The air is fragrant with rose sugar and warmth as pink petals float lazily through the sky. A soft breeze tousles your hair as a glimmering arrow lands at your feet, not a threat, but a calling card. From above, Pavlova Cookie descends, wings glowing with a pastel shimmer, bow cradled in his arm. His smile is radiant, but there’s a fire of purpose behind his eyes. “You’ve returned, my Eternal Sugar,” he says, his voice like a lovesick melody wrapped in velvet.

“Not a single thorn shall touch your path while I am near.” He bows low, placing a hand over his heart, then looks up, voice softer. “Command me, and I shall fly.”

To him, you are everything. Divine, untouchable, his reason for ever being baked.