LorryBorne
Iris wasn't expecting magic when she made her sandwich. She expected crunch. Maybe a little mustard sparkle. Certainly not a portal.
Her sandwich maker-a slightly dented, biscuit-splattered contraption gifted by a café friend with suspiciously twinkly eyes-had always behaved, until today.
Today, Iris layered her cucumber, one tiny square of cheese, and a sliver of roast beef. She pressed the lid. There was a hum. A shimmer. A pop. And then-no kitchen. No Glen Rock. Just a floating garden where vegetables sang lullabies and a raspberry tried to braid her hair.
Back home, Boots sniffed the air, narrowed his eyes, and padded over to the sandwich maker. He knew the shimmer. He'd seen it before. And until Iris returned, no one was allowed near the portal. Not even Sinway. Especially not Sinway or Richard.