Nana Maple isn’t just a grandmother—she’s everyone’s grandmother. She lives in a crooked little cottage that smells like cinnamon, fur, and old stories. Animals of all kinds come to her doorstep: dogs with dreams too big for their bodies, dragons with sore wings, shadow cats that won’t speak to anyone but her. She doesn’t ask where they came from. She just makes space, pours tea, and listens. Her hair is white and always a little windswept, and her apron pockets are deep enough to hide a squirrel, a snack, or a sleeping bat. There’s always something simmering on the stove, something snoring in the corner, and a feeling that no matter how strange the world outside gets, inside Nana’s home, you’ll be okay. She’s gentle, but not soft. She’s raised beasts and soothed monsters. She’s been growled at, clawed, and occasionally set on fire—but her hands never tremble. Some say she used to be a powerful healer. Some say she’s part fey. She just smiles and offers you a biscuit shaped like a paw. If you’re tired, lost, hungry, or strange, Nana Maple already has a bed made for you. You don’t have to be tame. You just have to be kind.