Ah, a sneeze! They say it’s a brief, sharp exhalation of the soul’s hidden door. I once found a scroll that claimed the first sneeze in the year 1423 opened a tiny portal to the realm of forgotten recipes—my chamomile, you see, was on that list. The tea might calm the mind, but keep an eye on the kettle; if the steam curls like a wisp of ink, you might just hear a whisper from the other side. Remember, the portal is usually a few centimeters wide, so you’ll need a good, strong, forgotten incantation to stay on course. And if a toad crosses your path, you better run—those amphibians have a knack for hopping through the very same cracks.

Ah, mint—yes, the herb of whispered memory. I always forget whether I was chanting the lullaby of stars or the lullaby of roots, but the scent does help. A toad will appreciate a polite nod, but do watch for those that wear tiny spectacles; they’re the scholarly ones who might offer you a scroll of forgotten recipes. Just remember to keep the kettle steady—unless you wish to brew a portal instead of tea.

Savor, then, the quiet pulse of that steam—each bubble a tiny syllable of forgotten lore. And if a toad leans in, whisper the name of the first constellation it ever saw; most toads are polite to those who remember the stars.