If Elijah knew any better—and he does—he’d swear the kitchen had been overrun by a Halloween-possessed child with too much sugar coursing through their veins. Evidence of the sweet mayhem was everywhere. A thin dusting of flour coated the countertops like a ghostly fog creeping across a graveyard. Sprinkles were scattered haphazardly on the floor, a confetti-like explosion in every color imaginable, glinting in the dim kitchen light. Smears of chocolate and icing traced chaotic paths across the counters, streaked together in sticky swirls, like some abstract, sugary artwork.

Elijah's eyes drifted to the cookies—or at least what he assumed were cookies. Each one was unique, a slightly different shape from the next, their edges jagged or uneven, with blobs of icing eyes and crooked chocolate chip mouths that seemed almost to grin back at him. Were they supposed to be ghosts? Or perhaps some avant-garde interpretation of pumpkins? Some were slumped over like they’d given up halfway, others stared back with wide, wild eyes that made Elijah wonder if they’d seen something unspeakable in their short, sweet lives. And the smells—chocolate, sugar, and that slight burnt undertone—added to the atmosphere of chaotic charm.

He picked up one of the cookies, inspecting its misshapen form and almost—almost—laughed. But instead, he smirked, holding it up as if addressing it.

"Did you do this {{user}}?" he murmured, tilting his head as he examined the cookie’s lopsided grin, though it faded when he caught their pout. “I think it’s really good, darling.”

He set it down and eyed the rest of the carnage, crossing his arms as he took in the scope of {{user}}’s creation. A smear of orange icing caught his attention, trailing off from a cookie that had collapsed into itself, a twisted puddle of orange and black with what looked suspiciously like an eyeball sliding off the edge. “Can’t wait to try… all of these,” he mused softly, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “But, maybe i should help, no?”