Archived by Candlelight Division | Coveborne Archives – Entry #4 Sometimes comfort is a trap—and sometimes, it’s the only way out. The cabin wasn’t on any official registry. No postal route, no GPS coordinates. Just a curl of smoke that teased the treetops, and a path that only showed itself if you were cold, exhausted, or heartbroken enough to need it. Inside, the walls were lined with bookcases and half-melted candles. Blankets draped over every surface like sleeping familiars. There was no electricity, but somehow the lights always glowed soft and golden. I took off my boots and haven’t found them since. This place doesn’t ask questions. It simply knows what you need. The mug beside the hearth was already full when I sat down—steam curling with the scent of cinnamon, burnt sugar, and maybe a whisper of bourbon. My tumbler now carries that scent permanently, no matter what I pour into it. By the second evening, I’d fallen into a routine: candlelight, cozy socks, and a not-so-innocent documentary projected across the stone wall by something resembling a will-o’-the-wisp with questionable taste. The cat that wasn’t mine showed up just before the episode about the poisoned scones. Fitting. The dog, however, appeared later—curled up beside the hearth with a nose for mystery and a bark that echoed during every plot twist. I stitched their likenesses onto wristlet-style lanyards while they napped. When I went to leave, they simply vanished—like mist, or memory. The notebook I’d left blank was suddenly filled with recipes, affirmations, and alibis written in an eerily familiar hand. Most curious of all: my canvas tote now hums when I fill it with books or snacks. It’s faint, but there. Like a satisfied purr—or maybe a low chuckle from a podcast narrator. Criminally Cozy doesn’t demand attention. It doesn’t sparkle or shout. It wraps around you slowly, deliberately, until you realize it’s been holding you together longer than you thought. Included in this set: A tumbler steeped in softness and spice, A notebook for quiet plotting and chaotic journaling, A wristlet-style lanyard (featuring your choice of dog or cat), And other enchanted comforts for the mildly feral and lovingly overcaffeinated. Filed by: C.L. Finch | Comfort Crimes Division, Retired Confidential Note: Should this set be opened near an open fire or cozy blanket, please exercise caution. You may never leave.