hardly ever wore her pointy hat, but she liked to conduct experiments with the magical ingredients under her roof.

Of course, she had a number of bunsmen burners, beakers, puppets, and things of the like. One of the rooms in the cottage had been converted into a laboratory. Freya liked to invent things. She invented a collection of spells called Smells for eternity. Once cast, it could make a pleasant smell linger for all time. Freya cast the spell on her cottage, so it would eternally smell like freshly baked cookies. In that laboratory hideaway, she'd invented a spell that stopped shoes from wearing out. A spell to keep bed linens, crease free. A spell to make rocking chairs rock eternally. and on and on.

It was there in the laboratory, in that room of experimentation, that Freya filled dozens of notebooks with spell solutions and problems she'd yet to find solutions for. She toiled in the bright morning daylight, the heat of the afternoon sun, the evening glow, and eventually beneath the work lamps she had designed with her very own hands.

Mr. Ginger was an observant onlooker. He would occasionally brush his furry body against Freya's leg. But for the most part, he sat. sat on the wide window ledge and purred as his long, bushy tail swayed back and forth. Freya's broomstick hung on one of the walls of the laboratory. At one time, Freya's nearest and dearest friend, Bonnie, would have complained that Freya did not fly as much as a witch should. But the last time she visited the cottage, to see how all of Freya's belongings had been arranged,

Bonnie simply looked at the broomstick and smiled. She stood next to Freya and squeezed her best friend's arm. There's more than one way to be a witch, said Bonnie. Somewhat surprised, Freya wrapped an arm around Bonnie, and gave her a squeeze back. I know, she said. Dinner was finished, and the sun was very nearly gone.

Freya stood up, closed the large window, and walked over to the sink, where she washed the few remaining dishes. When it was time to draw the curtains, Mr. Ginger, Rhea, rather helpfully, turned on the lamps by standing on their floor switches, content with the state of the kitchen.

Freya picked up Mr. Ginger and placed him in his cat bed in the living room. Then she went up to her bedroom. Freya liked her pajamas so much that she owned three identical pairs. She selected another neatly folded set to change into after she'd had a shower. The bedroom walls had pale yellow and white striped wallpaper and white crown moulding. A large double bed sat in the middle of the room. It was white and wooden and unmade. Freya waved her hand and the sheets busied themselves with stripping and changing.

In no time at all, the bed was made up with four pillows, a duvet, and a blanket or two, in varying shades of white, cream, and beige. The room was an en suite, with a door on the right side of the bed that led. led to the bathroom, to Freya, a bathroom was more than a place to get clean. It was a place to take care of one's body and rejuvenate the soul. Freya was rather particular about the way she cared for her body. Firstly, she gathered her hair at its ends and spun her finger until the hair naturally twisted together. Then she clipped it up at the back. On the shelf above the sink was Freya's

teeth cleaning kit. A toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, and floss. Beside them was an enchanted sand timer. All you had to do was whisper into it how long you wanted to. to be timed for, and the sands in the timer would adjust accordingly. As soon as Freya began, the lights in the bathroom switched on, and sound effects began to play. Frea wasn't a fan of crashing waves or falling rain. She wanted to hear a thunderstorm, quietly exce, and quietly exce, exploding across the night sky and explode it did, loud enough to be audible and quiet enough to be relaxing. In an act of mindfulness, Freya liked to count as she brushed her teeth.

She never tried to reach a particular number. She simply wanted to be present for every stroke of her toothbrush. When Freya was done with her teeth, she washed her face. This was her favourite part. She liked how the soap worked into a foamy lather. And how it was eventually all washed away down the drain. The shower turned on automatically. And soon after, the windows and mirrors fogged with steam.

Freya hopped in. The sound of the water mingled with that of the thunder, and her bathroom sounded like a real storm. The water of the shower was comfortably warm. And just like before, Freya soon watched every sud of soap disappear down the drain, while she felt the pitter, power. of the shower on her back. Soon, the shower's water grew weaker and weaker until it stopped completely. It was time to get out. Freya liked to put her clothes on the towel rack, so they were warm by the time she got out of the shower. She slipped into her fresh, warm, crease-free pajamas. and wandered back to her room in search of some socks.

Now that the sun had gone down, it was rather cool. Freya thought it was a safe bet to choose her beige knitted socks. They were enchanted to keep feet warm, but they often had a mind of their own and were almost never where she had left them. This time, one was in the very top drawer, and one was in the very bottom. Freya slipped her socks on

and decided that now more than ever was a good time for tea. Something relaxing, she thought as she headed in the direction of the kitchen. Freya partially filled the kettle and turned it on. She walked around her breakfast bar a few times before the remaining packing boxes in the hallway caught her attention. Freya believed that if you waited for a kettle to boil, you might as well wait forever.

So she figured there was no harm in having a peek in the boxes. Flipping the tops of the boxes open, she was pleasantly surprised to find her old experiments and potions. These were the first results of her knack for invention, which she didn't have the heart to give away. In young, sprawling writing were vials labelled, a spell to make it summer again, and a spell to keep the sunset in the sky. Freya chuckled softly. Her younger self must have been rather ambitious, as both vials were empty.

She did, however, find some basic spells that were successful, a spell to make hair grow back, a spell for tummy aches, and a spell for tea that's too hot or cold. One by one, Freya fished out the contents of her boxes and brought them into her laboratory, bit by bit, everything found its place. Her old inventions were placed in vile racks and glass cabinets,

and the last of the last was unpacked. Freya crushed the boxes with her wand and threw them away in the infinite bin. By then, the kettle had finished boiling. Freya practiced her evening gritch. of selecting which herbal tea to drink. Tonight, she chose peppermint. She pushed the tea bag into the mug and doused it with hot water.

The kitchen was wiped down a final time, before Freya clicked on the oven's overhead light and headed to the living room. She left the mug of tea to steep on the side table by the plush rocking chair, while she admired the books in her collection. Some she had collected as a child, with titles such as, Be for Broome, and Can You Spot the Witch? Others had fallen into her possession throughout her various stages of schooling, inside the top of the large bookcase, with several spotlights which shone down, grazing the spines of Freya's beloved books.

Her favorite books were all the same now. They were mostly about potions, alchemy, and enchantments, and among them all was a single work of fiction. The book told the story of an unskilled, awkward wizard. who hoped to win the heart of a witch in his village. He attempted spell after spell and potion after potion in hopes of making a perfect gift for the witch to no avail.

One day, many years later, he built a beautiful home at the edge of the village. He gifted it to her with a note that read I have made this beautiful home with my hands and not with a wand. Still, I hope you'll love it. Freya had taken the book to her enchanted rocking chair and perused its contents in between sips of tea. The chair gently swayed back and forth with no effort on Freya's part.

As she flipped each page and smoothed its corners, She felt herself becoming more and more tired. It was time for bed. And so, Freya waved her wand. Magic sent her, hovering from her sitting room. Until she gently landed on her bed, Mr. Ginger followed. His small paws sank into the sun. soft duvet as he crawled closer to Freya. She took one last look out the far window.

The moon was bright, nearly white and full. And the stars were out too. Frea settled in her bed. She didn't mind that she had spent her entire day pottering about her home with the comfort company of Mr. Ginger. Some days are designed for breakfasts for dinner, and reading books, and sleeping until the late afternoon. And in many ways, it seemed her day had come full circle. It had ended where it began, with a fat, yellow cat resting on her belly. "'Goodnate, Mr. Ginger,' Freya whispered. Mr. Ginger merely rubbed a paw over his face and nestled into the duvet. Freya imagined that in his own way, he had said goodnight too.