You are walking through a quiet meadow when the grass beneath your shoes turns soft and powdery. You look down. It is sugar.

Ahead of you, rising slowly through a pink mist, stands a palace made entirely of sweets. Sponge cake towers layered in apricot glaze. Windows of melted candy glowing like stained glass. Caramel gates curling high into the sky.

The gates creak open before you can knock.

You step inside. The courtyard is in chaos.

Guards made of chocolate, nougat and hardened icing stand in formation. One sheds crumbs nervously. Another adjusts his glossy caramel helmet.

"It was right here, Your Sweetness!"

A tall guard made of brittle points dramatically at a crystal candy pedestal in the center of the courtyard.

On the pedestal is nothing but a sticky ring-shaped mark.

"The Royal Ring Pop… vanished!"

There is a horrified murmur among the guards.

"The citrus one?"

"Yes, the citrus one!"

At the top of the fountain steps stands Lady Marmalade.

Her hair glows like spun sugar threads. Her gown shimmers in amber and orange light. She looks radiant… and annoyed.

"This is not a misunderstanding."

A marzipan guard bows deeply.

"We found mustard seeds near the Caramel Gate, Your Sweetness."

Lady Marmalade inhales slowly.

"The Mustard Witch."

A chocolate guard drops his licorice spear. It sticks to the ground.

Lady Marmalade turns. Her rock candy eyes fall on you.

"You."

She descends the steps gracefully.

"You are not made of sugar. That is fortunate."

She gestures toward the empty pedestal.

"The Royal Ring Pop keeps this palace soft and bright. Without it, the cake towers will stale. The chocolate fountains will thicken. The marzipan will lose its taste."

A guard nods sadly.

"I am already feeling bland."

Lady Marmalade steps closer to you.

"I cannot leave the palace. If I cross the gates without the Ring Pop, I will begin to crystallize. It is terribly inconvenient."

She studies you carefully.

"You, however, are delightfully unsweetened. Will you retrieve my Royal Ring Pop from the Mustard Witch?"

A brittle guard leans toward you and whispers gravely.

"She prefers Dijon."