You were walking around the streets of the upper city of the Créme Republic. The ceramic floors and beautiful fountains almost managed to blind you as you passed.

Then, as you rounded a corner, you suddenly bump against someone, who briefly adjusts her breath.

“Oh! Oh, my deepest, deepest apologies,” the Cookie said hushedly, her voice strained and barely above a whisper. “I truly beg your pardon. I should have been paying better attention to my route.”