Page 2 of Unclench Me Softly

“Do you hear yourself?” I ask.

He grins. Toad always grins. He has two teeth and a kind of chaotic forest goblin energy that honestly fits in a little too well around here.

I pick up a half-burnt sage bundle from the floor and wave it at him like it’s a threat. “You realize these men are paying thousands of dollars to heal their wounded divine masculine, not contract mold-related bronchitis in their sleep, right?”

“Air smells fine to me,” he says.

“You live in a van,” I remind him.

“Yeah, but it’s a nice van.” He shrugs.

I groan and turn in a slow circle, taking in the war zone that is Solstice Hollow, aka my great-aunt’s abandoned cult compound slash my current desperate income stream. There’s paint splattered on the floor of Dome One (not artistic—accidental), crystals scattered everywhere like magical landmines, and one of the yoga mats has what I can only describe as an ominous stain.

The lavender labyrinth out back is half overgrown, the koi pond is cloudy with mysterious fish funk, and the ceremonial fire pit looks more like a squirrel graveyard.

But other than that… it’s totally fine.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

I light another sage bundle (that makes four today) and start waving it toward the guest area in a sweeping, panicked arc. It’s not about clearing the energy. It’s about hiding the smell of panic sweat and possibly dead mouse.

“Toad,” I say, because he’s still just standing there like a stoned druid. “Did you finish fixing the leak in the Moon Dome?”

“I put a bucket under it,” he says.

“You put a… Toad, I am charging these men four figures a day for enlightenment! You cannot just bucket their trauma!” I say.

“Looked like a trauma bucket kinda leak,” he says, unbothered.

I squint at him. “Do you even know what that means?”

He shrugs again. “Do you?”

…I do not.

I retreat to the “Sacred Intake Office,” which is really just a shed with twinkle lights, a broken essential oil diffuser, and an Ikea desk that came with mysterious stains. On the wall is a handmade macramé banner that readsBe Your Wholest Self,which I’m pretty sure I bought off Etsy from a woman named Wren who lives in a yurt and has six goats.

I plant myself in the rickety office chair, open my laptop, and pull up the document I titledWelcome Packet Final Final v.3and pray the printer works this time.

“Okay,” I mutter, half to myself, half to the desperate spirits of the Wi-Fi gods, “Let’s do this.”

I clear my throat, sit up straighter, and try to summon the voice of a woman who definitely didn’t make all of this up at 2 a.m. while panic-drinking lavender wine.

“Greetings, sacred seekers. I welcome you to Solstice Hollow, where the journey inward begins with silence, surrender, and an open pelvic floor, nope. Nope, that sounded better in my head.”

I backspace violently.

The printer, meanwhile, flashes a red light and makes a noise that can only be described as a death rattle.

“Don’t you dare,” I hiss, pressing the button like that’s ever solved anything. “I saged you this morning, you ungrateful plastic goblin. You’re clear.Your third eye is fine.Manifest the damn handouts.”

The printer beeps again and spits out a half-printed sheet that just says:

FIVE PILLARS OF DIVINE MASCULINE… Page 1 of ??

Honestly?

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