My name is Traveleya Cleyne, and this is to be my memoir of the first--and perhaps most significant--of many queer and curious tales of which I have borne witness to over the past several years. Indeed, even so long after it has happened, I can still hardly believe it wasn't a dream. Yet as I sit here at my writing desk, surrounded by the many trinkets and baubles that I have collected at the result of that first strange adventure, the memories return to me as clear as if they had happened but yesterday.

To the reader of this chronicle, however, I must first confess: I admit that writing is not my forte'. Whilst I enjoy literature well enough, I find my talents to be far better employed in the art of the brush and canvas.

Yet that being said, it is my belief that such a wild tale as the one I am about to attempt to tell must be put to the page; indeed, it would be sacrilege if it were to go untold. And worst still, the task of this enterprise must fall to me, lest someone else misplace an important detail or embellish at the wrong moment. After all, no one else can see with the clarity that has been imparted to me. Therefore, I hope that you, the reader, will take care not to judge too harshly my amateur's hand and ways.

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I will begin by saying that before all of this occurred, there was little to be said of my life. In fact, I'd venture to guess that one would be hard-pressed to find a less interesting person than myself. After wall, what sort of strangeness and excitement is there when one's daily occupation was that of a simple records attendant who spends her idle time reading, painting, and otherwise preferring the solitude of her mid-town apartment?

Yet it was strangeness, in this case, that found me, ironically in perhaps the most innocent and mundane way that it possibly could have. It all began with a cup of my favorite tea...