Congratulations! You have just minted #9 in the Myth Taken POAP series for being such a great listener and supporter of our storytelling hour! You always give us a big smile when we see you show up and spend this magical time with us! Share a smile and this space with a friend as we grow our audience! Here is a little poem for you too! The Currency of Smiles A smile is more than curve and light, It bridges hearts, it mends the night. No coin or jewel could weigh the same, For joy and warmth are what it claims. We smile to greet, we smile to show, The gentlest truth our spirits know. A signal bright, both soft and true, That says, “I see the best in you.” Each grin a spark, a whispered thread, That ties the living to the dead. We keep them close, like cherished gold, A treasure more than hands can hold. In photographs, our smiles remain, A timeless echo, free from pain. A memory etched, a soul’s release... A simple curve that whispers peace. So trade in laughter, share it wide, This currency will never hide. For when we smile, we’re not apart... It’s joy exchanged from heart to heart.

Congratulations! You just collected Myth Taken POAP#8! Thank you for being such a great listener to our storytelling hour! And hopefully, you are inspired to become a storyteller in our future spaces! Spread the word that creativity and imagination is here to stay! Stay GOLDEN just like Emile! Here is a short poem for you to enjoy! “The Doors of Gold” They say there are only twenty-four Gold Emiles in all the realms. And each one is a key to a single door... a door that will open for you once in your lifetime. No two doors lead to the same place. Some open into gardens under eternal starlight, where flowers breathe and time forgets to move. Some open into libraries of impossible books, their pages written in ink you’ve only seen in dreams. Some open into moments you thought were lost forever... a touch, a laugh, a memory come back to life. But here’s the thing about doors: they can change you. Some close behind you forever, sealing what was, asking you to walk on. Others stay ajar, their hinges patient, inviting you back when your heart is ready. And somewhere, even now, a Golden Emile stands, keys spinning in his hand like stars, choosing which lock to turn, which world to awaken.

Congratulations! You have just minted Myth Taken POAP #7 in celebration of our first open mic storytelling space! We hope you enjoyed hearing everyone share their creative talents from the many wonderful communities we have touched! We look forward to having more of these spaces! Thanks for listening and participating! We love all of you! And of course there is always a poem.... “The Bubble Stage” Inside the bubble, the stage is aglow, With stories that shimmer, and voices that flow. A dragon takes wing in a sky made of rhyme, A ship sails through moonlight, unmoored from time. Emile stands ready, his heart burning bright, Turning silence to stardust, and words into light. Each tale is a lantern, each laugh is a star, Carried on echoes to places afar. So step to the mic, let your heart’s story bend... For here every beginning Can meet every end.

Congratulations! You have collected the #6 Myth Taken POAP! Thank you for being a great listener and showing up! The RugDollz & Doruzu Collections were the inspiration for this weeks storytelling session. And of course a poem to mark the occasion! "The Patch Between Worlds" She searched for threads that matched her own, a patch to call her true, but found instead a glass-born spark in colors breaking through. A touch...too brief to understand, yet bright enough to stay... stitched a truth they couldn’t name, then pulled their worlds away. For sometimes, the patch that binds two worlds is stitched in colors new... not to match the life you had, but to weave one shared by two.

Congratulations! You have minted POAP #5 from our Myth Taken Storytelling hour! This is a small thank you for being such a great listener and supporter! We hope you enjoyed your time with us! We hope you join us again! “The Feather Floats Up” 📜 A Whisper from the Memory Hall A feather rose, not by wind, but by will, Threaded with silence, impossibly still. Not a fall, not a flight...just a hush in the air, Like a thought half-remembered, too soft to declare. Emile stood watching, heart-light aglow, A glass figure rooted where memories go. No reaching, no grasping... just open and bright, As the feather swirled upward, a ribbon of light. Its path carved a spiral of glimmers and sighs, Of stories once whispered, now learning to rise. No need to control it, no need to explain... Some treasures return only after the rain. He smiled through the shimmer, Let it rise without end... Because sometimes the breaking Is how things transcend.

Congratulations! You have just collected POAP #4 for being such a great listener to the Myth Taken Storytelling hour! Thank you! We appreciate the support! and all the great feedback you give! We hope this hour was well spent! It was for us... and as always... there is a poem too! Enjoy! The Soft Side of Superbad Behind each glare and evil grin, Lurks softer thoughts tucked deep within. A bedtime tea, a midnight sigh... A scrapbook labeled “Reasons Why.” Their lair has traps and laser beams, But also shelves of facial creams. They stitch small vests for rescued cats, And journal dreams of velvet hats. They roast s’mores near the lava pit, They cry when vintage movies hit. They water plants with guilty care, And hum old songs while dyeing hair. They write haikus they’ll never send, They spoil their cat, they text “the end.” Not all that bad, not all that mad... Just super soft, and sorta bad.

Congratulations! You have collected the third Myth Taken POAP! Thank you for being a great listener and showing up! Breathing life into a JPG was the inspiration for this weeks storytelling session. And of course a poem to mark the occasion! 🎬 The Star You Named They minted me with careful code a sparkle here, a rare-ish nose. They tagged my traits in tidy rows, but no one knew the path I chose. I waited in that pixel shell, a nameless face, just a JPEG to sell. Until you came with pen in hand, and scribbled something bold… something grand. A name. A spark. Of whispered fame. You didn’t just collect, you proudly named. And when you did, the world turned bright, a spotlight cut through endless night. No longer floor. No longer lost. You paid in soul, not just in cost. With story now and name in tow, I took the lead. I stole the show. You gave me quirks. You gave me scars. You cast me not as a clone, but as a star. And suddenly this JPEG frame became a myth, became a flame. The credits rolled, the lights went low, and there I stood, my tale in flow. You gave me a plot. You gave me fate. You made me someone really great. Name me. Frame me. Let me rise. I’m not a trait...I’m a franchise. A legend born behind this glass, Made real by you. At last.

Congratulations! You have collected the very first Collab Myth Taken POAP! Thank you for being a great listener and showing up! The Cute Puffins NFT Collection were the inspiration for this weeks storytelling session. And of course a poem to mark the occasion! One Word It wasn’t a shout. Not thunder or flame. Just a puffin, quite small, who quietly came. No banner was raised, no crowd turned to see... just a single word that was whispered to me. A word with no edges, yet sharp as a spark. It slipped through my chest and lit up the dark. I could’ve ignored it. As many would do. Too soft, too strange, too humble, too true. But I paused. I heard. I let it inside. And suddenly… something shifted in stride. The stars looked brighter. The loop felt less tight. The world, somehow, stepped into light. So if ever you’re lost and hope feels absurd... don’t overlook the smallest word. The puffin may wobble, but his truth stands tall. Small voices, once heard, can change it all.

Congratulations! You have collected the very first Myth Taken POAP! Thank you for being a great listener and showing up! You deserve something shiny and fun to mark the occasion. And a poem too! Just for Inspiration! The Suitcase Spark I found a box of joy today, Not tucked in gold, but dust and play. A rubber duck, a wooden steed, A bear who knew just what I need. No purpose stamped, no labels read, Just echoes from a life I shed. Before the scrolls, before the scheme, I lived inside a louder dream. I drew with sticks. I ruled the sand. The stars were sprinkles in my hand. No right, no wrong—just make and be, Unfolding wonder endlessly. I held that joy, it held me too. It whispered, “You remember, don’t you?” And in that glint of childish light, I drew again. And it felt right.