THE STEW IS BUBBLING

 Filed with a scorched notebook and sauce on the lens by Raine Solara, who swears the pot whispered her name.

The aliens just call it:
“Stew.”
No article. No pretense. Just Stew.

Stew anyone?

But this isn’t your mother’s rainy-day dinner.
This is the memory-melting, future-hinting, emotionally-reactive stew that’s been simmering since the jukebox broke during Shayth’rien’s kiss.

And now?

It’s bubbling.

WITNESS STATEMENTS
Eddie, the barefoot DJ, claims he heard the stew say:
“She still loves him.” (But who is she?)
Casey insists it burped in Morse code.
Rachel swears it flashed an image of her ex’s apartment key.
Dr. Parallax took a spoonful and exclaimed:
“Oh. That’s my childhood.”
Odin, dramatically seated on a barstool in sequined boots, merely said:
“It’s underseasoned. But emotionally bold.”

Is this Espresso Macchiato?

WHAT’S IN IT?
Raine peered into the pot.
Steam rose in twisted shapes: a train, a lizard, someone crying at a vending machine.

Visible ingredients include:
Starberries (ripened by regret)
Dream-leeks (leaked from a forgotten night in 2012)
One of Anjelikka’s postcards, shredded like a bay leaf
A cube of Dandy’s lentil loaf
Possibly Moth’s missing sock?
At the bottom, a shimmer like liquified memory.

The aliens stirred it without touching it.
A spoon floated of its own accord.

A handwritten note appeared near the pot:

“Do not consume if:
– You're hiding something.
– You’re in love with someone you shouldn’t be.
– You remember Route 66 too clearly.
– You asked for the BBQ iguana.”

You said, “No cream. Just you and me,” and the alien summoned her.