After the whole Book Club Turns Into Doomsday Cult Lite situation, I was spiritually exhausted. Mentally frazzled. Emotionally crunchy.
I needed a nap.
Not just any nap. A capital-N Nap. The kind where you lose track of time, wake up slightly confused, and question whether you're still a person or a cinnamon roll with a heartbeat.
So I laid down a fluffy blanket on the café balcony, fluffed up my favorite pillow (not the shrine one), placed Kuro on my stomach, and let the sun do its thing.
And for once, it was perfect.
Warm breeze. Birdsong. No one trying to name me the Waffle Whisperer.
Until I opened one eye and saw three villagers silently copying me.
One woman had dragged a hay bale up to the roof. A farmer was laying on folded grain sacks. Another had balanced a basket on his head "to absorb dream energy."
"...What are you doing?" I asked.
"We are practicing the Rite of Softness."
"No, you're just... lying down."
"Exactly," said the hay lady, eyes closed. "In perfect surrender to the world."
By dinner, I was being approached for "nap initiation lessons."
I tried to explain:
"It's just rest. No chants. No requirements. Just... close your eyes."
But it was too late. Someone had embroidered "Slumber is Sacred" onto a tunic.
So fine. If people were going to overreact again, I might as well make it educational.
Reika's Official Nap Workshop was born.
We started small:
Lesson One: Pick your Nap Nook (under trees, behind bookshelves, next to large snoring animals)
Lesson Two: The Proper Use of Blankets (not all cloaks count, even if you believe hard enough)
Lesson Three: Breathing Techniques That Don't Sound Like You're Summoning Something
I introduced the concept of "post-nap tea." It was revolutionary.
Someone called it Waking Communion.
Another started drawing sigils made of Zzz's.
And of course, a very serious carpenter built a structure behind the café called The Temple of Rest.
It's literally a shed filled with pillows. But it has columns. And scented satchels. And one guy sits by the entrance with a bell and says things like:
"Enter, ye weary. The Great Blanket accepts all."
Why fight it anymore?
The village now has:
A Nap Schedule, written on the monthly calendar
A Blanket Rotation Committee
And a Quarterly Pillow Plumping Ceremony (I still don't know what happens in there, but Kuro comes back smug and static-charged)
Marius joined the workshop out of curiosity.
"This is strategic rest," he declared. "I shall nap daily in preparation for war."
I gave him a lavender eye mask. He hasn't taken it off since.
The mayor naps publicly now. One noble visited and described the event as "emotionally cleansing." The next day, she sent me a gold-stitched blanket with the title:
"Reika the Dreaming One: Giver of Gentle Stillness."
That is now my ninth official title.
I just wanted a nap.
Now I oversee a sleep-based wellness movement with standardized snooze mats.
But hey, at least everyone's well-rested.
And me?
I'm building a hammock between the apple trees. No one's allowed to talk to me there unless they bring pudding or absolute silence.