Rachna and the Apple Strudel

Prompt: Write a fantasy story set in a cozy place special to you.

Today’s the day, Rachna declared to her alter ego as they inhaled the yeasty apple strudel aroma wafting into the street when an elder elf emerged from Fantastically Flavorful Booklovers Lounge. I shall resist no longer. Resistance is futile, she thought with an internal chuckle for the reference. Resistance is just an ego trip.

The fantasy reflection of a middle-aged, long blonde hair, purple velvet cloak topped by a pointy power hat in the display window nodded agreement with her assertions. She smiled back at that image of herself, so different from the tan jeans and olive green sweater she was really wearing.

Gilta the alter gave Rachna a shove in the gut. Didn’t you complain just this morning that these pants are too tight? she conveyed to Rachna’s conscience.

“Shut up,” Rachna replied aloud. Then inhaling deeply she reached for the ornate brass handle cast in the shape of a snake. Once touched the heavy door sprung open cautiously without additional effort, and a melodious male voice reminiscent of Sean Connery’s James Bond whispered, Welcome Rachna.

Thank you, she mentally projected, still feeling Gilta’s disapproval stressing her gut.

It will be an honor to serve you, the voice said. A table on the mezzanine level next to the stained glass window is yours today. A slice of strudel just out of the oven is waiting for you, but if you have a yearning for something else, just think of it on the way up there, and a substitution will be made. Would you like a latte?

Gilta pushed harder, and Rachna heard her warn water is healthier. But the advice fell on determined if not salivating taste buds. Yes, if you please, a mocha Valencia latte, Rachna requested of the mysterious voice.

The shop’s ground floor, replete with bookshelves and comfy leather club chairs, likely appeared normal – whatever that was – to Muggle clientele. The mini dragons flying close to the ceiling, serving the magickally inclined, probably appeared to be mere piñatas to the uninitiated, Rachna supposed. How sad that they fail so often to see the truth of the world around them.

Arriving at the mezzanine level, she wondered for a moment which of the table alcoves was meant for her. The uncertainty caused a sunbeam to pierced the atmospheric veil of privacy enshrouding each seating area. She followed the sparkling technicolor light across the carpeted floor to her assigned spot. Finding a turquoise shawl crocheted with soft yarn poised to wrapped itself around her shoulders, she eased into the cushioned chair just as the steaming latte appeared on the table.

Ah, this is the life I’ve been seeking, she thought. Loading a fork with an ample bite of flakey pastry, she closed her eyes for undistracted savoring which hit all the pleasure spots of tongue and tummy.

You’re gonna pay for that, Gilta projected, sending an image into Rachna’s brain of outgrowing her entire wardrobe.

Shut up, or I’ll make you stay outside the next time I come here, Rachna threatened, and meant it. It’s pumpkin spice season now and you know I’ll be here every week.

Never fear, the unseen male voice interjected. Our products have no calories for those who are concerned about that. That is the beauty of operating a fantasy café. Everyone gets exactly what they want, need, and deserve.

 ©2025 Deah Curry.  All Rights Reserved.