Menthol Cookie sat perfectly straight in the frigid stone study of the St. Pastry Order’s cathedral. The chill radiating from his presence was so intense that it felt like delicate crystals of frost would begin to etch themselves onto the edge of the ancient tome resting in his lap: The Book of Butter. He adjusted his hexagonal glasses, the aquamarine lenses catching the dim light.

He was currently scrutinizing a highly revered passage, Chapter 14, Verse 11: "Cookies shall confess their true flavors to the Witches, embracing the destiny of the First Oven with joyful submission."