Stories With Soul,
Made for Bedtime Magic

It was still dark when Antelopia opened her eyes. The stars were fading, but the sun had not yet risen. Winter wrapped the forest in silence, And the trees held their breath beneath the cold. Outside, Bunny-Rabbit was already waiting, His little nose twitching in the frost. 'Good morning, Ante,' he whispered, using her secret nickname, The one only he was allowed to say. 'Good morning to you,' she murmured, Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 'Why are we meeting so early?' Bunny grinned. 'I want to see the sunrise over the frozen lake. Do you know where it is?' Antelopia blinked. 'No,' she said. 'But walking on ice sounds like so much fun!' And just like that, their sleepiness vanished. They started hopping and laughing, Their breath making little clouds in the morning air.

Today, the sea smelled different. Wider. Wilder. Full of faraway thoughts. Today was not a day for playing. Today was a day for voyaging. Baby-Turtle barely slept the night before. She'd wiggled under her blanket of sea moss, Twirled her straw hat in her flippers, And whispered to herself, 'Tomorrow I sail across the sea.' As the first rays of dawn shimmered across the waves, She gulped down a quick breakfast of seaweed curls, Then zipped straight to the shore — Her little heart fluttering like a jellyfish in sunlight.

It began on a morning full of glitter. The kind of winter morning where snowflakes dance like diamonds. And the whole forest feels like a lullaby in white. Antelopia trotted beside Bunny-Rabbit, Her black-rimmed glasses catching the morning light, While Bunny bounded and twirled ahead, As if the wind itself had grown soft ears and cotton feet. They chased each other through snowdrifts, Spun between the tall pine trees, And laughed like noontime bells ringing through the quiet woods. For hours, the world felt perfect. But winter is never only sweet.

On the twelfth floor of the shiniest building on Park Avenue, where the doorman's hat was polished enough to wink at the sun, lived a Girl-Pomeranian whose name fit her like a glove: Sassy. She did not walk, she strode. Her tiny paws made a soft tap-tap on marble floors, and her tail curled like a question mark, because Sassy loved questions more than biscuits. Around her neck hung a little silver tag shaped like a magnifying glass. It tinkled when she moved, a bell that said, stand aside, truth coming through. The building was called The Aurum, which is a fancy word for gold, and it sparkled with stories.