Mag Mell - The Plain of Delight

From the Quill of the Mad Tea Mistress

Oh sweetheart, if Tír na nÓg was a dream you wake up crying from, then Mag Mell is the dream you never want to end.

Come closer. This one smiles while it ruins you.

Mag Mell means The Plain of Delight, and yes, it earns the name. No hunger. No sorrow. No illness. No death lurking in the corners like an unpaid bill. The fields bloom without asking permission. Music drifts on the air as if the land itself hums. Laughter is easy there. Effort is optional.

Suspicious already? Good. You are learning.

Mag Mell lies beyond the mortal shore, past the place where reason loosens its grip. It is not ruled by time, and it is not impressed by your ambitions. It is a realm of the Otherworld, and like all such places, it does not take visitors lightly.

Some say it is ruled by Manannán mac Lir, sea-god and keeper of veils, who ferries souls across waters that do not appear on maps. Others say it simply exists, unconcerned with rulers, mortals, or consequences. Personally, I think it enjoys plausible deniability.

Heroes reached Mag Mell by accident. That should tell you everything.

There are stories, of course. Warriors invited by silver-tongued messengers. Poets lured by music that made their bones ache. Kings promised peace after a life spent spilling blood. Boats drifted into mist and arrived somewhere softer than reality.

And once there? Oh, darlings.

Feasts without end. Cups that never empty. Games where no one loses. Love without fear. Rest without guilt. No one ages. No one grieves. No one is in a hurry. It is delight without decay.

But here is the catch, because there is always a catch and if anyone tells you otherwise, they are lying or selling something.

Mag Mell gives you everything by taking something quieter.

Purpose.

In Mag Mell, there is no struggle. No hunger means no striving. No death means no urgency. No pain means no growth. You are happy, yes. Blissfully, beautifully happy. But nothing pushes back. Nothing sharpens you. Nothing demands you become more than you already are.

Some stayed forever. They smiled. They sang. They faded into pleasure like ink left too long in the sun.

Others tried to return.

Those who left Mag Mell found the mortal world unbearable. Too loud. Too cruel. Too heavy. Time crashed back into them like a wave. Their joy felt thin. Their patience snapped. Once you have known a world without suffering, darling, ordinary living feels like an insult.

Mag Mell does not punish you. It does not trap you. It simply lets you choose.

And that is the most dangerous magic of all.

So ask yourself this, my lovely mortals. Do you want happiness without effort? Peace without purpose? Delight without meaning? Because Mag Mell will give it to you gladly.

Just do not expect to come back unchanged.

Signed with honeyed lies and too-sweet truths,
Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore
Weaver of Truth, Lies, and Stories