In a house of mist and legend, the wild-haired grandmother sat. One eye the violet of moonlight, the other the brown of ancient earth, and in her arms the red-eyed toad, guardian of enchanted swamps. Her scarf bloomed with leopard and wildflowers, the mug of magical tea steamed beside them. With a half-mischievous smile she whispered: “O stranger traveler, this is no ordinary old woman’s house, but the gateway to stories yet unwritten… Sit, drink your tea, and let the red-eyed toad tell you of the nights of magic.”