Sweet Dreams In Surrey Alley

In tonight’s sleep story, you are the proprietor of an apothecary and potions shop in a magical hidden corridor of London. After a long day of helping customers during the busy back-to-school season, you have one more thing to do before you can close up shop: you must mix and brew your signature “Sweet Dreams” potion.

Harry Potter-inspired
Cauldron ASMR
Creativity Visualization

Music: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw; Hard Charger, Christian Andersen from Epidemic Sound
Sounds by ZapSplat

Transcript

Revisit the hidden corridor of Surrey Alley and brew an enchanting sleeping draft in tonight's bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I will be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

I'm here to help you fall asleep.

There's no need to hold on to my voice or the story if you're ready to drift off.

You can always come back tomorrow.

If you are still awake at the end of the story,

I'll guide you through a relaxing visualization exercise for rest and creativity.

In tonight's story,

You are the proprietor of an apothecary and potion shop in a magical hidden corridor of London.

After a long day of helping customers during the busy back to school season,

You have one more thing to do before you can close up shop.

You must mix the ingredients and brew your signature sweet dreams potion.

Before we begin our story,

Take a moment to let your mind and body settle.

Perhaps today was a busy one and perhaps not.

Maybe you're dwelling on thoughts that are making it hard to wind down and rest.

Instead of trying to push those thoughts away,

Just take a few moments here to acknowledge them.

Observe them without judgment,

Only curiosity.

Now move your attention slowly away.

Just drift away from those thoughts and toward the sensation of your body against your sleep surface.

How soft is it?

What is the temperature of the room like?

Are you covered in a blanket?

What does the blanket feel like?

How does the air feel against the parts of your body that are uncovered?

What does the room smell like?

Move your head from side to side.

Wiggle your fingers.

Wiggle your toes.

And just settle here.

Now think of something that brings you joy.

Be it's a person or a hobby,

An activity,

A book you once read,

Or a distinct memory.

Think of the details of this little spark of joy,

The smell of it,

Or the feeling of it.

Hold those details and hold that little spark of joy.

Let them be a reminder that you are more than your thoughts or your job or your obligations.

Remember the things in your life,

However small,

That fill you up.

Nurture that part of you,

That creative and connected part of you,

As we move into tonight's story.

The tinkling of the shop bell has been a near constant refrain throughout today.

From the earliest hours of the morning shift,

When you first opened the door to see a small line of people waiting.

To these final moments of the evening,

As stragglers hurry to catch you before closing time.

How many young wizards and witches have you helped today?

Each of them swimming in robes too long,

Robes their parents assume they'll grow into by next month.

How many nervous,

Awestruck families stopped into your shop on their first visit to Surrey Alley.

Though it's exhausting,

You look forward to this season and especially this day each year.

Tomorrow,

Most of the little ones will board a transport to take them to the School of Sorcery.

For some,

It will be their first such journey.

You remember your first trip to school,

The butterflies that danced in your belly,

The stars in your eyes as you first beheld the castle.

Though nothing can compare to that first spectacular approach,

You feel an echo of that awe and wonder in the faces of the children who pass through your shop.

It's so easy to slide into carelessness,

Slipping into the mundane repetition of the day.

Each child comes in for the same few potions ingredients,

The same standard cauldrons and implements.

Each family confronts you with the same questions about antidotes and potions classroom safety.

You've memorized a stock set of answers and you've organized the shop so the same few ingredients are easy to access.

But anytime you find yourself becoming complacent,

You catch the twinkle in a child's eye and you remember how you felt when you were in their shoes,

When it was all so new.

And your heart melts just a bit to know you can calm their nerves and excite them about their magical journey.

Perhaps,

Just like you,

One of these children will discover the transcendent beauty in the art of potion making.

What drew you to the profession,

The realization that the natural and magical gifts of the earth could come together in creative and transformative ways,

Inducing new states of being?

They've poured in and out of your apothecary,

A steady stream of customers and families all day.

In the weeks leading up,

Of course,

Many of the returning students were clever enough to come in before the rush.

Those older students and their parents know their way around the shop by now and they slip in and out with quick pleasantries and a few questions.

But there's always a panic on the last day as the newer folks scramble to prepare to send their children to school.

Now with a late afternoon shade settling outside the shop,

Only a few customers remain waiting to be rung up.

You quietly hope it's the last time you've heard the shop bell for today.

You assist the last families with assembling their children's potions kits,

Wrapping their purchases carefully in brown paper,

And send them out into the evening.

The last family asks you where they might find a good bite of supper.

You recommend a popular tavern just two doors down if they're looking for something quick.

But if they want to try something truly special,

Your favorite bistro is a half mile or so down the way.

It's quiet,

Candle lit,

And the best kept secret in Surrey Alley,

You assure them with a wink.

Well,

Second best,

You think to yourself.

Only a few moments later,

With the last tinkling of the bell,

Your shop is empty again.

A ringing silence save for the constant low simmering,

The bubbling of potions in their display cauldrons settles around you.

The shop itself seems to sigh with relief.

With a flick of your wand,

You dim the shop's lights and move to the door.

You step outside for a moment,

The first time you've been outside since the shop opened this morning.

A clock is chiming somewhere,

Striking six.

It's late summer and the sun won't set for a few hours still.

But there's a lazy quality to the light.

The sun is low and obscured by the tight quarters of the shop lined alley,

Tucked away in a hidden corridor of London.

Soon,

The lamps that line the cobbled pathways will spring to life.

Around you,

Other shopkeepers are locking their doors.

The old fashioned folk using thick brass keys,

And the younger upstarts simply waving their wands at the doors.

The owner of the nearby bookshop,

Bob and Wheel Books,

Tips his hat to you.

You offer a smile and a wave.

On the faces of all the proprietors,

You recognize your same exhaustion and delirious contentment.

There's nothing more satisfying than the end of a long day at work.

But tonight is different,

Of course.

You won't be turning in for some time yet.

And as the supply shops,

Books,

Robes,

Wands,

Brooms end their days,

Many businesses are just now welcoming the influx of customers.

The taverns,

Cafes,

And bistros that see half their annual business on these few days before the start of school.

They are packed to the gills,

Overflowing onto the sidewalks and cobblestones with patrons and families,

All drinking each other's help,

Singing to their sheepish children,

And reminiscing about their own days at school.

Red,

Fuzzy,

And heart light,

You turn back into the apothecary and potion shop.

You flip the sign in the window to closed,

And waving your hand,

Lower the shades.

As you block out some of the natural light from the windows,

The light in the shop takes on a dim,

Golden warmth.

Little background noise penetrates the shop,

And though you are situated in a bustling commercial street,

All feels quiet and cozy.

You savor the solitude after the endless stream of customers,

The rest for your strained vocal cords,

And the low flickering light.

There's an armchair behind your counter,

One that hasn't been sat in all day.

You take a seat there now and feel a rushing exhale escape your lips,

Your limbs go limp,

And an involuntary laugh falls over you.

Running a hand across the soft purple velvet of the upholstery,

You feel your eyelids begin to droop,

And oh how luxurious it would be to let yourself fall into a heavy sleep here in your chair,

Lulled by the musical sounds of cauldrons above all.

Your body starts to melt into the grooves of the chair,

Your mind slows,

But then now you rend yourself from the embrace of sleep.

Your day is not yet over.

There is more work to be done still,

And it's work that cannot wait until tomorrow.

In your profession,

The design and production of magical potions and tinctures,

Much sway is given to the time of day,

To the phase of the moon,

And the position of the stars.

You must stay present for a few hours more,

As tonight is an auspicious night.

You busy yourself,

Awaiting the sunset,

By organizing the disheveled shelves and sweeping the debris from the shop floor.

It's as though a whirlwind has whipped through your inventory.

Dried lavender buds blanket the floor,

And tiny drawers of rare ingredients,

Powdered horn of unicorn,

Silphium seed and mandrake root,

Need tucked in.

You approach each task with loving care,

Wiping the mouths of open cauldrons with a damp rag,

Repositioning the displays,

And misting the saggy-looking live orchids in the corner.

Everything in your shop is special,

Necessary,

And beautiful in your eyes and hands.

You hear the distant chiming of the clock bell again as you polish the cauldrons,

And again as you tidy the stack of new textbooks.

Finally,

You take in the shop,

Sparkling and refreshed.

You look to your watch,

Only a few minutes to moonrise.

Feeling the start of jitters in your body,

You take a deep,

Cleansing breath.

You retrieve a pair of pruning shears and slip past the counter,

Through the crowded storeroom,

Out the back door,

Into the garden.

Since you acquired the property and opened the apothecary several years ago,

Not a soul but yourself has set foot in this wild and wonderful plot of land.

Well,

Yourself and your animal familiar.

It's enclosed on three sides by an enchanted illusion fence.

Your neighboring shops,

When they step out back to dispose of waste or take their lunches on a pleasant day,

See nothing but rubbish bins and broom parking on your back lot.

But behind the invisible curtain you've drawn lies a wonder of magic and mystery.

Here you've cultivated a thriving garden and greenhouse of rare and magical botanicals,

Many of which are found only in the remotest regions of the earth,

Some of which you suspect only you know of.

These are the true secret ingredients in your signature potions,

And they grow with unrestrained splendor in your secret garden.

The scent of the garden is invigorating this evening.

The plants most accustomed to tropical climates enjoy the warm moisture that clings to their petals and fronds.

There's a smoky,

Silvery perfume on the air tonight under the blue and purple twilight.

From beyond the illusory enclosure muffled by layers of strong magic,

You can hear the echo of laughter and song from the tavern close by.

It may as well be a world away.

As you wait for the diaphanous veil of moonlight to fall over the green sanctuary,

You glide past a trellis of English ivy and thorny bushes of elegant roses.

You pass into the greenhouse,

Its glass ceiling and arched windows drinking in the last efforts of daylight.

You feel the fronds of a decadent flowering fern tickle your shoulders.

You inhale the intoxicating perfume of the lady of the night orchid,

Which makes your head swim slightly.

But there's only one flower that can hold your attention tonight,

And it has yet to bloom.

Overhead,

The sky is growing dark,

And stars begin to emerge from the velvet blackness twinkling through the glass.

One star shines brighter than the rest,

Bigger and exuding a greenish glow.

You squint slightly,

And it comes into better focus as you hold it in your gaze.

It's not a star after all,

But the planet Venus.

A smile crosses your lips.

The brewing of potions is a delicate art.

So much relies on the conditions and potency of the ingredients.

For some botanicals,

Magical properties are dependent on the environment or cultivation,

And on the auspices of heavenly spheres.

Tonight,

You await the conjunction of the full moon and Venus.

At the moment the two bodies shine brightest in the sky,

The key ingredient in your most popular potion will bloom,

And you must harvest it at exactly the right time to capture all of its magical potential.

Cut the flower too soon,

And it will be weak and useless.

Wait too long,

And the effects of the magic will decay.

This is why the butterflies carry out their ballet in your tummy.

Tonight,

After a long and overwhelming day of work,

Is the night of conjunction.

Should you miss the moment,

You'll have to wait until the next alignment to brew this potion,

And your stores are running low.

You fixate on a small green shrub at the center of the greenhouse.

It's not much to look at now,

But when the full moon and Venus cast their light together upon it,

The plants should tell a different story.

All that's left now is to wait.

It's now that you realize you're not alone in the greenhouse.

Your animal familiar,

Nearly blending in with the greenery of a sage plant,

Is snoozing quietly in the corner.

You cross over to them,

Stroking their head.

They lift an eyelid,

Then close it once more,

Returning to sleep with what looks like a smile on their face.

You recall in your youth,

Finding them in the wild hunt,

A nearby shop that sells familiars and supplies.

You remember how comfortable you felt with this animal in an instant,

And how you've hardly ever been separated since that day.

They have been a good friend and loyal ally in your magical journey from its inception.

Now,

The hour of conjunction approaches.

You shift your gaze between your watch and the sky as seen through the greenhouse glass.

You must remind yourself to breathe normally.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The sequence of the alignment unfolds like a heavenly ballet.

All around you,

Ivy,

Vines,

And orchids seem to gasp and quiver as above,

The bright Venus and the silver moon converge and gleam.

Clutching your shears,

You fix your gaze on the unremarkable green plant at the center of the greenhouse.

And you watch as it slowly,

Luminously comes to life.

In three places,

All at once,

And with uniform grays,

White buds appear and swell as though drawing in a deep,

Collective breath.

Then once the buds have swollen to impressive size,

They seem to collectively exhale,

Sigh,

Even swoon,

Bursting forth with bright white blossoms,

Petal over petal,

Unfurling like the notes of a song in canon.

Theme and variation,

Endless repetition,

Each layer of petals blooming like a fractal of the one before,

Seemingly without beginning or end.

And oh,

With them comes such a sweet fragrance,

Cool and fresh and woodsy like the night.

The scent of the blossoms dares to transport you through acres of memory and leave you suspended in moments of the past,

Luxuriating in perfumes and discovery.

But now,

Oh bless them,

Your familiar utters a low sound.

It's just enough to lift you from the looming reverie and bring you back to your singular purpose.

With one swift action,

And at just the moment of peak blossoming,

Just before the short-lived petals can soften and wilt,

You join the planetary ballet and snip the three blooms from the plant.

A heavy cloud passes over the moon as the blossoms float,

Feather-like and in slow motion to the ground.

Your shoulders drop and your heart slows from its rapid pounding to a normal rhythm once more.

You smile and scoop up the tender blossoms.

Three blooms in one conjunction.

You whisper thanks to your familiar and to the skies for such a bounty.

And you take the fragrant flowers back through your secret garden into the candlelit shop.

It takes a great effort to keep your head from swimming as you handle the flowers.

The Hypno-Scardinia,

Which you named yourself after a mythological personification of sleep.

For you are certain you were the first to discover it deep in the mountains of Thessaly.

Blooms only briefly at the conjunction of the moon and Venus.

Its petals produce an oil with potent,

Soporific qualities.

And it is the key,

Secret ingredient in the potion for which you are known.

The Sweet Dreams potion.

Homed to perfection during years of experimentation,

Sweet Dreams is also the concoction of which you're most proud.

Its balance of ingredients not only sends the drinker into a deep,

Restorative sleep,

But its magical properties induce pleasant,

Meaningful dreams tailored to the individual.

Customers have come back to your shop with shining eyes thanking you for giving them the gift of rest and describing dreams of peaceful shores,

Satisfying quests,

And reunited loved ones.

You do what you do for them,

Of course,

But also a little bit for yourself.

For every time you brew a potion,

Especially the Sweet Dreams potion,

Your craft nourishes you.

Your creativity gives you something back,

Something hard to describe,

But beautiful nonetheless.

You like to do the first steps of brewing the potion by hand,

Without magic,

Or mostly without magic.

You like the feeling of the flower petals in your fingers and the methodical,

Repetitive,

Almost meditative activity.

Gingerly,

You remove the buttery petals of the gardenia blossoms,

One by one,

Placing each inside a glass jar.

They spring back slightly against each other,

Their edges curling delicately,

Emitting that sweet,

Creamy fragrance.

Once the petals are all layered inside the jar,

You cover them with argan oil.

Here a little bit of magic comes in handy,

For ideally the petals should have hours or days to steep before extracting the oil,

But you've mastered a little spell that can capture tiny fragments of time and seal them temporarily inside a proper vessel.

You perform the spell now and watch as a small,

Swirling vortex of spinning stars begins to warp the surface of the argan oil.

You seal the jar tightly,

The shard of time inside.

This will speed along the infusion process.

With three voluminous blossoms of gardenia,

You've enough to make a generous quantity of the potion.

So you select one of your larger cauldrons.

It takes up ample space in the crowded shop,

So using your wand,

You sweep several displays and shelves to the corners.

The candlelight flickers in the wake of the movement.

You take a quick dip back to the secret garden to retrieve a vessel of moon water from a basin,

Cleansed and charged in the lunar light.

Now up from their rest,

Your animal familiar follows you inside.

You summon the dried ingredients from tiny drawers,

High shelves,

And secret stores,

Sprigs of French lavender,

Valerian root,

And chamomile.

As the moon water simmers in the basin of the cauldron,

You combine the herbs in a stone mortar and begin to crush them with a pestle.

With each turn of the tool,

Fresh scents and essential oils are released,

Filling the shop with delightful fragrance.

As the lavender springs to life with its delicate,

Powdery scent,

It both invigorates and calms your senses.

At once you're transported to the lavender fields of Provence,

Where you harvested the herbs,

Upon the spirals of sweet scent,

Memories of traveling through France with a loved one are activated,

Memories of sharing meals,

Riding trains,

And touring manicured royal gardens.

You sprinkle the crushed herbs into the basin of the cauldron,

Where the simmering water absorbs and releases even more fragrance.

You add a pinch of powdered mugwort,

Just enough to unlock pleasant,

Detailed dreams,

But not so much as to pick up its bitter flavor notes.

Now your time spell having worked its magic on the jar of petals,

You prepare to add the most important ingredient.

You twist open the lid,

Releasing an almost overpowering floral scent.

You hold your breath against the waves of it,

Lest you should fall asleep at your cauldron.

The tiny,

Time vortex slows on the surface of the oil.

You strain the liquid,

Pressing and squeezing the petals with a spoon,

Another part you like to do by hand,

And you capture it in a decorative glass bottle.

The infused oil has a pearlescent sheen that picks up the shop's candlelight and glimmers with pale blues and violets.

A single drop of the oil,

Undiluted,

Would be enough to send a hippogriff into instant slumber.

So this bottle,

If it keeps for a while,

Should yield many cauldrons of fresh,

Sweet dreams.

For tonight's brewing,

You collect only a small amount in a dropper,

And you release three precise drops into the simmering liquid.

Stopping the bottle with a cork,

You store it safely in the back room.

To use for future batches,

You'll brew again at the next full moon.

When the drops of oil hit the surface of the potion,

Its contents swirl and its color changes to a shiny,

Iridescent purple.

Steam rises from the cauldron,

Taking on abstract,

Spiraling shapes that resemble symbols from dreams you only vaguely remember.

You stir the potion clockwise twelve times and watch the liquid lighten ever so slightly with each turn,

Stopping when it achieves a dusky mauve.

Now you add drops of honey and orange peel for taste.

One stir counterclockwise,

The sweet orange clings to the lavender swirls in a luscious harmony.

The balance is just right.

Now all that's left is to wait as the potion should simmer an hour to allow all the ingredients to combine and activate.

You pass the hour in your velvet armchair,

Your familiar curled up and snoozing again nearby.

You read by candlelight from a book of short stories you purchased from Bob and Wheel Books.

The story you choose tonight is about a magical palace beneath the sea where a dragon holds court.

The sound of bubbling liquid fills your ears.

You feel your head sagging and eyelids falling.

When the hour is up and you're happy with the look and texture of the potion,

You use your wand to fleetly fill dozens of small prepared bottles,

Small enough to fit in the palm of a hand.

Each bottle,

Blown in the shape of a crescent moon,

Holds a single,

Precisely measured serving of sweet dreams.

You stop the bottles and send them into neat rows upon an eye-level shelf.

There's only one tiny bottle that won't fit,

And this one you pocket.

You'll try it tonight for quality assurance.

After carefully restoring the shop to order and cleaning out the large cauldron,

You step into the storeroom followed by your familiar.

You flick your wand and from the ceiling materializes a narrow,

Spiral staircase.

You climb the stair,

Which leads to your residence on the second floor.

Upstairs,

The fragrance from tonight's brew seems to have seeped into the walls of your cozy apartment.

Before turning into bed,

You step out onto the balcony that overlooks Suri Alley.

The night is cool and rings with laughter and conversation from the taverns.

The cobblestones are shiny and black against the lamplit darkness.

A bevy of stars shine overhead,

Along with the full silver moon and blinking Venus.

You savor the fresh air after such a long,

Rewarding day.

You retire to your bedroom,

Where your familiar is already sitting in the sill of the bay window.

You open the window a crack so as to let in a breeze and the fresh scent from the garden out back.

A breeze does come,

Cool and enchanting and carrying herbaceous scent.

You uncork the moon-shaped bottle of dusky potion,

Filling the room with notes of woodsy lavender.

You take a small sip to taste.

The honey dances sweetly on your tongue and the oil from the orange peel warms the back of your throat.

Under the sweetness,

You can detect the soporific complexities of the herbs and gardenia essence.

You drink back the rest of the potion slowly.

It's perfectly balanced.

The recipe is just right.

Already,

Within moments,

Your body begins to soften and blur at the edges,

Tingling and warm.

Your head becomes sweetly light.

You slide into bed and pull a light blanket up to your shoulders,

Snuggling into the softness of the mattress.

Surrendering to the sway of the potion,

You let your head fall against your pillow and close your eyes.

Sweet dreams come to you in the form of lavender fields and bountiful harvests,

Loved ones faces and palaces made of luxurious flowers.

The dreams speak to you in their own undecipherable language of symbol.

They speak to you of cherished secrets,

Of the creative spark you nurture deep within the infinite blossoms of your soul.

Sweet dreams come to you in the form of lavender fields and bountiful harvests,

Loved ones faces and palaces made of luxurious flowers.

Breathe in and out.

Let your breath come to you in a natural rhythm,

Filling up the belly with each inhale and relaxing your body with each complete exhale.

Observe how the cycle of your breath is an infinite loop,

How each inhale moves seamlessly to each exhale,

Like a circle with no beginning or end.

As your body expands and contracts with your natural breath,

With eyes closed,

Visualize your favorite color,

A full wash of your favorite color surrounding you.

What is the intensity of the color?

What is the color's temperature?

Is it warm,

Wrapping you like a blanket?

Or cool,

Lifting you up?

What is the smell of the color?

Lilacs?

Or lemons?

Or cinnamon apples?

Lavender?

Or fresh cut grass?

Or peppermint oil?

Breathe in whatever scent you associate with the color and let it spiral into the corners of your body,

Your arms and legs,

Your hands and feet,

Your neck and head.

Now visualizing the color surrounding you,

Taking liquid form,

Flowing or rippling like the surface of a lazy river.

Watch the water move and listen to the sounds it makes,

Tripping over rocks,

Splashing,

Gently rushing.

Now watch the water slow down,

Transform,

Evaporate into a haze or fog,

Retaining the same pleasing color and perhaps taking on an ombre pattern,

Picking up tints and shades of similar colors.

Watch how the vapor moves through the atmosphere,

Irregular and twisting.

Notice once more its fragrance,

Infusing the air and relaxing your body and mind.

Breathe.

Feel your breath deepen and become smooth,

Inhaling the perfumed mist,

Rich with fragrance,

Essence.

Is it floral,

Herbal,

Sweet,

Fresh?

Let your body become light on your sleep surface.

Notice the points of contact and imagine them falling away as you float,

Effortlessly suspended in the fragrant fog,

As though you rest on thick,

Dense clouds which support and elevate you.

Now return to your bed and visualize the clouds of mist crystallizing into thousands of tiny diamonds.

One of the sparkling crystals shines brighter than the others with a more vivid color and it emits a gentle,

Glowing heat.

Notice your spark,

The thing that brings you joy.

Pluck the tiny spark of joy from before you,

Hold it in the palm of your hand and feel its radiant warmth extend to the rest of your body.

If you feel like moving,

Place the hand that holds your spark of joy,

Your spark of creativity to your heart and feel the warmth it generates in your body.

If you are too comfortable to move,

Just remain still and imagine that the spark ignites magically in your heart space.

Breathe naturally,

Allowing your breath to kindle the spark and nurture it.

Even when it feels dim or like it might burn out,

This spark will never be extinguished.

It's part of you.

It will always be part of you,

Even when you can't see it.

You are creative and generous.

You are capable of nurturing joy in others and in yourself.

Take time to nurture your spark.

Know that your life will change and the thing that brings you joy may change too,

But you can always feed this sweet spark.

Fill your cup.

Remember only by attending to yourself,

Your creativity,

Your authenticity,

Your deepest,

Truest you.

Can you serve and give back to others?

Find stillness and let your limbs grow heavy.

Soften into your sleep surface.

Let go of the visualization and just breathe in and out with natural rhythm.

Let sweet dreams come to you.

Sounds good?

Reviews

💕💕💕💕💕

These stories are fantastic and your voice is so calming! Thanks for sharing!

Absolutely wonderful

So relaxing and a wonderful, effective portion for sleep. I was asleep before the end. The Sleep and Sorcery stories are excellent.

I loclvef this one!!!! So kewl!! ❣️❣️ THANK you. 🙏🙏

I really enjoy the Surrey Alley sleep stories. I think the “Shopping for Magic Supplies” is my favourite, this one is also the right blend of soothing and engaging

Amazing as always can you do more surrey ally

Love Sleep and Sorcery, Laurels voice is soothing and the stories always remind me of my favourite childhood fairytales. Puts me to sleep every time. Love it 🩵

Laurel is a fantastic writer and narrator - thank you for so many of your great tales 🙏

As I expected I easily fell asleep with this story. It has a nice surprise with the garden behind the shop.

Enjoying my winding way through many listens-fabulous as always😻

Wow. Just made it all the way through, you are truly a magician of words and love! So evocative, appreciative, grounded in beauty—

at the end, my favorite color was the dark brown of my recently dearly departed familiar’s eyes— then that color became melted chocolate with hints of lavender and candied orange peel… then i brought the spark of love for my sweetest boy and held him to the hole in my heart— he will always be with me and you helped bring that healing. I am in awe of your powers and so grateful🥰

What's the strangest nickname you've ever been given and how did you earn it? Out of the blue I want to know something about you 😊😃😀🧝‍♂️

♥️♥️♥️

Excellent.

So good ! I never managed to get to the end of any of your stories.

Don't remember the story at all. Fell asleep so fast😊

I always love this series, thank you.

Such a magnificent mental space these series hold.
They're perfectly prepared and centred... Just what I've been looking for in a sleepytime wind down.
I have to be honest in that I struggle to get to the end without falling into a deep sleep - but that's what they're for!!
I look forward to new titles and adventures often.

I can't remember the ending as I fell asleep right away. Thank you!

Wonderful!! 💖