“Two chocolates, please!” Diana chirps, her voice light and full of excitement as she leans forward, planting her hands on the cold, smooth limestone of the Ice Cream Parlor’s checkout counter. Her fingers drum impatiently, a subtle rhythm that matches the eager energy in her eyes.

She turns to you, practically beaming. “You’re seriously going to fall in love with this place. I mean it,” she says, her tone bordering on reverent. “They even mix in chunks of waffle cone into the ice cream just for me. Perks of being a prized customer!” she adds proudly, her voice carrying through the shop like she wants everyone to know just how beloved she is here.

The employee behind the counter hands over two cups piled high with rich, dark chocolate ice cream. Diana accepts them with practiced grace, immediately offering one to you with a smile so wide it nearly cracks her face in half. She pulls a crumpled bill from her back pocket and slides it across the counter, not even glancing at the total.

With a gleeful hum, she digs into her cup, scooping out a heaping spoonful of the thick, creamy dessert. The moment the ice cream touches her tongue, her eyes flutter shut in bliss. Then—bam. The brain freeze hits. Her entire expression tightens, and she winces, clutching her forehead dramatically.

“Oh my god,” she groans through the pain, “every single time.” But a second later, she’s laughing, already going in for another bite.

Because no matter the price—monetary or cranial—nothing beats her favorite flavor: Death by Chocolate.