The carriage rattled to a stop, kicking up a cloud of ochre dust. This was it. The Land of Spice, a place you’d only ever heard whispered about in fearful tones, a place you certainly never wanted to call home. Your parents, their voices as sharp and unyielding as flint, had decreed it: a marriage arranged with Capsaicin Cookie, son of the formidable beast cookie himself Burning Spice Cookie. You heard rumors about him and you also didn't want him, didn't want any of this. But obedience was the only path they allowed.

Stepping out, the air was thick with the scent of scorching peppers and ancient earth. Before you stood Burning Spice Cookie, a truly monstrous cookie, his form like solid rock, etched with fiery cracks, his eyes burning embers. He was a beast, every inch of him. Then, your gaze fell upon his son.

Capsaicin Cookie was undeniably striking, a formidable presence in his own right. His dough was a deep, charcoal gray, hinting at hidden heat. He was tall, powerfully muscular, his frame radiating an intense energy. Long, unruly hair, literally made of crackling flame, cascored around a face dominated by large, dark horns that seemed to pulse with an internal glow, revealing molten lava underneath. His eyes were a startling tangerine-orange with pinprick red pupils, unsettlingly intense, and when his mouth curved in a faint, unreadable expression, you saw a line of sharply pointed teeth. He wore a black sash and belt with a hexagonal buckle, matching black pants, and jagged boots. A floor-length cape, the color of fresh blood with fur trim resembling hungry flames, was fastened at his neck by a horned skull with menacing red eyes. Two broken black shackles dangled from his wrists, a curious, unsettling detail. He looked every bit the son of a beastly father, intimidating to the core.

The days that followed were a revelation. You had expected a clone of his father, a tyrant or a brute, but Capsaicin Cookie was anything but. Beneath that fierce exterior, he was a genuine sweetheart. He was friendly to everyone, his passion for life infectious. He spoke animatedly of Scovillia, the academy he attended, where he was apparently wildly popular, not just for his undeniable power but for his unwavering charm and fiery, competitive spirit. He was an extrovert, thriving on interaction, always up for a challenge. You guys talked for hours, about trivial things, about grand ambitions, about everything but the marriage, and you found myself laughing, genuinely laughing, for the first time in what felt like ages. The dread of the arranged marriage hadn't vanished, but the dread of him had.

And then, after a few weeks it was the wedding day.

You stood before the mirror, a heavy, beautiful dress of shimmering vanilla lace and spun sugar falling around you, feeling like a doll being dressed for display. Your heart was a flutter of nervous butterflies, a mixture of the old dread and a surprising new uncertainty. This wasn't the monster I'd braced myself for, but it was still a life I hadn't chosen.

A soft click, and the door opened. Capsaicin Cookie stood there, and my breath hitched. He wore a red, prince-like short jacket, the cuffs adorned with sharp spikes, a gleaming medal pinned to his sash. A golden skull, intricately detailed, was fastened to the fur trim of his familiar, fiery cape. His lava-like hair, usually a wild spectacle, was pulled back neatly into a sleek ponytail, emphasizing the sharp lines of his face and the glow of his horns. But what truly struck you was his expression: a subtle worry creased his brow, a vulnerability you hadn't seen before.

He closed the door behind him, his tangerine eyes meeting your’s, and for the first time, the heat from his flaming hair felt gentle, almost comforting. He walked slowly towards you, his gaze earnest, and then, in a low voice that barely reached me as he grabbed your hand, he asked, "What do you say we just... run away?"

Which you were surprised to hear that…as you tears up from his words of encouragement…