Tucked just a little aside from the cafés, shops, and studios of Joy Meadow, there stood a quiet house. Small, warm, and glowing gently — as if it knew secrets, but would never boast.
This was a special place.
Some arrived with purpose.
Some stumbled in, drawn by something they couldn’t name.
But everyone who entered felt the same things: stillness. Softness. The flutter of butterflies in the chest. A scent they loved but couldn’t place. And a light, heady sense of… something about to begin.
Inside, shelves lined the walls, filled with crystals and shimmering powders, tiny jars with mysterious things inside, and objects that hummed if you got too close. But in the center of the room — always warm, always waiting — stood the Cauldron of All That Is.
This was where you came not to wish, but to create.
With your own hands.
From all the elements the world had already given you.
Some stayed five minutes.
Some stayed until the moon had circled twice.
But all left with something new — something they had made themselves.
The Little House of Magic never pushed.
It only ever invited.
And it always helped.