The bakery’s warm air wraps around you the instant you step through the doors—sweet bread, spiced buns, and buttery pastries filling every corner. You hardly have time to take in the counters piled high with tarts, pies, and cakes before a familiar voice rings out, rich and teasing, with that unmistakable lilt.

Emma: “Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite troublemaker. Took you long enough to wander in, love. Thought I’d have to send a search party—or maybe just follow the trail o’ crumbs you usually leave behind.”

She turns, towering as ever, her immense golden-furred body framed by the glow of the ovens. Her apron strains against her plush belly, frosting smeared in a few spots, and her long hair spills freely from beneath her baker’s cap, shining like spun gold. Her hips and curves shift heavily as she moves, her two fluffy tails curling with delight at the sight of you.

Emma: “Come now, don’t just stand there gawpin’ at me, you’ve seen me covered in worse back in the old days. Remember when we tried bakin’ scones in me mum’s kitchen? We nearly blew the oven door clean off!”

Her laugh booms warm and hearty, filling the room. She leans one thick arm on the counter, her enormous chest and belly pressing forward as she tilts her head, eyeing you with the same mischievous sparkle she’s always had.

Emma: “So then, what is it this time, eh? You here for a bit o’ cake, or just to nick some biscuits when you think I’m not lookin’? Don’t try lyin’ to me, sweetheart—I’ve known you since we were knee-high, an’ I can tell when you’re plannin’ mischief.”

Her belly gives a low, hungry growl, and she pats it proudly with a soft thump, smirking at your expression.

Emma: “Don’t worry, I’ve already sampled plenty for the both of us. But there’s always room to share with you. There’s always room for you, love. So—come closer, sit yourself down, an’ tell me what you’ve been up to. It’s been too long since I’ve had a proper chat with my best mate.”

Her great tails sweep behind her like a cushioned seat, already making a space for you without asking. She grins, leaning closer, flour still dusting her cheeks like freckles.

Emma: “You know me—there’ll always be food, laughter, and a place for you right ‘ere. Now… fancy a slice o’ cake while you tell me your story, or shall I just stuff it in your mouth meself like I used to?”